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vigorliTitle: Adjusting
Rating: R
Category: LotR RPS
Pairings: VM/OB
Summary: Sometimes there is need for adjustments, other times things just come naturally. Nothing is ever perfect. A longer chapter than previously almost 2,000 words.
Previous chapters: simply holding
It wasn’t what I expected, being with Orli—then again, he wasn’t like many people, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. It has been slow going so far, it has to be with Orlando promoting Kingdom of Heaven and working on Elizabethtown. Now it was just Pirates, which was delayed on and off due to weather and other factors. Gone was the beard and pronounced muscles, replaced with the goatee and his slimmer frame. It took effort, especially with him being gone so frequently, not that I didn’t have my own work—A History of Violence and Alatriste. Henry said that we were disgustingly in love and I don’t doubt the truth of that statement—Orlando just had the tendency to snicker evilly when he says that and further prove my son’s point. But yes, I am in love, whole-heartedly and apparently, nauseatingly so.
As I said, it has been slow, not as I expected. Neither of us are new to relationships or physical intimacy and it isn’t the reason that we are both men. I’ve always been contentious of Orli’s moods, the way he speaks, his posture in case his back hurts, everything about him, truth be told, and I’ve been aware that he wants to take it slow though he hasn’t said as much. We went no further than kissing and touching for weeks and I felt like a teenager (though certainly in the fondest sense)—Orli didn’t help with his reaction when Henry would come through the door unexpectedly and he’d suddenly be halfway across the room from me. It took some adjustment for all of us, I won’t deny that fact.
Adjustment. . . . Some things don’t require adjustments, some things just come natural. For the first time in a while, we’re both in LA at the same time, not an occurrence that happens often. He goes to his place because his plane arrives late at night—he sounded exhausted on the phone and I know it’s not just from filming. It’s been too long without him, so I can hardly stay at home when Orli’s only just across town. When I arrive, his house is dark, so I enter quietly, leaving my shoes near the door and pad barefoot to his bedroom. He’s lying on his back with his face turned away from me, in the center of the bed as usual (which normally ends up being the case no matter if I’m with him or not). A glass of water is on the bedside table along with his pills and he has two pillows beneath his knees. One hand rests upon his chest, his wrist arched just slightly and the other one is stretched out from his body as if he’s reaching out to me.
So I take his hand and slid into bed with him, slipping under the sheet that has been restricted to Orli’s lower body despite the coolness of the evening. I lay next to him, not touching him other than his hand, which reflexively tightens in my grasp and he turns to face me without even waking. I accept his body against mine, Orli pressing his face against the hollow of my throat as if that’s where he belongs and sliding his knee between my thighs to mold his body against mine.
“You’re warm,” he mumbles, slipping his arms around me and hugging me tightly as if we could possibly be any closer.
I smile as I press a kiss to his forehead and rub his lower back between my fingers and thumb in a way that normally makes Orlando relax against me or “turn to jelly” as he puts it. He arches sharply against me, stiffening and his breath hitches briefly and my hands are off him as if I had been burned. Burned indeed, because Orli had never reacted so strongly to my touch. A frown creases his brow even though he relaxes against me once more, not caring that I had just been the one who brought him such pain, and he’s yet to open his eyes. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Hurts,” comes the murmured response, but then he becomes more coherent, tilting his head back so he can look at me. “You came.”
“I did. I didn’t want to wake you.”
A faint smile and his eye lids finally part just slightly as he quickly nips at my lips. “Glad you did. I’ve missed you.” He rolls me over flat on my back as he kisses my collarbone, my throat, and is soon swirling his tongue about my nipple. “More than you know.”
I lay there beneath him, once more enjoying the feel of him so close, the press of his body against mine, the strength of his thighs on either side of my hips. The roughness of his hands, the softness of his lips, the love I can feel from every single touch. His smell, his taste, by God—his touch. Sleep is the farthest thing from my mind at this moment and though I would love to be coaxed to a mind-blowing orgasm still confined in my jeans, my concern for him is more prominent than the bulge in my jeans.
“I thought you were sleepy,” I stated, my hands on his hips.
“Knackered.”
The word stated as one hand slips beneath my jeans and boxers to coax me to further hardness if at all possible. His hands are cold as is the rest of him; I know Orli hates being cold and I know that doesn’t help his back. That doesn’t stop me from reacting to his touch, but only encourages me to warm him up properly. I reverse our positions, laying him back slowly so the motion doesn’t antagonize his back. He’s wasting no time in undoing my pants and freeing me from those confines. Despite his drowsy state, he’s moving quickly, stroking me with a strong and callused hand while he kisses me with such fervor. Even after these months together his passion can still be over-whelming. He’s passionate about everything he does as if he puts all of himself into every action. It’s one of his most attractive features as a person and an actor—how genuine he is. It’s too fast though, the skill of his touch will have me coming before I can even touch him properly, too fast for how long it’s been since we’ve been together last.
I grab his wrists and pin them above his hands though I know he could free himself if he particularly wanted to, but he seems inclined to let me take charge now, enjoying the long kiss between us, me pressed against his solid body. For all the worry I have for not aggravating his back, he cannot lay still beneath me, though he’s not the one hard as a rock. Despite the passion in his movements, in his touch and his kiss, when I cup his cock and balls through his boxers, he’s not even remotely hard. I redouble my attempts, touching, kissing, and licking him in all the places that make him shiver, sigh, or moan. Every reaction is diminished and I don’t doubt it’s because of those painkillers on the bedside table. His traditional responsiveness is replaced by this longing desperation in his touch and movements that I want to know the origin of.
Although he arches into my touch, kisses me in return, and is breathing heavily—I know the man I love. I know that everything is not all right and though he may want this, his body undoubtedly simply wants rest. Rarely does Orlando let his body dictate his actions, he loathes being bound by those pills the fine line between needing them and depending on them, he stretches everyday already so the muscles of his back won’t stiffen or spasm. He can walk though, he can walk and ride horses and throw himself off cable cars and surf or whatever else even if he has to live with the pain everyday, but he can still do it.
“You ok?” I breathed against his neck as I tugged off his boxer briefs and discarded them haphazardly. He spreads his legs as soon as he’s free of the unwanted garment and I settle in between his thighs, taking his flaccid member in hand and circle his navel with my tongue.
“Of course,” he responds breathily, clearly thinking that I wasn’t suited for being on top as he attempted to switch positions, but I held him down firmly. His eyes opened again, a frown on his face, not understanding my concern.
“Orlando.”
He sighed heavily and laid back, no longer resisting, no longer touching, just closing his eyes as if he had drifted back to sleep. “It’s just the pills,” he admits as I release his wrists.
“It’s not just the pills.”
“Please,” he pleaded, running his hands up my chest and slipped them around my neck, drawing me down against him. Orli wasn’t one to plead or beg, not in the bedroom, not in anything but jest, not with such a desperate tone of voice. When I said I noticed his moods, this wasn’t one I could understand; I had never seen Orli this way. Normally when his back bothered him too badly, he’s just wanted to stretch for a while, take a long hot shower maybe with some leisurely fondling attached and then sleep until his medication wore off. They had never affected him enough so he couldn’t have an erection, though I had the idea it was the pain the pain killers couldn’t touch that were preventing his full appreciation of my affections. “Just touch me. I just want you. I want . . .” he trailed off, wanting to mask his incomplete admission with another kiss, but I didn’t let it remain unsaid.
“Want what?”
Those tired brown orbs opened again, seeming uncertain in a way I hadn’t seen from Orlando in a long time. “Make love to me.”
“Lando . . .” I kiss his forehead and stroke the side of his face. I wanted to, by all that is holy, I wanted to, but not like this. Not with him in so much pain that I could see it in his eyes. “Not tonight.”
His soft whimper is barely audible and plainly distressed as he presses his face into my palm, just lying there and breathing deeply. “I know it’ll hurt, I—I don’t care. I want to do this,” he explained turning his eyes up to meet mine.
“You’re already hurt. I’m not going to compound that no matter how much I want to. There will be other days, there are always other days.”
Silence now as I lay above him, the only sound is our breathing. I’m staring at him and his eyes remain open though his eyes are completely diverted from me. He kisses my palm and then he shifts and I know what he wants. I move away from him to remove my jeans and boxers while he rolls onto his side. I settle behind him, holding him against me, my cock half-hard against his thigh, his body tense despite the familiar position.
“I’m sorry,” he says after some minutes.
“You shouldn’t be.”
He turns his head to look at me. “I am.”
“Then I forgive you.”
He blinks four times as his eyes grow suddenly shiny and I tighten my arms around him. “I love you.”
I kiss him on the corner of the mouth, then again on the mouth, sucking briefly on his tongue before answering against soft flesh. “And I love you.”
Rating: R
Category: LotR RPS
Pairings: VM/OB
Summary: Sometimes there is need for adjustments, other times things just come naturally. Nothing is ever perfect. A longer chapter than previously almost 2,000 words.
Previous chapters: simply holding
It wasn’t what I expected, being with Orli—then again, he wasn’t like many people, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. It has been slow going so far, it has to be with Orlando promoting Kingdom of Heaven and working on Elizabethtown. Now it was just Pirates, which was delayed on and off due to weather and other factors. Gone was the beard and pronounced muscles, replaced with the goatee and his slimmer frame. It took effort, especially with him being gone so frequently, not that I didn’t have my own work—A History of Violence and Alatriste. Henry said that we were disgustingly in love and I don’t doubt the truth of that statement—Orlando just had the tendency to snicker evilly when he says that and further prove my son’s point. But yes, I am in love, whole-heartedly and apparently, nauseatingly so.
As I said, it has been slow, not as I expected. Neither of us are new to relationships or physical intimacy and it isn’t the reason that we are both men. I’ve always been contentious of Orli’s moods, the way he speaks, his posture in case his back hurts, everything about him, truth be told, and I’ve been aware that he wants to take it slow though he hasn’t said as much. We went no further than kissing and touching for weeks and I felt like a teenager (though certainly in the fondest sense)—Orli didn’t help with his reaction when Henry would come through the door unexpectedly and he’d suddenly be halfway across the room from me. It took some adjustment for all of us, I won’t deny that fact.
Adjustment. . . . Some things don’t require adjustments, some things just come natural. For the first time in a while, we’re both in LA at the same time, not an occurrence that happens often. He goes to his place because his plane arrives late at night—he sounded exhausted on the phone and I know it’s not just from filming. It’s been too long without him, so I can hardly stay at home when Orli’s only just across town. When I arrive, his house is dark, so I enter quietly, leaving my shoes near the door and pad barefoot to his bedroom. He’s lying on his back with his face turned away from me, in the center of the bed as usual (which normally ends up being the case no matter if I’m with him or not). A glass of water is on the bedside table along with his pills and he has two pillows beneath his knees. One hand rests upon his chest, his wrist arched just slightly and the other one is stretched out from his body as if he’s reaching out to me.
So I take his hand and slid into bed with him, slipping under the sheet that has been restricted to Orli’s lower body despite the coolness of the evening. I lay next to him, not touching him other than his hand, which reflexively tightens in my grasp and he turns to face me without even waking. I accept his body against mine, Orli pressing his face against the hollow of my throat as if that’s where he belongs and sliding his knee between my thighs to mold his body against mine.
“You’re warm,” he mumbles, slipping his arms around me and hugging me tightly as if we could possibly be any closer.
I smile as I press a kiss to his forehead and rub his lower back between my fingers and thumb in a way that normally makes Orlando relax against me or “turn to jelly” as he puts it. He arches sharply against me, stiffening and his breath hitches briefly and my hands are off him as if I had been burned. Burned indeed, because Orli had never reacted so strongly to my touch. A frown creases his brow even though he relaxes against me once more, not caring that I had just been the one who brought him such pain, and he’s yet to open his eyes. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Hurts,” comes the murmured response, but then he becomes more coherent, tilting his head back so he can look at me. “You came.”
“I did. I didn’t want to wake you.”
A faint smile and his eye lids finally part just slightly as he quickly nips at my lips. “Glad you did. I’ve missed you.” He rolls me over flat on my back as he kisses my collarbone, my throat, and is soon swirling his tongue about my nipple. “More than you know.”
I lay there beneath him, once more enjoying the feel of him so close, the press of his body against mine, the strength of his thighs on either side of my hips. The roughness of his hands, the softness of his lips, the love I can feel from every single touch. His smell, his taste, by God—his touch. Sleep is the farthest thing from my mind at this moment and though I would love to be coaxed to a mind-blowing orgasm still confined in my jeans, my concern for him is more prominent than the bulge in my jeans.
“I thought you were sleepy,” I stated, my hands on his hips.
“Knackered.”
The word stated as one hand slips beneath my jeans and boxers to coax me to further hardness if at all possible. His hands are cold as is the rest of him; I know Orli hates being cold and I know that doesn’t help his back. That doesn’t stop me from reacting to his touch, but only encourages me to warm him up properly. I reverse our positions, laying him back slowly so the motion doesn’t antagonize his back. He’s wasting no time in undoing my pants and freeing me from those confines. Despite his drowsy state, he’s moving quickly, stroking me with a strong and callused hand while he kisses me with such fervor. Even after these months together his passion can still be over-whelming. He’s passionate about everything he does as if he puts all of himself into every action. It’s one of his most attractive features as a person and an actor—how genuine he is. It’s too fast though, the skill of his touch will have me coming before I can even touch him properly, too fast for how long it’s been since we’ve been together last.
I grab his wrists and pin them above his hands though I know he could free himself if he particularly wanted to, but he seems inclined to let me take charge now, enjoying the long kiss between us, me pressed against his solid body. For all the worry I have for not aggravating his back, he cannot lay still beneath me, though he’s not the one hard as a rock. Despite the passion in his movements, in his touch and his kiss, when I cup his cock and balls through his boxers, he’s not even remotely hard. I redouble my attempts, touching, kissing, and licking him in all the places that make him shiver, sigh, or moan. Every reaction is diminished and I don’t doubt it’s because of those painkillers on the bedside table. His traditional responsiveness is replaced by this longing desperation in his touch and movements that I want to know the origin of.
Although he arches into my touch, kisses me in return, and is breathing heavily—I know the man I love. I know that everything is not all right and though he may want this, his body undoubtedly simply wants rest. Rarely does Orlando let his body dictate his actions, he loathes being bound by those pills the fine line between needing them and depending on them, he stretches everyday already so the muscles of his back won’t stiffen or spasm. He can walk though, he can walk and ride horses and throw himself off cable cars and surf or whatever else even if he has to live with the pain everyday, but he can still do it.
“You ok?” I breathed against his neck as I tugged off his boxer briefs and discarded them haphazardly. He spreads his legs as soon as he’s free of the unwanted garment and I settle in between his thighs, taking his flaccid member in hand and circle his navel with my tongue.
“Of course,” he responds breathily, clearly thinking that I wasn’t suited for being on top as he attempted to switch positions, but I held him down firmly. His eyes opened again, a frown on his face, not understanding my concern.
“Orlando.”
He sighed heavily and laid back, no longer resisting, no longer touching, just closing his eyes as if he had drifted back to sleep. “It’s just the pills,” he admits as I release his wrists.
“It’s not just the pills.”
“Please,” he pleaded, running his hands up my chest and slipped them around my neck, drawing me down against him. Orli wasn’t one to plead or beg, not in the bedroom, not in anything but jest, not with such a desperate tone of voice. When I said I noticed his moods, this wasn’t one I could understand; I had never seen Orli this way. Normally when his back bothered him too badly, he’s just wanted to stretch for a while, take a long hot shower maybe with some leisurely fondling attached and then sleep until his medication wore off. They had never affected him enough so he couldn’t have an erection, though I had the idea it was the pain the pain killers couldn’t touch that were preventing his full appreciation of my affections. “Just touch me. I just want you. I want . . .” he trailed off, wanting to mask his incomplete admission with another kiss, but I didn’t let it remain unsaid.
“Want what?”
Those tired brown orbs opened again, seeming uncertain in a way I hadn’t seen from Orlando in a long time. “Make love to me.”
“Lando . . .” I kiss his forehead and stroke the side of his face. I wanted to, by all that is holy, I wanted to, but not like this. Not with him in so much pain that I could see it in his eyes. “Not tonight.”
His soft whimper is barely audible and plainly distressed as he presses his face into my palm, just lying there and breathing deeply. “I know it’ll hurt, I—I don’t care. I want to do this,” he explained turning his eyes up to meet mine.
“You’re already hurt. I’m not going to compound that no matter how much I want to. There will be other days, there are always other days.”
Silence now as I lay above him, the only sound is our breathing. I’m staring at him and his eyes remain open though his eyes are completely diverted from me. He kisses my palm and then he shifts and I know what he wants. I move away from him to remove my jeans and boxers while he rolls onto his side. I settle behind him, holding him against me, my cock half-hard against his thigh, his body tense despite the familiar position.
“I’m sorry,” he says after some minutes.
“You shouldn’t be.”
He turns his head to look at me. “I am.”
“Then I forgive you.”
He blinks four times as his eyes grow suddenly shiny and I tighten my arms around him. “I love you.”
I kiss him on the corner of the mouth, then again on the mouth, sucking briefly on his tongue before answering against soft flesh. “And I love you.”
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Date: 2005-11-02 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-02 04:50 am (UTC)Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to read this beautiful, amazing series.
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Date: 2005-11-02 11:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-02 12:00 pm (UTC)