vigorli

Title: Breathing Room (10/?)
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: The kingdom of heaven

Rating/Warnings: R. All made up. There's not a lick of truth in it.
Disclaimer: Don't own them; don't know anything about them - they are their own.
A/N: Feedback would really make my day.
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Previous Chapters Look under Personal Fics

July 2002, Wellington, New Zealand

Viggo was still chuckling intermittently as he peeled out of his damp clothes, leaving them spilled on the bathroom floor.

"Still can't believe you actually followed me," he said. "But damn, I'm glad you did."

"How could I not?" Orlando asked, still grinning as he stepped into the doorway, wrapped in a hotel blanket. "You're my king."

"And the moon, splintered on the water..."

"It was perfect. And I've missed you so." Orlando ran a hand through Viggo's damp shaggy hair, shorter than Aragorn's, but longer than it had been all year. "Come to bed."

"We're back to hotel rooms," Viggo said, throwing the bathroom into darkness and following Orlando to the king-size bed. "Don't know why I ever thought we'd be away from them."

"I'll be home- I'll be with you," Orlando half-stuttered, "part of August. Maybe most of it."

Viggo slid his knuckles softly across the line of Orlando's cheek and down his jaw, offering him a small, slightly wistful smile. "You can call it home, Lan. If you want to. I'd like that."

Orlando closed his eyes for a deep breath, slow in and slow out, before replying. "You give so much to me, Vig. You- you've made a place in your life for me. I guess I don't really understand why."

Viggo ran his fingers into the tangle of soft brown curls and let his thumb rest on Orlando's cheekbone. He lay on his bent arm and just looked at the younger man for a long time before answering, but Orlando had learned that Viggo's silences weren't fraught with anything. They were just silences, while he thought. He liked to get things right, when he spoke.

"When you couldn't find your onyx cufflinks and I remembered they were in the pantry because they reminded me of black beans one day and I wanted to see how the contrast of matte and gloss would look, and you called me a few names I'm sure your mother didn't teach you and I figured you were pretty pissed, but then a few minutes later you came out and kissed me and said I was a daft bugger and that you loved me."

Orlando pondered this rather unexpected revelation for a moment, then reached up to touch Viggo's face, echoing the other man's position, and smiled. "I'm finding it rather frightening that I actually understand that," he said softly.

"Maybe that's part of the reason, too." Viggo leaned over to kiss Orlando's forehead tenderly, getting a mouthful of damp curls for his trouble.

"Viggo Mortensen, you're a complete tosser," Orlando said with a grin. "You're sloppy, disorganized and alarmingly single-minded. Your personal hygiene, mate, has dicey moments. I'm pretty sure you're certifiably insane. But you have the most brilliant mind I've ever known. You have enough artistic talent for three people and you've a heart the size of the universe. I'm astonished that you've let me into your world."

"You're gonna make my head swell."

"That's not the only thing I'm gonna make swell," Orlando riposted, feeling a need to turn the tide of the conversation. He slid his hand down from Viggo's face to his belly and leaned in to catch his lips in a kiss that left nothing open to question.

Later, spooned against Viggo's warmth in the ice-cold room - the man would set the air-conditioning on sub-arctic any chance he got - Orlando leaned back against the comforting drum of his lover's heartbeat, languidly content.

"Vig, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," came the lazily drawled response in the darkness.

"Everybody, but everybody, calls me beautiful. Always have, since I was a kid. But you never do."

Viggo's fingertips drew lazy patterns on Orlando's belly.

"Well?" Orlando asked.

"Waiting for a question." One fingertip swirled around his navel, spiraling inward and then out. "That was a statement."

Orlando exhaled hard through his nose. "You can be such an asswipe."

Viggo chuckled, a soft rumble that stirred the hair on Orlando's nape and gave him an involuntary shiver.

"Don't call you beautiful 'cause you already know it. People tell you all the time. Figure you get sick of it." Viggo shrugged, the motion transferring itself against Orlando's back. "Like I get sick of being called intense. And a fucking Renaissance man." A dismissive snort.

"But... you do think I'm ... y'know..."

"Oh, Lan." Viggo sighed and pulled the younger man back against his chest in a warm embrace, raising his head to rest his chin on Orlando's shoulder. "You have bone structure, well... people would pay money for. The overall shape of your face and your nose will be ...um... macho handsome when you've grown into them a bit more. Your mouth begs to be kissed. And you have the most glorious eyes I've ever seen. Shall I continue?"

Orlando was glad it was dark, because he was blushing ten shades of crimson - five shades over embarrassment for even asking and five more over embarrassment from Viggo's words. "N-Nah."

"No." Viggo pressed a line of kisses along Orlando's shoulder. "Let me tell you what I see when I look at you, Lan. I see the way your mouth fits a smile better than any other expression, and wants to go there every chance it gets. I see that little imperfection in your nose that tells me you haven't spent your whole life being a pampered beauty. I see the sparkle of joy in your eyes, and the glint of mischief, the warmth of compassion and the constant gleam of intelligence, and that just makes me melt. That's what I see. And how your features, or your body, are shaped has very little to do with it. If you were suddenly in a wheelchair, I'd feel the same way. If you were in an accident that marred your face forever, I'd still feel the same way."

Orlando held motionless against the unusual onslaught of words until he realized his face was wet. At that, fine tremors began to rattle through his body, and he wiggled his way around to cuddle up against Viggo's chest.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered against the tickly chest hair.

"Like hell," Viggo said, and his voice was rough. "Just wait til I leave your underwear in the freezer."

It honestly took a moment for that sentence to wind its way through the dense emotions in Orlando's brain, but when it did, he giggled.

"You're giggling," Viggo said, grinning.

"I do not giggle."

"I heard you. That was a giggle."

"You snore."

"So what. All us manly men snore."

Whap.

"Shit!" Viggo burst into laughter. "You got to quit sucker-punching me in bed, elf boy."

"Or what?"

"Or this..."

August 2002

The house is dark, quiet, interrupted only by the hissing chatter of sprinklers doing their nightly duty. Inside, two forms nestle comfortably on a familiar bed, voices soft in the cool midnight.

"A boxer, huh? Wanna go a few rounds?"

"You don't stand a chance, old man."

"Hidalgo starts in October."

"Damn, that's just when I'm back here to start Pirates. Thought we'd have some time then."

"Both working for the Mouse. Who'da thought?"

Soft laughter and the angel-wing rustle of sheets as bodies adjust.

"That tickles."

"Is that all? It's supposed to do more than that."

Another laugh, and a grunt. Moonlight plays through lace curtains to write heavenly messages across the bed.

"You can stay here if you want. While you're in town."

"Vig, that's awfully generous."

"It's been your place when you're in the city. For a while. Now."

"I'm ... not sure I'd feel right. Being here without you, I mean."

Outside the sprinklers kick off, and the sudden silence invades the room.

"No sweat. The offer stands."

"Thank you, Vig. You're always so... so much more than I ever expect."

In the darkness a breath is drawn, shakily, and released with more control. The voice, when it comes, is a rough whisper.

"I want to make love to you, Lan. Let me... help you,,, soar."

"Always, my king. Always."

When Orlando left two days later for London, he carried a key to Viggo's house on his key ring.

November 2002

Phone calls every couple of days kept them in touch. Small gifts crossed oceans to arrive in makeup trailers, hotel rooms and on location shoots. Long-distance relationships are never easy, even when both ends of the relationship are firmly located. When both ends are constantly on the move, the complexities multiply geometrically.

But Orlando craved Viggo's presence in his life. He needed it like water, a substance he had to have to live. Every rambling message was treasured, every obscure gift tucked away. And the moments they could steal together were the sweeter for their scarcity.

In late November, they planned to meet in London for a few days. Orlando was on a short break from Pirates and Viggo was scheduled to have an even shorter break from Hidalgo. Two days before they were to meet, Viggo called, frustrated, to say a sandstorm had delayed filming and the break had been canceled. They would still be able to get together at the LA premiere of The Two Towers in mid-December, though.

Orlando commiserated on the phone, said all the right things, then went to a party in London with a bunch of people he didn't know and proceeded to get totally plowed. When Robin tried to tear him a new arsehole over it a few days later - because photographers had been there - he told her she should be glad. At least now she had a bunch of pictures of him drooling over slutty women. That ought to help with the "Orli's gay" rumors.

December 2002 Los Angeles

"Sure you don't want more cake?" Orlando waved a forkful of double chocolate layer cake under Viggo's nose.

"I'm sure." Viggo waved it away, shoving back from the table and stretching languidly.

"You're so thin."

"Pot. Kettle."

"But I've always been thin." Orlando refused to take offense. "You haven't."

"Lan, I'm not thin," Viggo said patiently. "Frank Hopkins is thin."

"Hello!" Orlando waved a hand theatrically, brown eyes wide. "You're not that crazy, Mr. Method. Where Frank Hopkins goes, so goes Viggo."

"I know that." Viggo shoved up from the chair and began gathering the dishes.

"Leave it," Orlando said. "Elena will be here tomorrow."

"Don't like to leave stuff for her."

"She's the fucking housekeeper, Viggo! That's what she's supposed to do."

Viggo paused, set the dishes down slowly and turned to face Orlando with a thoughtful expression. "What's going on here, Lan?"

Orlando couldn't stand under that cool blue scrutiny for long. He sighed and stalked into the living room, slumping down onto the couch. After a moment Viggo followed, tucking away a small temper fire that wanted to flare and making himself comfortable on the other end of the couch.

"Talk to me."

"I miss you, Vig. You're crazy as batshit but you do something... I'm not..." Orlando ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head miserably, trying to find the words. "You're a true thing, Vig. Sometimes I feel like I'm running out..." He looked up, frustrated. "It scared me, seeing you so thin. Like you were dying."

"I'm not dying, elf boy," Viggo said gently, resting a hand on Orlando's knee. "I'm just being neurotic about acting." He shrugged. "I do that, y'know."

"I know. I just hadn't seen you in such a long time and then there you were and you look, well, ..."

"Shhhh..." Viggo opened his arms and pulled Orlando into them, holding him close. "Soon as I'm done with Frank, I promise you I'll get fat and lazy, how's that?"

"Right," Orlando snorted against his chest. "Like that'll ever happen."

They sat for such a long time, Orlando cuddled in Viggo's arms, that Viggo thought the younger man had gone to sleep. He hoped not, because he'd started this out in an awkward position and both his legs were threatening to go to sleep, which was gonna be a bitch in a little while.

"I've been offered three more roles," Orlando said softly against Viggo's chest.

"Three?" Viggo chuckled. "Aren't you the hot number? Told you."

"You did."

"Which are you planning to take?"

"All three."

Viggo rubbed Orlando's back gently, thinking about the logistics of three more movies when he already had Pirates to finish and Troy on his plate. The voice of reason pointed out that this was far too much, that Orlando's agent was letting him over-commit in the interest of building a bankable star. The voice of reason pointed out that Orlando was still very young, although he was learning fast. The voice of reason pointed out that Orlando stood a very large chance of being chewed up in the starmaking machine and spit out like so many other pretty faces before him.

The voice of his heart pointed out that he was about to lose Orlando, and the voice of reason pointed out that he'd already let the younger man too far into his life for it to be painless.

"In the desert, everything is so enormous," he said finally, softly. "I like to stay in the makeup trailer at night, when everybody else has gone back to town. It's so quiet, so empty." He hand drew firm spirals on Orlando's back. "I walk out into the dunes, to where there's no light at all, and lie in the sand. The stars are so sharp you can spear your soul just looking."

"What do you do there?" Orlando murmured.

"Listen. I'd like to hear the stars sing, but they never have. Not for me."

Orlando raised his head and pressed his lips against Viggo's for a tender kiss. "I love you, my king," he murmured against his lips.

"Remember what I told you about saying no, Lan," Viggo mumbled, eyes closed. "It's your only power."

"Show me you love me, too, old man. Please."

"You never have to say please."

Slowly, almost making a ritual of it, they undressed each other in the light from streetlamp outside, each item of clothing neatly folded and placed to the side. Careful, exploring touches expanded from fingertips to hands to lips as they mapped the geography of passion. A softly laughing detour took them to bed ("We're both too damn skinny to be fucking on the floor") and they slid together as if they had been made specifically for each other in some divine workshop. And maybe the stars didn't sing, but they moaned and even screamed a little, and when one star cried out, it worshipped Viggo's name. And that was enough. That was enough.

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Viggo believes that things can be made right. He's always believed that. He's always had hope. Because without hope, we can't survive. He believes that. He clings to hope.

He is reluctant to take hold, because he has a hard time letting go.