vigorli

Title: Everything (1/6)
Author:

indecentexposed
Pairing: Vigorli
Rating: R (this chapter, for language only), NC-17 overall (for language & smut)
Warnings: Fluff, in spades. Side dish of angst. One major punch to the gut.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and this is fiction.
Words: 1,760
Beta: I’m entirely to blame for this one. Although if anyone is interested in beta-ing future fics, I’d love the input.
Summary: Scenes from a life together, beginning in New Zealand and spanning the next 30 years.

Cross-posted to

volaslash

Part I. Encounters.

“You must be Viggo, yeah? Our new King?”

The older man met his eyes, and Orlando watched his expression shift rapidly: surprise, faint confusion, and then something Orlando didn’t recognize, which vanished almost immediately as it appeared.

An uncomfortable silence surrounded them, filled with... well, Orlando couldn’t put his finger on it, but the air between them had grown unbearably thick. He shifted from one foot to the other, his plastered smile fading.

“Not king yet,” said Viggo Mortensen at last, but he neither smiled nor offered his hand.

Orlando’s easy laugh rang false on his own ears. “I guess not.”

“And you are?”

“Orlando. Bloom. Orli. ‘Lando. Whichever you prefer. Legolas,” he clarified. Christ, Orlando, shut up. You sound like a sodding idiot.

“I see. Mae g’ovannen, then.”

Orlando blinked. “...the fuck?”

“It’s Sindarin. Your language. Means ‘well met,’ which you’d know if you could stop brushing your long blonde hair long enough to read the script.”

Orlando’s jaw dropped, a furious retort on the tip of his tongue, until he caught the glimmer in Viggo’s startlingly blue eyes.

He burst out laughing. “You’re a bit cracked, aren’t you?”

“It’s been suggested.”

“Yeah, well,” said Orlando mischievously, “suppose I can’t expect much better from human scum such as yourself.”

“I suppose not.” Viggo laughed and extended his hand. Orlando took it, returning his smile.

“It’s good to meet you, Viggo.”

“And you, Orlando. Gîl síla erin lû e-govaded 'wîn.”

The younger man groaned. “In English, yeah?”

“Nothing. A greeting.”

There was that look again-— but as before, it was gone before Orlando could decide quite what it meant.

“Come on, then.” He grabbed Viggo lightly by the arm. “I’ll introduce you to the Hobbits.”

¹A star shines on the hour of our meeting.

*

“Dance with me,” Orlando urged.

Viggo’s eyebrows lifted incredulously. “I don’t dance.”

“Of course you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Everybody dances. Look, all the others are out there.”

“Orlando--”

“Vig.” Orlando folded his arms in mock exasperation. “You run, you jump, you swing a sword like a knight of the fucking Round Table, you could ride a bloody horse backward. Are you seriously telling me you can’t dance?”

“I never said can’t,” Viggo grumbled.

“Prove it.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“At least I can dance.”

Viggo groaned, and Orlando knew he’d won.

“Come on,” he said eagerly, grasping Viggo’s hand in a manner that he hoped seemed easy, unthinking.

Or at least, in a manner that didn’t seem as if he’d been looking for an excuse to touch Viggo all night.

Dancing was good, he thought. Dancing was free and easy, replete with contact by its very nature. More to the point, no one would raise an eyebrow if he got close to Viggo in a way that might have seemed thoroughly inappropriate apart from the guise of fast music and flowing alcohol.

But just as they reached the others, the music changed, and a slower song filled the air.

Their friends paired off easily: Liv and Karl, Miranda and Bean. Elijah, laughing, and Astin, looking only slightly embarrassed. Dom and Billy, fluttering their eyelashes and pretending to swoon even as they drunkenly tripped over one another and roared with laughter.

Orlando fully expected Viggo to turn and head right back to the table—- so much so that it took him several seconds to register that Viggo was, in fact, still standing in front of him, an amused smile playing about his lips.

He was holding out his arms.

Orlando stared at him, uncomprehending, and Viggo actually laughed. “You wanted to dance, Elf-boy.”

“I... right.” And then his right hand was clasped in Viggo’s left, and Viggo’s other arm was wrapped firmly around him, drawing him nearer even than he might have tried to get on his own.

As they danced, they got closer. And closer, until at last their cheeks touched, porcelain against stubble. Orlando was vaguely aware of Billy hooting and Dom smacking his lips in a kissing noise, but it didn’t matter, not anymore.

The song ended too soon.

*

“Fucking Helm’s Deep is going to be the fucking death of me,” Orlando groaned, collapsing in a heap on Viggo’s couch. “Thank Christ we’ve got tomorrow off.”

Viggo chuckled, and dropped his bag just inside the doorway. “Ten weeks to go,” he called over his shoulder, heading for the kitchen.

“Oh, fuck off.”

He heard Viggo’s laughter and smiled in spite of himself.

They’d been filming for two weeks. On the third day, Viggo had invited Orlando over for breakfast for the first time, and since then, they’d fallen into an easy routine. They got home from the night shoots near first light, Viggo would make breakfast, they’d talk over the night’s work, and Orlando would go back to his own place and crash for the day.

And if sometimes they got caught up in conversation and Orlando got a little less sleep than he would have liked-- well, it meant more time with Viggo. He’d sleep in three months, he told himself. Ten weeks, now.

The trouble was, that attitude was quickly catching up with him. He could feel it now, even as he stretched out on the couch and yawned for what felt like the tenth time in a minute.

Just a quick nap, he thought, feeling himself beginning to drift off. Five minutes.

When he woke up, it was dark, and for a moment Orlando didn’t know where he was.

Blinking, he glanced down at his watch. After midnight. Fucking Christ, he’d slept all day. And could easily have gone on another few hours—- except that his back, courtesy of Viggo’s couch, felt as though it were on fire.

The house was entirely quiet. Viggo, too, must be sleeping. It would be easy enough to slip out and drive himself home, but Orlando hesitated. He should let Viggo know he was leaving, he decided. Just in case.

In case of what, he had no idea. The thought was half-formed, but he went along with it, tiptoeing down the hall to Viggo’s bedroom.

The door was open, and a low light came from a lamp by the bed—- where Viggo was sitting, awake, with a book in hand.

He glanced up at Orlando and smiled. “Morning, Elf-boy.”

“It’s the middle of the night, filthy human.”

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t wake you, but you were out like a light by the time I came back. I thought it was best to just let you sleep.”

“Yeah, I’ve had it.” Orlando paused. “Look, I’m just going home to sleep.”

“Haven’t you been doing that all day?”

“And would’ve happily gone on, but your couch has got it in for my back.” Orlando winced slightly as another twinge of pain fluttered down his spine. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, then? Er, tonight?”

“There’s no point in driving home at this time of night.” Viggo patted the bed next to him. “Stay. You can sleep in here, if you’re still tired.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother. There’s plenty of room.”

Orlando hesitated for less than a minute. What the hell. Viggo was right, there was ample space for both of them in the bed without quarters being too close --not that there was necessarily any such thing in Orlando’s mind—- and he didn’t particularly fancy the idea of driving home at this hour, tired and sore as he was. He crossed the floor, yanking his t-shirt over his head as he went, with admittedly a bit more bravado than was probably necessary. Once under the covers, he wiggled out of his jeans.

Viggo glanced over at him, his expression maddeningly difficult to read. “Comfortable?”

“I’m good, yeah.” He was. The ache in his back was beginning to unravel and recede already. “What are you reading?”

“Something of mine, actually.” Viggo tipped the cover of the book so that Orlando could see the title: Recent Forgeries. “It’s going into a second printing, so I’ve got to review the changes.”

“What is it? Poetry?”

“Among other things. Paintings, photographs as well.”

“Will you show me?”

Viggo didn’t miss his yawn. “Another time. Get some rest now.”

*

“Did you hear Vig almost drowned today?”

Orlando’s head jerked up with sudden, surprised force. “Sorry?”

Dom shrugged. “Got dragged under filming the bit where he floats down the river, I guess. Before he washes up and Brego--”

“Right, I know,” Orlando interrupted impatiently. “Is he all right?”

“Of course he’s all right.” Dom gave him a strange look. “Think we’d be sitting here if he weren’t?” They were playing cards in Orlando’s trailer, waiting for the other Hobbits to finish for the day. The plan was to hit the bars in celebration of having the next two days off.

“I guess not. Where’s he at now?”

“His trailer, probably. They wanted him to go to the hospital and get checked, but you know Vig.”

“Right.” Orlando stood up. “Listen, I’ll be right back.”

He was gone before Dominic could protest.

Viggo’s trailer was silent, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Orlando knocked lightly at the door.

“Come in.”

He did, closing the door behind him. Viggo had been lying on the couch, but sat up as Orlando entered.

“Hey, Elf-boy.” The words were playful, but he sounded more tired than usual.

Orlando quickly looked him over. A scrape or two, a little the worse for wear, but yes, he looked mostly all right. A relieved sigh escaped him before he could bite his lip.

Viggo’s eyes lit with understanding. “I’m all right, Orlando,” he said softly. “Just a frightening moment.”

“Dom said you almost drowned.”

“Our Hobbit friend is prone to exaggeration, as you know.”

There was no reason to argue the point. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked instead.

“Staying in, I think. Something quiet. A movie, maybe.” There was that familiar glimmer in his eye. “I heard you had a racy scene in Wilde.”

“You’ll be disappointed.” Orlando grinned. “I’m on screen for less than a minute.”

“Clothed?”

“Entirely.”

“Then, as you would say, bugger that.”

Orlando burst out laughing. “You’re mad. Really, you’re completely cracked. Did you hit your head in that river?”

“Probably,” Viggo admitted. “Either way, I’ll be lying low tonight.”

“Can I come over?”

The question was met with an inquisitive eyebrow. “Aren’t you going out with the Hobbits?”

Orlando didn’t dare meet his eyes. “I could use the down time, you know?” It was true enough, although it wasn’t the reason.

“Then I’d welcome the company.”

To be continued.