vigorli

Chapter Three: Meeting In Dreams
Title: Meeting In Dreams – 3/?
Author: Morrigan
Pairing: V/O
Rating: PG-13 (Eventually R)
Summary: Viggo is having a hard time dealing with his reactions to the Elf. Angst happens.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Tolkien or Viggo or Orlando. None of this ever happened, I have no idea about Viggo's, Orlando's, or Legolas' actual sexual preferences. Everyone is returned unharmed to the toybox at the end of the story.
Feedback: Always welcomed, valued and cherished.
Beta: I don't have one. Mine are the errors as well as the tarnished glory for these tales.
Archive: My site, please ask for elsewhere, thank you.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Orlando
He was making memories for when Legolas wasn't there. For when the wig came off and the contacts came out, the leggings and the prince's silken tunic disappeared, and the disappointing, skinny kid came back.

I closed my eyes on my tears, refusing to let Viggo see how much his words had hurt me.

Reaching down inside myself, I pulled that Mirkwood prince close with every bit of training I'd been through. Viggo wanted Legolas Greenleaf? Then by all of the gods, he'd have him. I hoped that, somewhere along the way, I'd get to make a few memories of my own, for when Viggo was no longer there. Best I give him the Elf, then, and not blow this scene.

Viggo's fingers were ghosting down my neck and making me tremble in ways I'd never known how to before. Looking down, I blinked back my tears and wrapped my fingers around Viggo's wrists.

"It's my turn now," I said, letting my voice drop lower. If I had known the words in Elvish, I'd have used them. Lifting his hand, I scraped my teeth across the inside of his wrist before lapping at the same soft skin. My fingers caressed gently as my tongue continued its work. Exhaling over him, I kissed and nuzzled up to the palm of Viggo's hand, sucked the salty pad and nibbled my way back down to the inside of his wrist.

"Legolas…." Viggo groaned.

I ignored him and took up his other hand to treat it to the same ministrations. His fingers curled inward, he shuddered and then sat up straighter. Glancing between his legs, I saw that the crotch of his jeans was significantly tighter than when we'd begun.

Lifting my head, I leaned closer until my breath ghosted over Viggo's lips. His eyes were wide and dark, his lips parted just for me… for the Elf. Unable to resist the invitation, I touched the tip of my tongue to his lower lip and then sucked gently. He jerked back, startled at the contact, only to lift his hand and bury his fingers in my hair.

"Legolas." Viggo cradled my skull, brought my face closer to his. "I want… I want…."

He didn't know what he wanted.

The Elf waited patiently.

Viggo
The dancing firelight threw Legolas' high cheekbones into sharp relief. I didn't forget what I wanted: how could I, when the first touch of his mouth on my skin had made me instantly, painfully hard?

"I want…" I breathed, nuzzling his lips with my own. It wasn't quite a nibble and not quite a kiss either.

"What do you want?"

Laughing softly at my audacity, I said, "I want a fantasy creature. One not made for this world."

My forehead rested against his, my fingers carded through the long, beautiful golden mane of hair. "I've never touched you like this, my Elf. Never had permission to do so."

"You never dared seek permission to touch me until tonight. Tonight, I would deny you nothing." The Elf's voice was little more than a whisper. His eyes shimmered in the firelight with what looked like unshed tears.

I was still busy with his hair, so heavy and thick between my fingers. "I don't know what to ask for, Legolas. Everywhere I touch, I find something new to explore."

Bowing his head, he took a deep breath. Spreading his fingers across my thighs, Legolas waited while I continued playing in his hair.

"I've never known anyone more beautiful than you." Why, if I was a poet, could I not come up with more seductive, beautiful, or merely descriptive lines than that?

His eyes lifted to meet mine. The trace of a smile cured his perfect mouth. He tilted his head while I traced the warrior's braid at his temple, captured the end and stroked to its end. He closed his eyes, and a tear slipped from the corner to trace its way down his cheek. Another followed, and then another from the other eye. Legolas swallowed, but did not open his eyes.

"You're crying." My fingers touched the tear-trail and came away wet.

"You are imagining things." Legolas kissed me then, sliding his hands up my thighs and around my waist, moving closer to press his mouth hard against mine and suck on my lower lip. His hands slid up my thighs while his thumb caressed between. I heard myself making noises of need – noises I was used to illiciting from other lovers, female lovers, while they lay in my bed. Arching into his touch, I head my own noises answered in the Elf's soft moan. Grasping his shoulders, I began kneading them.

"I need…." I breathed into his mouth. "More…."

"I know." He kissed me again, and I felt the wetness of his tears on my own cheeks. Another soft smile curved his lips, somehow sad, and the hint of a dimple was mine. "You need to be touched, Viggo. You need me to love you. And I will."

Rising from before the fire, Legolas looked down at me. "The floor is most uncomfortable. Come with me."

Getting to my feet, I took his hand.

Orlando
Viggo let me lead him up the stairs to his bedroom. Moonlight spilled through the skylight, lending enough light to see by. I was glad, for the last thing in the world Legolas would have asked for was some light to be turned on.

I could taste Viggo on my tongue and wanted to taste more, but the Elf I was supposed to be told me that wasn't what was needed tonight. So Legolas undressed his lover slowly in the moonlight and let Viggo undress him. And then, stepping behind Viggo, I entwined my fingers with his and wrapped my arms around him in a cocoon of caring. My nose nuzzled beneath his hair, my mouth kissed the back of his neck. I teased the shell of his ear with my tongue and teeth as he had teased mine, until he gasped and arched and twisted in my embrace to yank me tight against him. Our hips collided, and Viggo's erection slipped between my legs a moment before he lost his balance and we tumbled onto the waiting bed.

Laughing with delight to know that I had affected him so, I kissed his stomach and felt his muscles clench before I heard his hissed inhaliation. My tongue found his nipple and I sucked, hard, until he was babbling nonsense that might have been Danish – and yet, knowing Viggo, it could have been Elvish. Abandoning his nipple, I neglected the other one tokiss and nuzzle my way downto the nest of wiry curls between his legs. Sheer heaven awaited me, for my fingers found his weeping erection, standing hard and proud, offering thick evidence that my Elf was doing something right.

Stroking Viggo firmly, I tucked the tip of my tongue into the tip of him and sucked delicately. He bucked hard against me, tearing at the bedclothes and crying out. Holding him down, I lapped at his need, thought only of savoring the salt-thin taste of him and craving more. His fingers tore at my hair – the Elf's hair – and I winced, knowing this fantasy could end in shock and laughter if it did not stay on my head. Anchoring over Viggo, I took him deep into my mouth to begin sucking hard, my cheeks and tongue working hard to please him. Shouting, he grabbed even tighter at my hair and bucked once, twice, before climaxing hard. I swallowed him whole and took all that he had to give, only to wish for more when he fell back on the pillows and his fingers relaxed.

Luckily, the glue holding the wig onto my head held. Purring, I breathed deeply of Viggo and lapped up the remains of his passion.

Viggo
Seeing that head, those perfect ears, that even more perfect face bowed over me, and feeling Legolas take me inside of his hot mouth was almost more than I could bear. I hadn't felt so intense an erection since high school, and there seemed little I could do than ride whatever wave the Elf set forth for me to follow. My balls tightened, my toes curled. My need was fast spiralling out of control, lost as I was in the glorious sensation of Elven lips and tongue, teeth and hands on me. I came hard the first time, only to be bathed by a wet tongue and a wondrous, moonlight Elf. A short time later, and I was growing hard again, much to his delight.

His touch, his mouth, his love seemed to surround me and he pleased me… gods, how he pleased me. Driving me to the brink of climax a second time, only to press just so beneath my testicles and pull me back. Suckling noisily at whatever he could reach and moaning low in his throat to let me know he was enjoying me as much as I was enjoying him.

In the end, I was sobbing with need and begging for release. Legolas soothed me with gentle words and a hand that found mine and held on for dear life while I arched and bucked beneath his hands and mouth, while I was lost to the violent climax he demanded. He took all that I had to give, releasing me only he had reduced me to a quivering, incoherent mess. Lapping repeatedly, he cleaned me thoroughly once again before sliding up beside me and wrapping his arms around me.

I was boneless. Sleepy. Sated. "But you need…"

"Hush," he admonished, sliding a muscled arm across my chest and insisting I lie back in his arms. "I need to hold you. That is what I need."
Legolas' cheek rested against mine. His fingers stroked through the hair on my chest while he began humming, some tuneless something. I relaxed in his embrace, never before having known such a gift, such a feeling of unconditional love. Had I been more awake, I would have talked with him, would have analyzed what had just happened – what was still happening as he held me. I would have asked myself why the exchange between us… my vulnerability, his lovemaking, had been so easy when I had never before let any man….

But Legolas wasn't just any man, was he? And Orlando had offered to let me experience time with the Elf. From the edge of sleep, as Legolas' voice grew hoarse with the song and the moon rose higher, I made a mental note to thank him for this time. How I would thank him, I wasn't quite certain, but I would find a way.

Orlando
I wet Viggo's skin once again with my tears, but hoped he was close enough to sleep not to notice. Why did I have to cry all the damn time? It's not as if I didn't lead him up those steps with my blue contact-lensed eyes wide open.

I could still taste him on my lips, could smell him around me. His heavy, masculine weight rested against me, and I wanted nothing more than to stay the night with this man. I wanted just being near him to be enough because it had to be enough.

Unless, of course, he wanted to see Legolas again after tonight.

Was I up for that? Did I want it?

Did I have any choice, given that I'd offered in the first place?

Sighing, I stroked Viggo's hair and waited for his breathing to deepen. I waited a half hour longer once I was certain he was asleep before easing him carefully away from me and myself from his bed. The damnable contact lenses were killing me, and I silently castigated myself for not thinking to grab a plastic storage case on the way out of the makeup trailer. There was nothing for it now, taking them out would have to wait until I got home.

Moonlight flooded the loft, so it was easy – even with my limited vision - to make my way toward the staircase, but I still had to maneuver around multiple stacks of books and sketchpads on the floor. Viggo was nothing if not consistent in his messy artistry.

One sketchpad in particular caught my eye, as the pencil-drawn figure on it was all too familiar. Picking it up, I angled the drawing into the moonlight. It was of me as Legalas standing in profile with my weight back on my left foot, right foot braced on a rock, bow in hand and hand set against my thigh. Everything about the drawing was perfect, as only a fantasy created by four hours in makeup, countless hours of costume fittings, and even more hours of researching and exploring a character can be. I hoped he would be perfect for others when he finally appeared on screen, and not merely for Viggo.

You've really got it bad, don't you, mate? I thought. Sighing, I turned the page only to discover more sketches. More followed behind that one, and from from every possible angle. Each one was rough, raw and honest as Viggo's abstract art didn't seem to be – from what I'd see of it. Perhaps his photography was like this. Perhaps I simply didn't understand abstract art. If he started taking photos on the set, would he let me see them? Would I want to see them if they were all of Legolas?

Closing the pad and setting it aside quietly, I looked over my shoulder to consider the man sleeping mere feet and a fantasy world away from me. If I were ten years older, I wouldn't have been cast as Legolas, but perhaps Viggo would have been interested in taking me to bed rather than the Elf. If Legolas actually existed, would he be interested in Viggo? Only the Valar knew, I certainly didn't. My imagination didn't stretch that far.

It was then I knew without a doubt that whatever I shared with Viggo, I was on a fool's journey to expect him to want to see me one day and not the Elf. Not one of those drawings had been of me out of character, and in that moment I accepted that nothing Viggo drew or wrote would ever be for me. I was invisible to him, I existed only to allow him access to his fantasy lover. It was no use struggling against how things were, that would only lead to misery. I had to accept how things were between us – meaning, there was nothing between Viggo and me but his dreams and a moonlit Elf.

"Yet if you build your life on dreams," I whispered, recalling the words to an old song, "It's prudent to recall, a man with moonlight in his hands has nothing there at all."*

Making my way carefully, quietly down the narrow stairway, I was lucky enough to find a phone book in the kitchen. The friendly green digital light over the stove told me it was only 11:30, which wasn't too bad given I had a 5:30 makeup call. After calling a taxi, I retrieved my cloak and let myself out of the house to wait for the car to arrive. If the driver thought it strange that his passenger never revealed his face, he said nothing. That was fine, for I had no desire to talk.

Thanking Ngila's for her foresight when she'd insisted upon putting a hidden pocket inside Legolas' tunic, I had my money out and ready as the taxi rolled to a halt before my house. Paying the driver quickly, I was inside and out of the costume in record time. Shedding the wig took a bit longer, as the glue had to dissolve before I could be sure of not damaging the expensive thing before pulling it off. The ears were simplicity itself to remove, for they would dissolve all too easily in rain, never mind with an application of whatever solvent the makeup personnel had given me in its small white bottle.

Running my hands through my mohawk – which needed cutting -- I scratched at the shaved sides of my head which always itched fiercely after the wig came off. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I saw a pale, skinny kid with great bone structure. Maybe, one day, I'd look older than eighteen. My eyes were tired and maybe a little sad.

Best get some sleep, I thought wearily. Nothing's going to change tonight or tomorrow or the day after. We'll wrap filming months from now, and you'll still be outclassed by the prissy elf. Not only that, it wouldn't do for Mirkwood's finest to have circles under his eyes, or shadowed sorrow in his eyes. At least not until Gandalf fell to the Balrog.

Making a face, I clicked off the bathroom light and brailed my way to the bed. Snarling at my whimsical longing to be held – just held - by Viggo, I forced myself to fall asleep.

*"To Each His Dulcinea", Man of La Mancha