vigorli

Title: The Days Without

Rating: NC-17

Category: LotRs RPS

Pariing: VM/OB

Summary: After finishing filming Pirates, Orli returns home to Viggo. There's musings, sex, and declarations of love. Hopefully not incredibly sappy.

Previous Chapters:
1: Waiting for Inspiration
2: Settling
3: Four and A Half
4: Six Years
5: Simply Holding
6: Adjusting

Days without him were days without purpose. Even the hours I spent in my studio were filled with so much less than when he was with me, lying upon the couch against the far wall reading whatever random novel a “mate” had recommended to him, sipping his tea just watching me, or listening to softly playing music. So much less passion went into my work like I could not truly understand. Forty-four years I had spent without him in my life—forty-four years before I knew his smile, his embrace and even longer till I knew his love. But as it was, I had two more days without him until he would be home for four weeks. Just him and I, and Henry for a week.

No matter how worried Orli had been about the effect our relationship on my son, there had been none, Henry loved Orli nearly as much as I. Henry . . . who was happy that I was finally happy, content, so many words to describe the peace I had experienced since being with Orli. All I wanted now was to hold him in my arms, that longing the only emotion the canvas before me would accept and reflect, overwhelming all else.

It was nearly impossible for more than one letter to reach Orli at any given location, and the phone was such a cold instrument though I had often said that Orli’s love was ever tangible. Tangible when he could not hang up the phone without professing his love of me at least three times.

Hollow . . . that was the word. I am hollow without Orlando in my life. I have known love in my life. I’ve been married and I have a son—there is no one in this world that I love more than my son—but Orlando has completed me as a friend, a lover, and a fellow actor. He compliments me, everything lacking in me is so perfectly encapsulated in him. He is everything that I am not and so much more.

As ever, his flight was delayed and by the time I was able to gather Orli into my arms, I know I held him to me with too much strength, fingers tangled into his curls, my body pressed flush against him, placing a brief kiss on the curve of his neck before just holding him, reveling in his warmth, his scent, his beauty. Orli just smiled at the urgency of my embrace and accepted it happily, hugging me not quite as tightly, but it was just what I needed.

I couldn’t release him as we made our way to baggage claim and then to the parking garage—one arm draped over his shoulders. So like Orli, he accepted the contact readily, his arm snaking around my waist. My eyes didn’t stray from him when we stood before the baggage carousel, taking in all I had missed in the past three months. Even as I drove us back to the ranch, I held his hand—not a gesture we often engaged in—stroking my thumb against the back of his wrist. At a stoplight, I couldn’t help but draw him into a kiss and at the next light as well and the next.

Orli was laughing silently to himself by the fourth time. “I missed you too, love,” he assured me softly, squeezing my hand as I reluctantly returned my attention to the road. And from his tone I knew he understood, that he felt a similar longing, though perhaps not the same emptiness as I. So many fell in love with him instantly, whether male or female, loving him for everything he was just as he loved them.

His luggage was forgotten in the trunk of my car and we stood in the doorway of the ranch kissing slowly, my hands tightly gripping his hips. “All I could think about today was how much I love you,” I told him, taking his face between my hands.

“I love you too, Viggo.”

“You complete me.”

He smiled almost faintly, though the happiness shone plainly in his eyes. “And I’ve never been happier.”

I sighed contently and rested my forehead against his. Orli’s eyes fell closed as he pulled me closer by the belt loops of my pants. “I’ll get your bags,” I offered quietly after some moments of just standing there against him. A quick kiss on his nose, but Orli stopped me from moving away.

“Just forget about the bags, yeah?” Orli suggested just as softly. “It’s been too long.”

“Then let’s move out of the doorway.”

Orli glanced up as if he hadn’t realized we’d only made it this far. “That could be for the best,” he laughed and slipped into the house. “You said you’d been working on a new piece.”

“Yeah, it’s almost finished,” I explained, trailing him down the hallway.

“Can I see it?” he asked as he pulled his fleece jacket off and tossed it over the arm of the couch.

“You don’t have to ask—everything that I have, everything that I am is yours anyway.”

He turned, biting his lower lip, looking at me curiously. “You all right?”

I laughed outright at that, understanding immediately why he had become concerned. I stepped close, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I am. Just . . .” I shrugged, “introspective.”

“And what have you discovered in your introspective state?” he asked a hint of teasing in his tone, but there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

“What I said—that I’m complete with you. That I never knew I could feel this way about a person, never knew what I was missing, no matter how clichéd that may sound.”

“It doesn’t, not from you.”

I grinned slightly. “You may be a little biased.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Don’t think I don’t feel the same, I just—I just never know how to say it, not even in clichés. I think about you and I smile so much my face hurts. Leaving gets harder and harder each time. Robin is throwing a fit at how many projects I’ve turned down, but none of it matters if I don’t get to see you. I doesn’t mean half as much as it used to—I can’t work all the time like I used to.”

“Evidentially, I’m not the only one who’s been feeling introspective,” I say for lack of words to speak.

His grin returned and he pushed me away in feigned annoyance. “Show me your painting, you twat.”

Once in the studio, he just stood before the canvas, one arm around his stomach and the other hand over his mouth, his eyes going over every inch again and again. I can see the wetness in his eyes and as usual he knows my soul as well as I do, so there’s no need to explain. The explanation is there, before him in shades of blue, grey, and white—black writing scrawled over all that has been painted. Then he’s just staring at me because it’s all out of my love of him.

But now the painting’s no longer important because he’s here with me. I slip my hands into his and kiss him with all the passion that the canvas could never mimic. His tears are soon on my cheeks as well, though he’s pulling me closer and kissing me back, his fingers unbuttoning my shirt as I’m wiping away his tears with my thumbs.

I didn’t think the first time I made love to him we’d be lying on the floor of my studio. We were too far gone to make it upstairs to the bedroom, though I wouldn’t do this without lube, no matter how much Orli insisted he didn’t care about the pain. He still lay on the floor in the same position as when I left—eyes closed, thighs parted, hands resting on his stomach, recovering from coming in my mouth hard enough that he was still trembling.

“Couch, Orli. I want this to be good for you,” I said taking his hands in mine. Wordlessly, he complied, standing a little shakily. He lay down on his stomach on the couch, his arms draped over the side of the couch with his chin resting on one wrist, legs spread as much as the confines of the couch would allow. I moved between his legs and sat back on my haunches, flicking open the tube.

One hand is on the small of his back, spreading his cheeks and I’m not sure about this position because I won’t be able to see his face. We’ve done no more than two fingers and even that was months ago, so I take it slowly, just sliding one finger inside of him. I push up to the knuckle and slide in and out. Silently, he reaches between his legs to stroke his limp cock, his forehead resting on the armrest. His breath hitches briefly when I find his prostate and stroke it insistently for several moments until he’s breathing heavily, pushing himself up with his other hand as he cups his cock and balls with the other.

A faint noise from him when I withdraw my finger, my concern for Orli outweighing the throbbing of my cock and that precum is already dribbling from it. “Two fingers, ok?”

Orli just looks over his shoulder at me, not saying anything. I slick up two fingers slowly inserting one and then the other that scarcely squeezes inside. He’s breathing deeply to relax his body, but he’s simply tight, no matter if he’s tensed up or not. I doubt a third finger will fit and know without a doubt my dick will hurt if not tear him slightly. My fingers have stilled inside of him and he shifts in discomfort, lying back down and consequently moving himself against my hand which distracts me from my thoughts.

I shift so I’m above him, one hand braced on the armrest between his arms. I draw my fingers back and a muffled grunt escapes his lips as he shifts a little, his ass brushing against my cock and I suck in a deep breath, spreading my fingers inside of him. “Let me see your face, Orlando,” I insist, kissing the nape of his neck.

“I’m fine, keep going,” he insists, pushing himself back on my fingers.

“You’re too tight.”

“No, it’ll be ok.”

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much.”

Orli turns his head now so he can look at me out of the corner of his eye, there’s sweat on his brow to accompany the sheen of perspiration across his back. “I will, don’t worry, love.”

I kiss him on the temple and move back to add more lube and press those two fingers past that tight ring of muscle again. It was a few moments before I would consider trying three, though I doubted I would succeed. “Just do it, Vig,” he urged, spreading his legs a bit more. The hurt was inevitable, I suppose and Orli knew well the limits of his body. I pushed more lube inside of him and slicked up my cock, rising up on my knees so I could align myself with his entrance.

A gasp I heard from him when the head of my dick pressed against the ring of muscle, it expanding slowly to accommodate me. Tight was an understatement and I was holding my breath and gripping the base of my cock—having gone this far, I certainly wasn’t going to come prematurely. I wasn’t going to push too far—I wanted for Orli to enjoy this as well, though I knew he wasn’t going to nearly as much as I was, not at first. His cock was still half hard when I reached around to stroke it as I pushed in further.

“Faster,” Orli urged arching back against my penis as he pushed himself up once more. I gasped, my hand stilling on his cock as the head of my member finally pushed into his body.

“O God,” I ground out, stopping my hips from thrusting forward into him.

“Don’t stop, keep going.”

And I did, pushing inside until I was flush against his body, my hips against his ass, my chest to his back, my arms braced alongside his and his hands clenched his balls and I took up the attention on his cock once more. I was breathing heavily as if I had run a mile, I could feel the insides of his thighs trembling, my body in stark contrast as I kept as still as possible. A groan came from Orlando that I could feel all the way in my groin. He pushed back against me and I pressed my face against his shoulder.

“Too much, too much,” were the only words I could manage and Orlando slowed his movements, but didn’t stop altogether. I changed the angle inside of him and pushed forward, Orli crying out before he could stop it, pressing back against me as his fingers squeezed in-between mine. In slow, short movements, I rocked into him, constantly against his prostate, his penis growing fully erect, though only the occasional soft moan came from him.

“Don’t . . .” I breathed, kissing his ear. “Don’t hold back, I want to hear you.”

I heard him swallow hard and I adjusted myself around his body so I could hold to his hips and thrust harder and faster into him, moans I could just barely hear from him and despite my own grunts, sighs and moans of pleasure from being buried so deeply into the man I loved, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to be staring at his back when I wanted so badly to be staring at his beautiful face. I withdrew from his body, accompanied by held breaths and groans from both of us.

“Vig?” he questioned, letting my hands manipulate him without protest.

“Turn over,” I directed, hands guiding his body even as he complied, lying back against the pillow I placed between his head and the armrest. “You ok?” I asked as I shifted closer to him, spreading his legs, one knee pressed down under his arm, while the other draped about my waist, tightening when I took my dick in hand once more.

“Yeah,” he assure me, hand on his cock, the other carelessly thrown over his head. He should have looked so utterly debauched with his hand on his penis, his legs spread like that, lube glistening on exposed entrance, but I didn’t think it. This was so much more to us than just sex.

His eyes fluttered closed and he took in a deep breath, his body arching to meet mine as I sank into him and at once started to thrust, kissing his face, his mouth, his closed eyes, touching all of him that I could, not understanding for a moment why this privilege was mine. “You’re beautiful,” I muttered against his lips. The pleasure within me was mounting and I thrust faster into him, unbelievable tightness surrounding my cock. His hand rested upon my sweat slick stomach as he met my thrusts as much as possible. Orli’s eyes were squeezed shut, his neck arched, I licked the hollow of his throat, ran the tip of my tongue along his collar bone.

Both of his hands were upon my back now, one gripping my shoulder, the other just holding me as tightly as possible. His body clamped down on me almost the instant I touched his weeping member and he came with a soft cry and I was forced to still my thrusts though with his body pulsing around my cock, the little control I had slipped away and I came with shuddering force inside of him, my face pressed against Orlando’s hard shoulder, muffling my cry of pleasure. I pushed against him harder, holding down his hips, unable to move until his orgasm abated. A few more thrusts with just my hips before I just lay against him, breathing as heavily as he was.

I started to withdraw from his body, which was still intermittently clenching gently on my softening cock, but Orlis’ arms tightened around me. “Don’t go,” he murmured.

I turned my head to look at him, pushing myself up despite his protests and allowed his leg to slip from my shoulder and then gathered him in my arms, kissing his neck leisurely as I gradually began to calm. I hadn’t intended on coming inside of him, but neither had I expected such pleasure, such tightness and warmth. “I hurt you,” I determined from his gasp when I finally withdrew after a while of us lying there, my head on his chest, our arms around each other, my lying between his strong legs.

“Not badly, not much. It burned, that’s all,” he assured me, kissing beneath my eye. “It was good, Vig, better than I thought.” I looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Tales from my misspent youth.” I laughed at that, though it was more of a snort and I kissed his chest. “We don’t have to move, do we?”

“I don’t believe I am capable,” I admitted and he grinned, his arms tightening around me.

“I love you so much, Viggo.”