vigorli

Title: Home
Author:

soar38
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: G
Beta:

niennas_dreams
Summary: Soul searching.
Notes: This is dedicated to

niennas_dreams, gwathel nin, and also my adorable

matan4il
Disclaimer: I own neither man, nor claim to have anysecret knowledge as to their personal lives.
Song is by Michael Buble.

"Home"

Another summer day
Has come and gone away
In Paris and Rome
But I wanna go home
Mmmmmmmm

Orlando looked out of the window as the passenger jet began its descent. He noticed the buildings and cars that had looked like toys on a monopoly board from high in the clouds, and were only now beginning to look bigger. He watched as the plane dropped lower, appearing to barely clear the trees that surrounded the runway. With a small bump, they touched down, the flaps on the wings opening, sound roaring in his ears as the brakes were applied, and the forward rushing feeling dissipating as their speed was quickly reduced. Then they were crawling forward, making their way to the terminal and the long arms that would connect them back to the rest of the world.

Travelling first class afforded him the advantage of being able to leave the plane first and, after the almost unbearable wait for the connecting arm to make contact, and for the crew to finish all their safety checks, he was leaving, with only a small case accompanying him. For a moment, he forgot where he was, but then he heard the lyrical speech of the airport personnel and he was reminded once more.

This junket had proved tiring, the airports changing frequently, and yet seeming to remain the same. He was travelling with his assistant, who he liked for the simple fact that the man knew when to be quiet. He was ushered through customs, not bothering to stop for the baggage retrieval. Everything he needed was in his small case. He’d become an expert at packing a lot into a small space. Much like these junkets, he supposed.

The ride to the hotel was uneventful and he was quickly shown up to his room by an overly friendly hotel manager, who knew that regardless of the hotel’s discretion towards their VIP guests, word would leak out that Orlando Bloom was staying here, and suddenly there would be a influx of guests. Not to mention the reporters and film crews who would be flocking to his hotel for their interviews.

Orlando allowed his assistant to dismiss the hotel manager, knowing that he probably appeared arrogant to the other man, but simply feeling too tired to really care any more. He tuned out the low mumble of voices as his assistant stated Mr. Bloom’s needs, instead walking over to the large balcony windows and looking out over the city. Everywhere he looked, he saw old, classically carved stone meeting modern glass and chrome. Cars rushed through crowded streets, filling the air with a sense of urgency, and Orlando was suddenly hit by a pain so tangible that his breath hitched in his throat. He felt a longing for the vast openness of home, for the scent of nature inhaled with every breath, for the warm arms of his lover.

Maybe surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel all alone
I just wanna go home
Oh I miss you, you know

The nature of a junket was such that he was given only a couple of hours to freshen up and change before he’d have to begin. First, with the press conference organized by the company backing the movie, followed by a series of short interviews with a number of magazines, TV slots and newspapers, all asking him the same things again and again. He would smile politely, share a few funny anecdotes and talk about how much he admired the director and what the role meant to him, explain his character in simple terms that had long gone past the point of sounding rehearsed. Orlando knew that if he were ever to watch or read any of these interviews, he would cringe in disgust.

During one of the short breaks he was allowed between interviews, he walked over the window again, this time his gaze focusing on the small groups of girls who were hanging around outside the hotel, carrying small banners, pictures and magazines where his face graced the front cover. He admired their dedication, first in ferreting out where he would be staying, and then in giving up their own free time, or using valuable holiday time from work just to come and see him. He would make sure he got downstairs at some point to reward them for their long wait. They were his supporters, the people that influenced the film makers. Where goeth the fans cometh the offers.

He sighed then, as he thought about the majority of offers he received. It seemed that Hollywood was quite happy for you to be good looking and charming, so long as you didn’t want to take on any serious roles. Those were reserved for the Hollywood favourites, or the more… rugged actors, who would be taken seriously for their character roles. He’d never thought, back in Guildhall, that acting would be this political. He knew that he’d be up against a lot of other, more talented actors, but he’d never really thought about how the power behind it all worked, and it had disillusioned him a lot. His mom, who was notorious for buying every magazine he appeared in, had told him that he looked different in pictures now. She’d used the words jaded and tired, and he couldn’t really argue with her. It didn’t matter where he went, which part of the world he was currently in, how many fans turned out to see him, or how many of his own staff followed him; he still felt lonely and he missed home more than ever.

And I’ve been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you
Each one a line or two
“I’m fine baby, how are you?”
Well I would send them but I know that it’s just not enough
My words were cold and flat
And you deserve more than that

Every morning, no matter which part of the world he was in, Orlando would call Viggo’s mobile phone, knowing that it would be turned off, and was probably left on the kitchen counter. He knew Viggo disliked the device, feeling that leaving it on meant he was a slave to it, the urge to answer it becoming irresistible, if only to silence the silly ring tone that a young hobbit had programmed into it. Orlando knew that Viggo would never delete the ring tone, though, because it reminded him of the good times on the few occasions he did have it switched on and it rang. Besides, that was what caller ID was for.

Knowing that Orlando would only reach Viggo’s answer phone made him feel a little less silly for his daily routine. Listening for the automated female voice, directing him to leave his message.

“Hi, Viggo, it’s me.

It’s still early here, wherever it is that I am. I don’t know anymore, everything just seems the same; the people are even beginning to look alike. I don’t really have anything new to tell you. I just wanted to touch base I guess, to imagine you listening to these messages as you sit on the porch, a cold beer in one hand, the dog’s head under the other. It makes smile to think of you, covered in paint-stained sweats, the ones you wear whether or not you’ve been painting, just because you think they’re comfortable.

I’ve been getting the weather reports. Sounds like the season is finally beginning to change, yeah? It makes me sad, because I don’t think I’ve ever been there during the autumn, or the winter. All my little breaks seem to come during the spring or summer. I’d love to be there with you, right now, watching the world change around us.

Anyway, as always, I just wanted to let you know I’m okay, and I… I lo…”

Beeeeeeep!

“To replay this message please press 1, to save this message press 2, to delete this message press 3.”

His finger always found that third button.

He would have loved to speak to Viggo, to hear his voice, but Orlando was too scared. Scared that it would all suddenly become more than he could handle, and that he’d fumble, and Viggo would realize that Orlando is not really what he wants, what he needs. Not like Viggo is everything to Orlando.

Another aeroplane
Another sunny place
I’m lucky I know
But I wanna go home
Mmmm, I’ve got to go home

Let me go home
I’m just too far from where you are
I wanna come home

Orlando has spoken to hundreds of journalists on this junket and many others before. Repeated the same answers to the same old questions, but that doesn’t make them any less true. He is incredibly lucky. He knows that. Was it a simple case of being in the right place at the right time, having the right look at the right time? Who knows! Orlando didn’t, and he wasn’t going to question his good fortune, but the more that his dreams became real, the more he realized it wasn’t really what he wanted after all. He’d come into this business green and naïve, but that hadn’t lasted long.

Although he’d been lucky in his choice of co-stars, ones who didn’t mind imparting invaluable advice to a young, developing actor, he had quickly discovered just how the movie industry worked. The whispering, the back-handers, the back stabbing, the secrecy, the constant façade. And it wore on him. But he felt it would sound hypocritical of him to turn around at this point, after being handed what so many struggled all their lives to achieve, and yet it somehow tasted bitter in his mouth. The only time he ever felt truly happy anymore was when he lay safely embraced in the arms of his love, the warm heat of their bodies lulling him into a satisfied slumber filled with happy ever afters. But he couldn’t have that, not yet.

And I feel just like I’m living someone else’s life
It’s like I just stepped outside
When everything was going right
And I know just why you could not
Come along with me
But this was not your dream
But you always believed in me

Orlando knew that he was the one benefiting most in their relationship. At times his almost unreal career amazed him, left him feeling like he was stepping into larger shoes, much like he’d done when he was little, putting his tiny feet into his father’s black dress shoes, giggling as he tried to take a step forward and tripping over their weight and size, before being scooped up into loving arms and tickled until tears ran from his eyes and his cheeks and belly ached from laughing.

Orlando knew that he was a selfish creature. He’d wanted everything and hadn’t wanted to sacrifice anything to get it. He wanted to see his own name up in lights, hear devoted crowds screaming his name, could imagine himself accepting his first Oscar and the humble speech he would make afterwards. But he wanted his lover, and had refused to allow Viggo to leave when the older man carefully broached the subject of his career.

Viggo was not concerned with fame. The older man seemed quite content in expressing himself through whichever art form took his fancy, most particularly the poetry and painting. It was not about the screaming adulation or the oily folk in Hollywood, who made and broke careers at their whim. But Viggo understood that was what Orlando wanted, and had supported him, even though it meant he had a lover who he saw little of.

Orlando realized his selfish desires had not brought him the happiness he craved, but maybe it wasn’t too late to do something about that.

Another winter day has come
And gone away
And even Paris and Rome
And I wanna go home
Let me go home

And I’m surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel alone
Oh, let me go home
Oh, I miss you, you know

Let me go home
I’ve had my run
Baby, I’m done
I gotta go home
Let me go home
It will all be allright
I’ll be home tonight
I’m coming back home

Viggo heard the dog barking and walked over the kitchen window to see what had excited the animal. He was surprised to see a pick-up truck heading up the dirt road towards his home. Wiping wet hands on a dry towel, he opened the back door and walked out onto the rear porch, waiting for the truck to pull up to a halt, his surprise melting into warmth as he recognized the driver.

The truck’s door opened and dusty boots hit the ground, pausing a moment or two as their owner reached back into the truck to pull out his bags. The dog ran over, barking happily as it inhaled the familiar scent, and a hand reached down to scratch its ears. Taking the bags in hand, the driver kicked shut the truck door and looked over at Viggo, a tentative smile spreading across his face. He approached slowly, ascending the two steps up to the porch before dropping his bags down on either side of him, the dog still following and sniffing at the bags.

“Hi,” Viggo said with a wide grin. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I had enough,” Orlando responded. “The junket was almost over anyway and I…” A soft pause. “I wanted to come home,” he said finally.

Viggo laughed and held open his arms, fielding the lithe body that propelled itself forward, a cold nose burying itself into the crease of his neck, cool lips making contact with his hot skin.

“I’m home,” Orlando breathed happily.

“Yeah, you are!” Viggo said.

The End