TITLE: Heart and Shoulder (8/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (
sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo
Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: One awards show to rule
them all (Orli'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 for feedback has gone beyond recall or
desire."
WARNINGS: None
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: Okay, so Viggo *wasn't* nominated for an Oscar. I know
that. Just indulge me, okay? A permanent thank you to my darling Lostiawen for
her support, beta skills, and insanity
DATE WRITTEN: March 21st, 2004
"You should wear a tuxedo more often."
Viggo laughs softly, pulling me closer to him. "I don't really have a lot
of places to wear tuxedos to."
"Come on, you could wear tuxedos wherever you wanted to," I argue. "Nobody
would kick you out of the grocer's if you showed up looking devastatingly
handsome and wearing a tux."
"Maybe not, but I'd rather wear jeans and a tee-shirt."
"Seriously, you should look into wearing a tux everywhere. It makes you
seem so . . . sexy!"
"I'm not sexy without the tuxedo?" he asks, faking a pout.
"Of course you are, you bloody drama queen. It's just that you're all
dolled up and manly with this tux, and it's driving me mad."
"Orli, please don't molest me in the limo," Viggo chuckles. "We're five
minutes from the red carpet and I don't think my impeccable styling could stand
a full-frontal assault at the hands of my perpetually eager boyfriend."
"You can't very well blame me, Vig. We only have thirty-six hours together
before I'm headed back to Morocco, so we might as well make the most of
it."
"And making the most of it means getting busy in the backseat of a rented
limo?" His eyebrows raise with skepticism.
"Hey, the partition is up," I remind him.
He grins and kisses my cheek. "I don't think so, melamin. I'd rather
ravish you properly and very thoroughly at home."
"But we won't be home for hours and hours and hours," I whine.
"Always so impatient," he sighs.
"It's *your* fault. If you weren't so magnificent, I'd be able to wait for
significant periods of time between our little romps. But no, you have to be a
big stud and I have to be a horny little git because of it."
It's obvious that Viggo's trying very hard not to laugh at my logic. "I'm
a big stud?"
"Well, yeah. But only," I say mischievously, "if you win that Oscar
tonight."
Now he erupts into laughter. "Fair enough."
*****
The red carpet is hideously jam-packed, even more so than it was when I was
here two years ago hoping to see Fellowship triumph. I clasp Viggo's hand
tightly in mine and beam for the cameras as the wolf pack of paparazzi shout our
names. This is actually a lot less surreal than the Golden Globes, mainly
because Viggo and I aren't shocking anyone by showing up together. Well, if we
*are* shocking anyone, then those people have been living in a cave for the past
six weeks. We've been all over the magazines, TV, and newspapers since coming
out; we've even earned our own media nickname: Viggorli.
It's amazing to me how many people come up to us and start chatting us up.
Major stars whom I've never spoken to before simply walk over and tell us that
they think it's terrific we're Out. Okay, so they're not just random stars –
they all happen to be former co-stars of Viggo. We get brief red carpet visits
from Michael Douglas and one of Viggo's Oscar competitors, Sean Penn, plus two
of my boyfriend's past leading ladies, Julianne Moore and Diane Lane. Johnny
also comes over to wish us luck, which is really nice of him since he's also
nominated against Viggo for Best Actor.
And then we spy the Hobbits, who are naturally traveling as a pack. You
couldn't pry those four away from each other with a crowbar, and I mean that in
the most platonic sense possible. Really, it's insane how attached those blokes
are. Viggo and I are immediately swarmed by the Fearsome Foursome, and they
start teasing us about how natty we look in our outfits. I'm decked out in a
black suit with a matching black satin tie (no bow tie tonight), while my sexy
beast of a boyfriend is wearing a traditional tuxedo that makes him look
incredibly spiffy.
"Look at the sexpots!" Billy exclaims.
"Shut up, Bill," I laugh, blushing furiously with the hope that no stray
microphones picked up his comment.
"How many interviews have you had to do?" Sean asks.
"Too many," Viggo groans.
"Did Joan Rivers make you kiss her?" Dom asks, making a face.
"Yeah," I say, making a face of disgust. "It's pretty pathetic."
"Are you nervous at all?" Lij asks. "I mean, what if we don't win? I
think I'll die if we don't win."
"It's not worth dying over," Viggo says with a small smile. "It's just an
award."
"*Just* an award?" Lij stares at Viggo as if he has three heads. "Hello?
Earth to Viggo! It's the Oscars! If we don't win this time, I'm going to
unleash a colony of murderous fire-ants on the fucking Academy!"
"I hate to break it to you, but you don't *have* a colony of murderous
fire-ants," Dom tells Lij. "I don't think that such a thing even exists."
"I could breed one," Lij mutters.
Now I'm really hoping that no stray microphones are listening to us.
Hobbits. What can you do except love them?
*****
"Are you nervous?"
Viggo smiles at me. "Should I be? You tell me. I've never been to the
Oscars before."
"I don't know. Shit, what if we don't win anything?"
"Oh, we'll win," he says confidently. "I have my good luck charm."
"Which is what?" I ask.
"You. Good things tend to happen when you're around," he says. "But you
need to stop bouncing for the luck to take effect."
I stick my tongue out at him, but dutifully stop bouncing on the edge of my
seat. We're just moments away from the start of the show, and my pulse is
starting to race with anticipation.
"Don't worry about anything, Orlando," Fran tells me from her seat at the
other end of the aisle. "Even if we lose everything, Viggo and I have a bet
going."
"A bet? What are you talking about?"
"If we don't win the Best Picture trophy, I'm trading places with you," she
explains. "I get to be with Viggo, and you have the privilege of being Pete's
lover boy."
"Um . . . that's . . . nice." I look back and forth between Fran and
Viggo, hoping desperately that they're joking. Thankfully, they start laughing
at my terrified expression.
"You should see your face, Orli!" Fran cackles. "It's priceless!"
"What are you laughing about?" Pete asks as he finds his seat next to her
after hobnobbing with studio executives.
"Nothing important," she giggles. "Don't worry, I'll tell you
later."
The lights dim in the auditorium, and I start bouncing again at the
realization that this is it! The Oscars! The ones that *really* matter! I
mean, if we don't win this year–
"Orli?" Viggo's very soft voice stops my mental tirade before it gets out
of control.
I look over at him with a mad and giddy smile. "Yeah?"
"I love you."
Melting. I'm melting. The announcer's voice comes over the speakers but I
ignore it, concentrating only on Viggo's hand as I take it in my own.
"I love you, too."
*****
Nine for nine! I can't believe it! That's our Oscar tally so far. Could
it get any better than this? Actually yeah, since the three biggest awards
we're up for – Best Actor, Best Director, and Best Picture – have yet to be
presented. Fucking hell, if we actually sweep these bloody awards tonight, I
could die a happy man. But I don't want to die, because then I'd miss the
afterparty. I've already bet Lij thirty quid that Ian is going to canoodle some
studly waiter at the Vanity Fair party.
Peter, Fran, and Philippa return to their seats after accepting the Best
Adapted Screenplay award, and all three of them are grinning from ear-to-ear.
"I think I'm floating," Philippa sighs. "Quick, someone pinch me." Barrie
obliges, and Philippa just keeps grinning.
We all watch Charlize Theron win her Best Actress trophy, and I can't help
but smile when she mentions Stuart in her acceptance speech. Okay, so the bloke
wasn't my best friend in the world before Pete sacked him; he was a bit too
moody for me. Still, I'm happy that he found love with a gorgeous woman. All
straight men should be so lucky.
When Nicole Kidman walks onto the stage to present Best Actor, all thoughts
of Stuart or Charlize or anything else irrelevant flee from my head. I can
vaguely hear the polite applause as the names of the nominees are read, but it's
almost drowned out by the thundering of my escalating heartbeat. Damnit, Nicole
– just open the fucking envelope already!
"And the Oscar goes to . . ." Nicole pauses to read the winner's name. I
can't even breathe. "Viggo Mortensen, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the
King."
There's loud applause and cheers all around us, but I can barely register
any of it. All I can concentrate on is the man next to me. He has a goofy,
disbelieving grin on his face, and I simply want to kiss him until somebody
tells me to stop. So that's what I do.
As he stands up, I jump to my feet and kiss him with unabashed passion,
framing my hands on his face. The moment seems to go on forever, everything
else fading away as we stand there in our own little world. Finally, Viggo
pulls his mouth from mine and takes in a large gasp of air. "Wow," he whispers
dazedly.
"I'm so proud of you, my filthy human," I tell him, kissing him once more
before reluctantly pulling away so he can go up to the stage. Of course, first
he has to navigate his way through the masses of Rings well-wishers such as
Pete, Ian, Liv . . . everybody! And now the audience is actually giving Viggo a
standing ovation, which is probably more about all the politics of our Outing
and the crap we've taken for it than anything else.
Nicole gives Viggo his little gold statue, hugs him tightly, and steps
aside so he can speak. When the applause dies down and everybody sits down
again, Viggo manages to get past his obvious shock and start a very classy
acceptance speech. "Oh my God, thank you," he says breathlessly. "This is
truly unexpected. I'm in the company of such fine actors in this category that
it's an honor to even be nominated alongside them. Sean Penn, Bill Murray,
Johnny Depp, and Sir Ben Kingsley – you are just as deserving of this award as
I." More applause rings out, and I just know that Johnny is grinning somewhere
in the audience.
"I know that everybody involved with this movie has been thanked about a
thousand times tonight," Viggo jokes, drawing some laughter from the crowd, "but
I have to thank them one more time. Professor Tolkien wrote a magnificent
story, Peter Jackson had the perfect vision for bringing it to life, and my
cherished co-stars and friends somehow transformed themselves into these
characters from another world. It was an amazing experience to work on these
films, and I want to thank *everyone* who made the trilogy possible.
"To my family, who has stood by my through whatever obstacle I have had to
face: thank you. Special thanks to my parents for their constant encouragement,
and to Sonia and Sam for welcoming me into their family." Dear God, I can only
imagine the shriek that my sister probably just let out upon hearing herself
mentioned in an Oscar acceptance speech.
"Above all, thank you to my two biggest supporters, Henry and Orlando."
Once again, I'm melting. "Henry, thank you for letting me be your friend as
well as your father. Orli, thank you for making my life complete. There's
nothing that I can say in front of a billion people that I haven't said to you
two in private, but just know that I love you both more than I could ever
say."
That's it. He smiles and leaves the podium before anybody gets bored or
the orchestra starts playing as a cue for him to shut up. And here I am, trying
not to blubber like a little infant at how proud I feel of my incredible
boyfriend.
"Orli?"
"Huh?" The sound of Ian's voice makes me whip my head towards my friend,
who's sitting two seats away from me.
"You can stop grinning like a fool now," our dear knight teases. "Viggo's
off the stage; the camera isn't going to be on you anymore."
"I can't help it," I giggle, feeling like a completely lovesick
puppy.
"We know," Liv says with an almost motherly smile. "You're crazy about
him."
"Yeah," I sigh. "I really am."
*****
"We should clink our glasses together twelve times," Billy suggests as he
raises his champagne for a toast. "You know, to celebrate our Oscar success.
Twelve toasts for twelve Oscars."
"No, we should each drink twelve glasses of champagne," Dom counters.
"Or we could just moon the rest of these people twelve times," Lij laughs,
already halfway through his glass of champagne.
"Hobbits," Ian sniffs with disdain.
"Oh, *sorry*," Lij says sarcastically. "What's your brilliant plan to
celebrate our success, Sir Ian?"
"Why, I'm going to sleep with twelve beautiful men," he announces.
"Starting with all four hobbits."
Lij promptly turns a lovely shade of pink at Ian's comment and decides to
shut his mouth. Dominic's cheeks also take on a rosy hue of embarrassment, and
Billy quietly mumbles something about keeping his 'nether lands' off-limits that
causes Liv to shriek with laughter. But Sean shocks us all by jumping up from
his seat and clambering over to Ian, sitting down on his lap with a victorious
smile on his face.
"Aha! I finally get my chance with Ian!" Sean cries. "My time has finally
come!" Did you ever think that Lij had big eyes before? Now they're about the
size of lorry wheels, all wide with confusion as to why straight-as-an-arrow
Sean is trying to score with Ian. Methinks that the champagne has already
started to go to the boy's head if he's really falling for this.
"Um, Seanie?" Billy is the first to recover from his jaw hitting the
floor. "You're married. Remember that lovely wife you have at home?"
"Christine and I have an understanding," Sean says with an exaggerated
wink. Wrapping an arm around Ian, he leers and wiggles his eyebrows. "So,
shall we go somewhere else, my handsome wizard?"
"If only you really meant that, you heartbreaking hobbit," Ian
chuckles.
"Yeah, if Sean was really gay, he would have gone on long camping trips
with Viggo and Orli," Fran snickers.
Viggo laughs loudly and tightens his grip around my waist. "Sorry to
disappoint you all, but I don't share my elf with anybody." Oh, I love it when
he gets possessive!
"Damn. I was thinking we could do a foursome," Sean sighs with faked
disappointment as he slides off of Ian's lap.
"Sean, my boy, you were *definitely* robbed of an Oscar," Ian says with a
smile. "That was the most convincing performance by a straight man pretending
to be gay in a long time."
Our beloved Astin does a mock bow and returns to his seat. I lean back
against Viggo's chest, feeling comforted in his embrace. Our group's collection
of Oscars is decorating the table, but right in front of us is the one that
Viggo won. Tentatively, I reach forward and run my fingers over the heavy
statuette.
"Pretty impressive, Vig," I murmur. "I didn't realize how big it was." I
suddenly blush as I realize what I just said.
He laughs gently, kissing my head as his fingers play with the collar of my
tux jacket. "Size doesn't matter, you know."
"It does in your case," I tease under my breath.
"What?"
"Nothing! I didn't say anything!" I lie.
Viggo just laughs again. "You're a terrible liar, Orlando Bloom. But I
love you anyway."
"And you're delicious in a tux," I remind him. "Which is one of the many
reasons why I love you."
"Hey, sorry to intrude on your kissy-kissy moment," Dom says to me as he
slides in next to us. "But we're finally doing a toast. Want to raise your
glasses?" We happily oblige and turn our eyes towards Pete.
"Well, uh, this has been a long time coming," Pete says with a smile,
looking around at all of the Rings clan members. "And we worked very hard over
a number of years to achieve this mighty accomplishment. You should *all* feel
extremely proud of yourself. We know how much blood, sweat, and tears were shed
in the pursuit of bringing Professor Tolkien's work to life onscreen, and now we
can finally relax. The journey, in some ways, is over; but in other ways, it
will never end. We are all a family, along with those not here tonight, and
that won't change tomorrow morning.
"So I propose a toast," he concludes, "to the bonds we have forged
together, from the professional to the personal, even to the romantic." Pete
looks at me and Viggo with a smile as he says that. "May all those bonds never
waver, no matter what comes our way."
We all raise our glasses of champagne in triumph. Several other toasts are
made after that, but the words of Pete's toast remain in my head as I sit here
in the arms of my beloved Viggo, surrounded by so many of my closest friends.
This is truly a family, an unconventional and insane one perhaps, but one with
as much love and support as any biological family. I wouldn't trade them for
the world.
Right here, with the people I love, life is as good as it could possibly
be.
