TITLE: The Only Kind of Love (1/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! (Orli'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 sixth(!) series in "The Viggorli
Chronicles". It picks up right where "Heart and Shoulder" left
off. I want to extend a special thank you to everyone who has
followed the story this far – you deserve an award for patience and
devotion! Also, the usual props to my beloved Lostiawen for her
friendship, support, and beta skills.
DATE WRITTEN: November 23rd, 2004
"Yes."
I blink. Did he just really say what I think he did?
"Really?"
An ear-splitting grin breaks across Viggo's face. "Yes, really."
"You'll marry me?!" I practically squeak.
"Yes!" Now he's beginning to laugh, but it doesn't bother
me. All that matters is that he said yes! "Yes," he says
again, the laughter giving way to a smile that could power the Western
Hemisphere. "Yes, yes, yes."
"Oh, Vig!" I throw my arms around him, probably crushing him in
the process. "God, I love you!"
"I love you, too," he whispers fiercely, giving me a kiss on my neck.
Overcome with joy and need, I frame his face with my palms so I can
plant a gigantic kiss on that smiling mouth. Viggo makes this
sound of satisfaction when our lips meet, making me want to take this
further. It becomes an all-out snog as my tongue pushes past his
lips and deep into his mouth; his tongue tangles with mine as he
clutches at me like his life depends on it. The need for air
forces us to stop our marathon kiss after several blissful minutes, but
I continue to hold him as tightly as I can.
"I love your hugs," Viggo says, somewhat out of the blue.
"You do?"
"Of course. They're like my own Orli-blanket for when I'm tired
or stressed or in a crappy mood." He grins and gives me an
all-too-brief kiss. "It's as if you're trying to summon all of
your positive energy and transfer it to me through a hug."
"Yeah, I guess that is what I try to do," I laugh. "Does it ever
work?"
"It always works. You make such a difference by being here for
me."
"Well, I'll always be here for you."
"I know. Because we're going to make it official, right?
We're going to get married?" He's beaming now, about a million
times more than he was when he won the Oscar, and it's a beautiful
sight.
"We sure as fuck are," I tell him, immediately cursing myself for my
less-than-romantic choice of words.
As always, Viggo doesn't care about which words I've used. He
merely smiles and gives me a long deep kiss that I can feel all the way
down to my toes. I press against him, wanting to be as close to
him as I can. He understands what I need, and pulls me into an
embrace so tight that the thudding of his heart resonates where our
chests meet.
"Love you," he whispers, his fingertips ghosting under my shirt.
"Love you forever."
I almost begin to cry at that simple declaration. But I manage to
keep my composure intact so that I can kiss him with more intensity,
more urgency. I need to show Viggo – *my future husband* – how
much I desire him. It doesn't matter to me that he already knows
the depth of my love and need for him, nor does it matter that we've
done this so many times before. I still have to let him know that
he is everything to me, that every moment with him is special, and that
I am grateful beyond belief that he wants us to spend our lives
together.
"I love you, I love you," I babble when I'm able to take a breath in
between kisses.
His eyes are smiling along with his mouth, the skin around them
crinkled in a sign of true joy. "You're so beautiful, Orli," he
says. "So caring and so beautiful."
"Enough talk," I reply, blushing deeply.
He gives me one of those insanely sexy chuckles and resumes the
breath-stealing kisses. I whimper and twist in his arms like some
horny teenager, grinding against him in a desperate attempt to find any
kind of friction for my cock. No, this just won't do.
Snogging on the couch after getting engaged isn't the proper
celebration.
"Bedroom," I mumble. "Bed. Sex."
"Oh . . ." Viggo's mouth curls into a grin as his eyes light
up. "Oh, yeah."
I'm not sure how we manage to get up the stairs and undress each other
at the same time, but there are no injuries suffered in the
process. We've left a trail of clothes from the living room to
our bedroom, and by the time we stumble with inelegant haste onto the
bed, Viggo is wearing only boxers while I'm in socks and a
tee-shirt. My hands stroke him through the boxers, and I watch
with a grin as the underwear tents more and more under my ministrations.
"Damnit, get these clothes off," Viggo growls.
"You do it," I challenge.
He takes the bait, almost destroying my shirt in the process. The
socks are gone in a flash, as are his boxers, and we both allow
ourselves a few moments to revel in the incomparable feeling of
skin-on-skin. His cock is already leaking pre-come, and it leaves
a small line in its wake as he rubs against my thigh.
"I'm so hard for you, Orlando," he groans as I take his erection in my
hand.
"What do you want? Tonight, anything you want, you can
have." My fingers squeeze the base of his cock for emphasis.
He hisses and bites his lip. "Suck me," he gasps. "I want
you to put that beautiful mouth on me."
"And then?" I ask with a grin.
"And then I want to feel you deep inside of me, pounding into me hard
until I'm screaming for you to let me come." His eyes gleam with
the thought of his fantasy being acted out. My cock is aching
with need now, the desire heightened by hearing him yield to me in that
utterly sinful voice.
I slide down his body, raking appreciative fingers over the firmness of
his torso. 'No middle-aged paunch for my man,' I think with a
small note of pride. Viggo is just as lean and sexy today as when
I met him five years ago. He can give my twenty-seven-year-old
body a run for its money any day of the week.
"You're so hard, Vig," I marvel. "Is this all for me?"
There's a choked gasp of pleasure as I run my fingers over the fat head
of his cock. "We're getting married. Who else would it be
for?"
"Don't be cheeky." I swirl my tongue around the slit that's
dribbling obscene amounts of precome.
The choked noise is louder this time. "Yes! It's all for
you!"
I laugh. "Relax, Vig."
"Can't . . . need to come," he pants.
"Then watch this," I purr.
His intense blue eyes stare at me in wonder as I take his cock down my
throat in one easy, much-practiced move. Hey, five years of
giving frequent blow jobs to someone as well-endowed as Viggo would
make anyone a pro when it comes to technique. I must admit that
I'm proud of my skills, considering that I had no clue what the hell to
do the first time I sucked him off. Viggo's advice was to 'just
trust yourself'; I still do that, but I've improved to the point where
I could probably be a *real* rentboy, not just play one in a
film. Of course, I had a very good teacher to help me improve.
That same good teacher is starting to lose control of himself. I
love this part of our lovemaking. I love knowing that I have this
effect on him and that nobody else does. I love the way his voice
drops to a rumble, the way his fingers grip the sheets, the way his
chest heaves and his toes curl – it's all for me and me alone.
It's a mesmerizing sight to watch him come undone like this. He
unravels so completely, opening up and exposing every last crevice of
himself to me. It's not a power trip for me; half of the time,
our roles are reversed. It's a way of revealing ourselves to each
other in a way that all of the loving words in the world aren't able to
do. It's total honesty on the most basic level.
"God!" Viggo cries. His knuckles are as white as the sheet that
he clings to. "Fuck . . . going to . . . oh, God!"
Unwilling to relinquish my mouthful so that I can speak, I use my hands
to encourage him. My fingers spread apart the cheeks of his arse,
reminding him without words of what will come next. The tip of my
thumb slides down and grazes over his tight, puckered hole, making both
of us tremble with anticipation. Viggo pushes down against the
thumb with mounting impatience, and I quickly slip a finger into my
mouth alongside his cock so I can get it nice and wet.
He's writhing now, showing me how great his need for release is.
He really has waited long enough for this, so I swallow him to the root
again, grinning to the best of my ability as his unabashed wail hits my
ears. At the same time, my thumb moves aside so that my
newly-slicked finger can slip inside of him; never one to waste an
opportunity, I press my thumb down onto his perineum, making sure that
he's driven totally insane.
My technique seems to work. Viggo stiffens, then finally comes –
not with a shout, but with a seriously sexy whimper. I keep
working my mouth on him until he has nothing left to give me, then pull
away after giving the head of his cock one last affectionate lick.
"I can't get enough of you," I sigh. "I love the way you taste,
love the way you look right now, love how you feel. I just love
you."
He pulls me down into the strong circle of his arms, pressing his lips
to my neck. "Then show me," he challenges. "Let me feel
it." A hand curls around my dripping erection, proving to be all
the incentive I need.
"Lube," I mutter. "Need the lube."
"It's right here," he chuckles, getting what we need out of a drawer.
"God, I need you . . ." I waste no time in spreading the lube
over my fingers and sliding one into his willing body. "Can't
wait to feel you around me."
He groans. "I need you, too. I need more."
A second finger pushes into him, curling at the right angle to make him
cry out with pleasure; then a third enters him, and finally a
fourth. That's when Viggo starts to buck wildly, and I know that
he's more than prepared for what's next. Besides, it's only been
about twenty-seven hours since I last made love to him. Although,
in my opinion, that's been way too long.
"Ready?" My question is almost rhetorical, but I'd rather be
absolutely sure.
"Fuck, I'm *so* ready!" he gasps.
"So am I," I tell him as I slowly pull my fingers out.
Viggo's trembling hands grab the lube and spread it onto my cock.
I moan, trying not to lose control at the feeling of his touch.
When I'm all ready, he gives me a beautiful smile and lies back
down. "Please," he says simply. I nod, unable to find any
words that would convey my emotions.
I sink into him with a soft groan, and feel everything else around me
slip away. Looking into his eyes, I can see that this connection,
this love that we have shared for the past five years is as strong as
it has ever been. In the face of long separations, bitter fights,
and strong adversity, we have come through it all to end up here,
pledging to enter into the most concrete of unions and celebrating with
the most basic of rituals. But this ritual never seems basic to
us; it seems instead to be sublime when I'm entranced by Viggo's bare
skin, the press of his hard cock, or the sound of his breathless gasps.
"Is this what you wanted?" I ask him before placing small, loving
kisses along the hollow of his neck.
"Yes," he whispers, his hands roaming along my back.
"What about this?" My first hard thrust is met with moans from
both of us. "Did you want that, too?"
"Yes!"
He grows louder as I begin to drive into him, his hands clutching at my
skin with more urgency. When I shift the angle of my strokes and
hit his prostate, the result is a hoarse cry that makes me shiver with
delight. I kiss him hard, feverish with joy and desire.
This seems to have a wonderful effect on him, as he twists madly
against me like some kind of whirling dervish. His cock is hot
and dripping against my stomach, causing me to whimper into our kiss.
"Touch yourself," I command, trying not to pull my lips away from his
for too long.
His hand is between our bodies now, moving at a rapid pace as I
continue to slam into him. The sounds of sex have filled the
bedroom, from whimpers to bedsprings creaking to my bollocks smacking
against his arse. And while the air is heavy with our lust, the
love is what fuels our desire. Without the love, I wouldn't be
kissing Viggo with every chance I get in between my frantic thrusts,
nor would his hand still be stroking my back in the midst of all this.
But to us, all sex is lovemaking, from the hard and fast to the sweet
and slow. Viggo said earlier that he wanted me to pound into him
hard, and that's what I'm going to do. I'll do it until we both
come, screaming each other's names and trying to remember our
own. We don't do anything halfway.
"Come on, harder," Viggo is chanting. "Want to feel it in my
throat."
"Not enough for you?" I pant. I jab him hard, eliciting a nice,
loud yell. "That better?"
"Fuck!"
"Is that a yes?" I do it again and swivel my hips at the same
time.
"Orli!"
"Like it?" Again, I do it. And then again. The hand
that was stroking my back has slipped down to squeeze my arse, which
feels positively delicious.
"Yeah . . . love it," he gasps.
I piston my hips relentlessly, staring at the sheer ecstasy that's on
his face. His cries grow louder, and I can feel him trembling
under me as every movement drives us both closer towards climax.
Despite all that intense pleasure, he still has the presence of mind to
touch himself as I've requested; I can't help but watch with
fascination – and a bit of envy – as his hand travels along the length
of his cock. For some reason, I feel an intense need to touch his
erection, to feel its heat and strength radiate against me.
When I place my hand alongside Viggo's and join him in stroking his
cock, it's too much for both of us. The feeling of his hard
length twitching from our combined touch sends a searing flame through
me, and I manage to thrust once more before coming so hard that I
barely manage to gasp his name. Even through the haze of my
orgasm, I can hear his raspy groan when I spill into him, and the sound
makes me shiver.
"Come for me," I say in a soft voice, still moving my hand up and down
his obscenely drooling cock. "I want to see it, I want to hear
it."
"Close . . . need . . ." He's whispering now.
"What? Need this?" I give his cock a light squeeze, then
latch my mouth onto his neck. As my wanking efforts go into
overdrive, I lick and suck every millimeter of warm skin that I can get
my mouth on.
That seems to do the trick. Viggo arches high off the mattress,
wailing my name over and over like a mantra (how flattering!) as he
reaches his climax, coating both of our hands in the process.
Only when I'm completely sure that he's through do I pull out of him
and allow myself to swipe my tongue over my come-covered palm.
"I'll never get tired of that taste," I sigh, not caring how pervy that
might sound.
"Lucky for me," he laughs, choosing to use a wet-nap to take care of
his own messy hand.
I shake my head. "*I'm* the lucky one. Christ, Vig . . .
there was a second there tonight where I thought you were going to say
no, or ask what the fuck I was talking about."
"Orli, why would you think that?"
"Well, I mean, we've never really talked about *marriage*. And I
could see the shock on your face when you started to understand what I
was going to ask you. I just thought, 'Please, God, don't let me
screw this up beyond repair.'"
"You didn't screw anything up, love," Viggo says with a smile.
"I'm happy that you're making an honest man out of me."
"I guess it's about bloody time for that," I snort.
"Besides," he murmurs, lacing his fingers through mine, "I really like
the idea of calling you my husband. Not my lover, not my partner,
but my husband."
My breath catches in my throat. "I like how that sounds.
You're going to be my husband." Wow. Saying that out loud
has quite an effect on me. Giddiness surges through me, and the
grin on my face must be a meter wide.
Viggo has a matching brilliant smile on his face as he squeezes my
hand. "Yes, I'll be your husband. And you'll be mine."
Which makes me the luckiest man in the world.
The
Only Kind of Love Part 2
More
Viggorli
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