TITLE: Heart and Shoulder (22/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: A night to remember (Viggo's POV)
FEEDBACK: To (badly) paraphrase Galadriel: "This task is asked of the
beloved readers. And if you do not do it, Elizabeth will be
sad." In other words, let me know what you think!
WARNINGS: None
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: This is the end of "Heart and Shoulder," but another
series, called "The Only Kind of Love," will continue the story of the
Viggorli Chronicles. As always, permanent thank you to my beloved
Lostiawen for her support, beta skills, and insanity.
DATE WRITTEN: October 16th, 2004
"You're cooking?"
Orli grins. "I am indeed. I'm making artichoke-lemon
risotto."
"You never cook."
"I *almost* never cook," he corrects me. "I should remind you
that on a few occasions, I've made some exceptional meals."
"And on a few occasions, you've nearly burned down our house," I tease.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Vig."
"If it makes you feel any better, you're getting very good at using the
microwave," I console him.
"Sod off," he grumbles, trying to hide his smile. "If you really
don't trust me, then you can make the salad."
I wrap my arms around him. "I trust you with my life, Orlando; of
course I'd trust you to make my dinner."
He turns his head and gives me a soft kiss. As always, the
feeling of his lips upon mine feels so natural and so right that
everything else falls away from my attention. That is, until I
hear a familiar voice shouting, "I'm out of here! Enjoy dinner!"
"Okay," Orli calls back after he breaks our liplock. "See you
tomorrow, Henry!" Wait, hold on a second. Where's Henry
going? I start to leave the kitchen so I can ask him that
question, but the sound of the front door slamming behind him prevents
me from pursuing him any further. "Don't worry, Viggo; he'll be
back in the morning," Orli says.
"But it'd be nice for all three of us to have a home-cooked meal
together."
"He's going to his friend's house. I asked him to because I
wanted us to have a little time together, just you and me. Henry
said that was glad to give us some space if we were going to do our
'kissy-kissy thing,' as he calls it."
I roll my eyes at my son's oh-so-mature language. Sometimes you
wouldn't know whether he were six or sixteen unless you looked at
him. "And what's the special occasion? We almost never kick
Henry out of the house."
"There's no special occasion," Orli tells me. "It's just that
after filming Elizabethtown, it's wonderful to be home and with
you. I wanted to celebrate that." He kisses me again before
turning back to his risotto.
What an amazing, sweet lover I have. I must be the luckiest man
in the world.
*****
I smile as familiar arms slip around my waist. "Hey there.
How's dinner coming along?"
"It's all ready. Even the salad."
"In other words, I should get my butt up to the kitchen so we can eat?"
Orli chuckles and places a kiss on the back of my neck. "Yeah,
something like that."
"But I'm doing an important job," I inform him, gesturing to the pile
of freshly laundered underwear that I'm folding.
"Our skivvies aren't going anywhere, Vig. Besides, you know I
prefer when you go commando." I don't have to turn around to know
that there's a devilish grin on Orli's face. Shaking my head at
what an imp he is, I put the laundry aside and follow him up out of the
basement.
"That smells really good," I sigh as a delicious aroma wafts out from
the kitchen.
"Yeah, your teasing provided a good incentive for me to prove what an
excellent chef I can be," Orli jokes.
"I'm sure it's delicious. I was just giving you a hard time
earlier."
"Well, I hope you like it." Orli flashes me a smile that seems
somewhat nervous, considering that this isn't the first time he's
cooked for me. "I guess it's nothing special, just something I
found in one of your cookbooks, but I know how much you love
artichokes, so it seemed like a good idea for a nice dinner–"
"Orlando? Take a deep breath. You're babbling."
"Oh." His cheeks turn an adorable shade of red. "Um . . .
let's just eat, yeah?"
"Sure."
I turn the corner into the kitchen and gasp at the sight laid out
before me. All of the overhead lights are turned off; instead,
Orli has chosen to use candles which are placed throughout the
room. There is soft music playing in the background – it sounds
like the Dinah Washington tape that I inherited from my grandmother –
and the meal is already waiting for us on the table. As promised,
it's risotto and salad, but the atmosphere makes it feels like a
ten-course banquet fit for a king.
"Orli . . . you didn't have to do all this," I say softly.
"You don't like it?" His brow creases in that adorable manner
that I love so much.
"I love it! I'm just a little shocked," I clarify. "But I
love it, and I love you." I give him a lingering kiss.
That megawatt grin lights up his face. "Love you, too." He
tugs me towards the table, his familiar impatience showing
through. "Now come on and eat."
*****
I've had three helpings of Orli's incredible meal, and we're both on
our second glass of wine. The music has finished, leaving nothing
to distract me from the loveliness of my boyfriend's voice as he talks
with enthusiasm about how he's hoping to see Liv when he flies to New
York in a few weeks for a promotional event. He's talking a mile
a minute, his hands flying about to punctuate his statements, and
laughing easily at every bad joke that I make.
Light from the candles is reflected upon his face, casting a golden
glow on his perfect skin and making his eyes shine. The way that
the light and shadows are playing over his high cheekbones is nothing
short of inspiring, making part of me want to rush into my studio and
paint the colors that are dancing in front of me. But I don't
think that my brushes and canvases would be able to capture the
energetic glow that Orli so effortlessly projects.
"Vig? Vig? Hey, earth to Mortensen!"
"What?" Yeah, I wasn't quite paying attention. It's not the
first time that Orlando's beauty has made me lose track of what he's
talking about. I need to work on my ability to look at him and
listen to him simultaneously.
He groans. "I was asking if you wanted to go shopping with me and
Lijah next week. You could really stand to get some new jeans."
"What's wrong with my jeans?"
"Are you kidding? You have one pair that's on life support.
I think you should buy at least one new pair."
"But my jeans are comfortable," I whine. "I don't want new ones."
Orli laughs. "Fine, but don't complain to me when they're
threadbare in the crotch and you can't wear them out of the house."
I hate when he's right. "Okay, okay. Just don't make me get
trendy jeans."
"You can get any kind you like, as long as they make your arse look
good."
"Why am I not shocked at your high standards?" I muse with a chuckle.
"Hey, I'm not the only one in this relationship who has a preoccupation
with the other one's arse," he points out. "As I recall, you took
several photographs of me from behind while I was in my Legolas
leggings. That was very subtle, you know."
"Subtlety is overrated."
"Yes, you often prefer the hit-me-over-the-head-with-a-sledgehammer
manner of courtship." His eyes twinkle as he grins.
"Hey, whatever it takes so that I have you," I shrug.
A strange expression comes over Orli's face, one that seems laden with
love but also with worry. "Yeah." He clears his
throat. "Uh, are you done with dinner?"
I look down at my plate, a bit thrown off by the change in topic.
"I'm stuffed. I can't eat another bite."
"Great. Should we clean up?"
"Okay."
The only thing that Orli says as we clear the dishes from the table is,
"Thanks, Vig," when I hand him a plate to wash. He seems jittery
all of a sudden, unwilling to look me in the eye. His tics are on
full display, from constantly biting his lip to the inability to keep
his hands still. Something is very wrong, and the more nervous he
gets, the more nervous *I* get. Still, I won't push him; he'll
tell me what's going on when he's ready.
I'm wondering, however, if the entire dinner was an appeasement
strategy if he's about to give me some bad news. It seems more
difficult to get upset with somebody who took the time to cook a
wonderful meal for you, complete with candles and music. Then
again, is Orli that conniving? I try to push that train of
thought out of my head. He made me dinner because he wanted to
make me happy; it's as simple as that.
But what could be making him this worried? Maybe he's sick.
I whirl my head around, looking at him with concern. His face
still has its normal healthy glow, but that doesn't necessarily mean
anything. Or even if he's perfectly fine, maybe our relationship
has a problem that I haven't perceived. I wrack my brain, trying
to think of anything I might have done to make Orli really angry in the
past few weeks. No success. I'm at a loss as to why he's
acting like this.
After we put the last plate in the dishwasher, there's an unnerving
silence that fills the kitchen. "Hey," I say to him, "are you
alright?"
Orli turns and flashes me a genuine smile, making my fears about what
could be bothering him abate somewhat. Despite his skills as an
actor, he can't fake that smile; it's one that only shows up when he's
honestly happy. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You seemed a little nervous," I venture.
He laughs, surprising the hell out of me. "Am I that
transparent? Wow, I'll have to work on that." One of his
arms wraps around my waist, pulling me close to him and allowing me to
bury my face in his warm neck. "I *am* nervous. But, uh,
not for a bad reason."
"Then why?"
"Well . . . can we talk?"
"Sure. Let's go into the living room," I suggest.
Orli nods. "I'll put out the candles and meet you in there."
Sensing that he needs a moment to himself, I give him a smile that I
hope is reassuring. "Whatever you want." I kiss his cheek
before pulling away from our embrace and heading out of the kitchen.
*****
Ten minutes later, I'm sitting on one of our big, soft couches, still
waiting for Orlando to join me. Pokey has come over to lie down
at my feet, looking up at me with sharp green eyes. "I bet you
know what's going on," I murmur. He just meows in response, as if
affirming my statement.
"Finally lost your mind, old man?"
My head jerks up at the sound of that lilting voice. "Hey, I have
a long history of talking to animals." I smile, reaching down to
give Pokey a few scratches on the scruff of his neck.
Orli walks over and settles down next to me on the couch, all of his
earlier nervousness seeming to have drained from his body. "What
were you telling Pokey? Or is that a secret?"
"I was just asking him if he knew what you need to talk to me about."
"No, I don't think that he has a clue," Orli laughs. "And neither
does Maude, for that matter."
I cup his face in my hands. "You seem relaxed now.
Everything's okay?"
"Everything's great, Vig." He gives me a beaming smile.
"Then what did you want to talk about?"
"Well . . . uh . . . okay, I just *know* that I'll babble, but don't
interrupt me, okay?"
"Okay," I chuckle.
He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself to say what he needs
to. "Yeah, I was really nervous before, and I hope I didn't make
you think that I was upset or anything. I'm the furthest thing
from upset; I'm so incredibly happy, more than I ever thought was
possible, and you're the reason for that. You've changed my life,
and I don't want to imagine what it would be like without you in it.
"I know that we've already promised each other that we'll be together
forever, and I'd never doubt that pledge," he continues. "But . .
. I guess that I want more than a promise."
"More? Like what?"
"Hey, what did I say about interrupting me?" Orli cries with mock
indignance. But his smile quickly returns. "Listen, you
have redefined my concept of love. Every day is brighter because
I know that I can kiss you and hug you and snuggle with you, or at
least talk to you. And if I sound like some twee character from a
romance book, I don't give a toss. This is how you make me feel,
and I don't ever want it to change."
"I don't either," I say softly. "I don't want to lose the
happiness you've given me." This time, he doesn't seem to care
that I've spoken out of turn, and instead reaches for my hand so he can
give it a gentle squeeze.
"I want what we have to be permanent. I don't want anybody to
have any doubts that we're committed to each other forever. And
while our promises are wonderful, and I'm not taking anything away from
them, I think that after nearly five years that have been both
wonderful and challenging, we should show our commitment with more than
words."
My head is spinning. What is he trying to say? Is this
really happening? Did I drink too much wine at dinner?
"You are the most beautiful, brilliant, caring, sexy, incredible man in
the world," Orli says, his voice trembling slightly. "And for the
record, I don't think that I'm biased when I tell you that. It
would be my honor if you spent the rest of your life with me, not just
as my partner, but as my husband.
"Viggo, will you marry me?"
Continued
in The Only Kind of Love....
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