vigorli

Title: Sevilla, Trailers, & Bedrooms

Category: LotR RPS

Pairings: VM/OB

Summary: Inspired by Kurt Halsey’s painting Duluth, MN, which read: “What would it take to live there to get there and make it make a life with you.”

Rating: NC-17

Author's Note: Sorry about the Spanish and the French, I don't speak either language. This is set before "Idaho" in this more or less series that I'm writing. You don't have to read the others to understand this, but it couldn't hurt. The song is "Opened Once" by Jeff Buckley.

Previous Chapter

Practicing lines with Unax held Orlando’s interest for longer than I expected. While his Spanish was conversational at best, he understood it easier because of his grasp of French. Soon enough he had retreated into the bedroom of my trailer for a “kip” as he always called it after a sleepy wave to Unax. He was staying at a hotel in Sevilla, but didn’t want to spend more time there than he had to. Still fully dressed, he was draped over the bed face down his feet hanging off the end.

I crawled over him and settled on top of him, resting my chin on his shoulder. “Es usted dormido?”

“I could be.”

“I’m supposed to be speaking Spanish.”

“Lo siento. I can talk French to you,” he offered opening his eyes finally. “Je vous ai manqué.”

“Say that again.”

“You don’t even know what I said,” he laughed, tipping his chin up when I kissed his throat.

“It sounded good. It sounded like you meant it.”

“I did. I said I missed you. Je vous ai manqué. I missed you.”

“La falté también.”

“You feel good.”

“I probably feel heavy.”

“No . . . just warm. Besides, I’m very partial to being squished.”

I sighed in exasperation and made to move off him but he reached back quickly and snagged the front of my shirt while turning over. “How is it going so far?”

“Well enough. We’ve been using some beautiful locations as I guess you already know. It’s difficult to try and capture so much history in one movie. Diego’s an interesting character. . . . I have an accent.”

“Only a little. Better than me being American.”

“You just sound a little country sometimes.”

“Country,” he laughed. “Yeah, that’s me: Country Bob.”

“I think you’re more of a Joe myself.”

“Yeah all the way from Warshington Missourah.”

“God, that was frightening.”

“How ‘bout sugah, ah am Country Joe from Arkansass.”

He was still laughing when I kissed him. His eyes were still shining when I pulled back, a faint smile still pulling at his lips. He looked relaxed, content even, I loved that look of ease upon his face and I just stared at him and he at me for a long while, but not nearly long enough. After long moments of silence, he reached up and ran his thumb over my moustache. “That feels strange.”

“Need I mention the pot and the kettle?”

“No, wait . . . oy! Come here you wanker,” he retorted pulling me down by the front of my shirt and kissing me hard. I rested my full weight on him after he spread his legs a bit so I could settle between them. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply and I rose and fell a bit with each breath. His body was strong beneath me—thick muscles and a solid, sturdy frame.

I couldn’t help but think that I could never just relax completely like this with a woman, in a woman’s arms. Quite frankly, I had never really thought about it, never thought the change in positions could feel so significant. I raised up on one elbow to run my hand over his torso.

“You’re tense,” I murmured into his ear, strange also to be the same height as the person I was with.

“Not from this.”

“What are you thinking about?” I asked, sitting back on my haunches, forcing his legs to spread a bit more, his thighs on top of mine.

“I don’t really know. A bit of everything, I guess,” he responded quietly as I unbuttoned his shirt. I couldn’t help but noticed he was breathing a bit faster even though I had only intended to try and ease some of that tension. It took some time to make the muscles of his shoulders even slightly malleable. The soft moans and heavy breathing that occasionally came from him and the way he lightly trailed his fingertips over my sides and lower back beneath my shirt was too much for me to be unaffected by. That and I could feel the press of his hard cock through his pants and my jeans.

After he was completely free of this tension that came from what, I didn’t know, I rested my weight against him once more and I was sure that he was aware of my sympathizing state of arousal. His eyes opened when I slipped a hand between us and cupped him through his pants lightly. “Do you want me to do something about this?” Silence as Orlando looked up at me, not sure how he wanted to answer. “Either way, Orli . . .”

Looking into my eyes, he was nodding, “Yeah,” he consented, fingers reaching for the bottom of my shirt even as he spoke. After tossing aside my shirt, I ran my hands over his chest with a much different purpose and he arched into my touch when my fingers skated over his already hard nipples.

He sat up to kiss me even as I was pulling his legs over my hips. His hands were on my ass and my denim covered erection pushed hard against his balls. Pulling away from the kiss, he gasped and pressed back against me. I laid him back and held his hands to the bed, just kissing and grinding my cock against his ass. I was breathing as heavily as he was and I was sure the beat of my heart was audible now. Now with one hand, I pulled up one of his legs so I could press my hips to him. He was clutching me tightly as I thrust against him like we were fucking, breathing heavily, back arched, us chest-to chest. It was too much and not enough.

“Take off your clothes,” I panted into his ear and then pushed away from him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he slipped off his shoes, nervousness making his hands tremble as he took of his socks and then started with his belt. While I was watching in earnest, he didn’t glance back at me. Once he was naked, he shivered a bit despite the time of year and awkwardly faced me, not knowing what to do with his hands. Words to reassure him I forced myself not to utter because they tended to make him more uncomfortable when he was particularly unsure.

I’d never push you, I wanted to say to him, but I just thought it instead. As I approached him, he scooted back into the centre of the bed. This time, I laid next to him and caressed the side of his face. I wondered why he was doing this if his conviction was so strong, though I no it’s probably not just that, more so all the societal influences that we both grew up with. I kissed the hollow of his throat and held him closer with a hand on the small of his back. His light kisses are on my shoulder and he stroking my side with those callused hands.

He shuddered when I ran my middle finger over his entrance. He turns his face away from me and spreads his legs wider even as he closes his eyes and it’s wrong, all wrong. He’s not breathing heavily because of lust or anticipation; his eyes aren’t closed because he simply can’t keep them open; his grip isn’t tight on my forearm because he can barely hold himself back. So I stroked the back of his thigh and up over his groin until I’m just caressing the jut of his hip bone. His eyes opened again and his face is staid, focused as he strokes my cock. He’s watching his hand and my cock and my face and I tried not to watch him because . . . because . . . not because he would stop but because I knew he didn’t want me to.

Wish a push on my shoulder and a lift of his hips, he’s moving on top of me and before he can say anything, I turn on my stomach and raise up on my hands and knees. I release a shaky breath when his body is flush against me and his hard cock is between my legs. He presses a kiss to my temple and fists my cock. Another kiss on my shoulder and I can’t help but moan and shift under his ministrations. I reach between my legs to touch his cock, but he grabs my arm and whispers a soft “please” near my ear.

And I think this is so different from how it is done today. All sex first and maybe love later. Love we had and for years at that. A friendship, companionship, an ease between us, contentment. Those things came almost easily for us, though of course every relationship required work, adjusting. This was the unfamiliar awkwardness between us. It seemed as if we wanted the physical to work as well as everything else, but we didn’t talk and compromise and sacrifice as with everything else, we just adjusted. We tested each other’s boundaries to find answers to question that should have been asked.

He put his arm around my chest and sat back and I wish him as he stroked my dick faster now with more sureness in each movement. I was breathing quickly against his chest, my body feeling hot against his. He kissed the base of my skull over and over and I held the arm around my chest with both hands. “I love you,” he whispered against my hair. “I love you so much.” His voice was hoarse and rough and I reached back to cradle his head, turning to kiss him at the same time. “I love you,” he kept saying as if he wasn’t sure he said it enough. He kissed me each time after as if he was making sure I knew, not because he wanted to hear it in return.

I came with his tongue in my mouth, gripping his arm tightly all over his hand and he was breathing as if he had come too, though I could feel the press of his cock against my balls and knew it was only my semen that covered him. “Orlando . . .”

“Don’t,” he said and he followed me down to the bed. We were facing this time and he was lying on top of me. So I wrapped my arms around him. It wasn’t until our breathing returned to normal that he got up and went into the bathroom, but I couldn’t just leave it alone. I followed him inside and he gives me a pained, almost desperate look as he fumbles in the closet for a washcloth.

Once he found one, he took to sitting on the toilet lid and wipes my cum from his still semi-erect cock and his hand and I do the same, hoping to give him some of the time he wanted when he came in here.

“Is this what a mid-life crisis feels like?” When I look into his eyes I realize it’s not a joke in the slightest. “I don’t want you to be that. I want just to let myself be touched by you.”

I don’t know how to console him even though I kneel before him and put a hand on his knee. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you’ll wait for me, that you understand even if you really don’t. That you don’t think I’m some scared fucked up little boy. That you know that I love you and . . . and you understand that this is me trying to get over my own bullshit and that you’re still the same loving, patient, amazing Viggo that you’ve always been to me. That this will be all right between us eventually.”

I kiss his mouth until he calms down and is holding my shoulders. “I will wait forever for you,” I promised him, cupping his face in my hands when he tries to look away. “I think I do understand what you’re going through and I’ll wait and I’ll wait and I’ll love you the same. You’re a man with his own beliefs and convictions and morality and I know you’re scared, but so am I. It’s not bullshit, this is the heart of the man I love, the man who loves me. And I swear to you, it will be all right, that we’ll work this out just like we do everything else.”

• • •

When I woke the next morning, the space beside me was empty and cold and I thought for a minute that he had left without saying goodbye. Seeing his small bag on the bedside table, I rose from the bed and barely finished zipping up my jeans by the time I stepped out of the trailer. Fingers interlaced behind his head, watching the sunrise and singing to himself, he’s lying on asphalt, sprawled really like he just fell there and decided it was as good a place as any. We’re not the only ones up this early and I can see one of the costume ladies giving him a strange look as she passes.

“I once was open/ and one with a traveling heart/ I loved this sweet guy,” he sang, not hearing my approach. He turned his head when I sat next to him and he reached out and just took the hem of my jeans between his fingers, fiddling with it.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Orlando returned. “I have to leave in an hour.”

“I know.”

Then he rose quickly, dropping a strong hand on my shoulder. “Come inside, if I hug you like I want to, you won’t hear the end of it.”

I followed him back inside the trailer, resisting the temptation to take his hand. His arms are around me, his face buried against my neck, his body pressed against mine as if he thinks he can just press inside, scarcely waiting for the door to close in spite of his previous concern. Despite the discomfort, the flagging confidence, we can still just hold each other. I wondered what it would be like when we became comfortable with this. I would say that we weren’t around each other enough to argue, but after having younger brothers, an ex-wife and a teenage son, I knew that wasn’t true. We didn’t argue and it was strange to say the leas. I had heard Orlando argue with Kate, Robin, even his mom, and just once with the hobbits on occasion back in NZ. He wasn’t the argumentative type, but we still lived together and had known each other for years.

“Thank you for flying out here. I missed you.” He smiled against my neck and held me a bit tighter. “We’re going to be ok, Lan.”

“I want that, more than anything.”

“Then we’ll make it happen. Just . . . don’t expect too much of yourself too soon. Everything takes time, you know that.”

“Yeah,” he conceded, stepping back. “You want to go to breakfast before I go? I know this great café in the city centre—La Campana.”

“Sounds good.”

He beamed. “You have to try their almond biscuits.”

“Lenguas de almendra.”

“Show off.”

I laughed and took him into my arms again. “You’re still tired.”

A shrug. “I’ll sleep on the plane. I’ve mastered that art now.”

“I love you.”

He smiled a soft smile. “I love you.”