vigorli

Title: Misread
Author:

lostmyfish
Rating: um, PG?
Pairing: Viggo, Orlando
Summary: If the mountain won't come to Orlando, Orlando will just have to go to the mountain. Or something like that. Follows Obvious and Certain Shades of Limelight
Beta: the lovely

honey_babes. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Disclaimer: It's not true.
Notes: There are no prizes for guessing where this plot came from. None.

"I'm just not attracted to him," Liv moans. Orlando looks at her incredulously.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Liv bats his hand away from her face. "I'm not blind, Orli," she protests. "I just... I dunno, he looks... dirty." She wrinkles her nose.

"Mmmm." Orlando's eyes glaze over and a small smile plays on his lips. Liv's mouth falls open with the realisation.

"Oh my God. I knew it! You've got a crush on my boyfriend!"

Orlando grins slightly. "Thought you didn't want him."

"I don't, sweetie, I'm just doing it for the money."

"You whore."

She squeals as she attacks, tickling him mercilessly.

Roy raises an eyebrow as he leans against the doorframe. "I thought it was that Viggo fella that I was supposed to be jealous of."

Liv rolls off Orlando, breathless and giggling. "Honey, he called me a whore! You have to defend my honour."

"Yep, I'll do that," he says, turning away from the door.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Just going to put the kettle on, love. I'll be right back to defend your honour, I promise."

As soon as he's left the room, Liv turns to Orlando, her eyes big and serious.

"He looks at you, you know."

"Who does?"

She refrains from rolling her eyes. "Viggo, who else?"

"He looks at everyone. Probably biding his time to take some photo."

"No honey, he looks at you. I've noticed it plenty of times, he gets this sorta yearning look in his eyes and I'm thinking, 'That's how you're supposed to be looking at me, you jerk!'"

"Don't mess with my head, Livvie."

"Orli, I'd never do that to you. The Hobbits are fair game, but you're my little Elven brother! Honestly, I can't believe you haven't noticed."

He feels a small spark of hope blossom in his chest. "Really?"

"Uh huh," she nods. "I can tell these things. I've always been really, what's the word? I can read people's emotions."

"Intuitive," he murmurs.

"That's it. Or just, not blind. I can't believe you haven't noticed. Do me a favour and actually watch Viggo tomorrow. And when I say watch I mean watch, not, you know, drool and pine. And for God's sake, try to be subtle about it."

Roy reappears in the doorway. "Anyone want tea?"

~~~

Now that Liv has pointed it out, it's really bloody obvious. He wonders how he didn't sense the prickle of Viggo's gaze on the nape of his neck before, didn't feel the sheer weight of it keeping him earthbound. Viggo's eyes slide away as Orlando turns to look at him, and it's almost beyond his willpower to refrain from grabbing his face and snogging him right there.

This is torture.

~~~

Liv nearly jumps out of her chair as the door bangs open.

"Christ, Orli, can't you knock?"

"Sorry, sorry." He's breathless, flushed from the sprint, eyes bright. "You were right, Livvie."

"Of course I was right, sweetie."

"So what do I do now?"

"Come over here so I can hit you."

"LIVVIE!"

"Just tell him, Orli."

"Yeah? You think that'll work?"

She looks him up and down appraisingly. "Oh yeah."

He grabs her, plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek as she wails. "Thanks babe, love ya."

With a slam of the door, he's gone.

Tracey tips Liv's head back slightly, repaints a small streak of blood high on her cheekbone. "Maybe Viggo will stop whacking the guys so hard now," she murmurs.

~~~

Hey Viggo, I've been in love with you for a while now, fancy coming round to mine for a shag? That's direct, to the point. Ok, no need to be a fucking idiot. Need something a bit more subtle. Hey Viggo, I need to tell you something. Could you meet me by my car after I get these ears off? Bad idea, this place is full of nosy, interfering bastards. How about, hey Viggo, wanna go for a beer after? No, he'll invite the whole stunt team. Maybe hey Viggo, want to grab some dinner? Same problem. He'd probably pick up the bill for everyone too, that's just the kind of guy he is.

Orlando surveys the set and wonders if he's got time to run back to Liv's trailer and find out exactly what he's supposed to say, but Pete's call abruptly scuppers that idea.

Right, act normal. "Ready to kick some Orc arse, then?" No response.

Viggo's exhausted. Orlando takes one look at him, feels like a bastard for even thinking about adding to the other man's burdens. He sidles right up to him and bumps their hips gently.

Viggo rests his head on the offered shoulder, tries to suppress a yawn. Fails miserably.

"You're getting me dirty. Tired, old man?"

He manages a weak smile. "Wait until you're my age, elf boy."

Orlando smiles back, soft and open. "You're not that old. Plenty of life left in you yet."

"You think so?" Viggo looks away, refuses to believe it was longing he saw in those eyes. The ground looks rather inviting. It's actually surprisingly soft to sleep on.

"Hey, hey, none of that. I think Pete's gonna take pity on us." He raises his voice. "Aren't you, Pete?"

"You hit this target for me and I'll call it a wrap for the day."

Orlando shares a smirk with the stunt guys as everyone moves to their marks. The cameras start rolling and Pete calls action.

Thwap.

"And cut! Check the gate. Ok? Well, I guess that's a wrap. See you all tomorrow, then. Nice work, Orl- where's he gone?"

~~~

Orlando knows that as much as Viggo's been staring at him lately, he thinks of him as a kid, and he hates that. He's not a kid. He's a mostly responsible adult who holds a driver's licence, can drink in a pub (though not for very long before losing dignity or consciousness), is capable of intelligent conversation sometimes, and giggles at a lower pitch than Elijah Wood. However, what he's about to do is childish enough to reinforce Viggo's opinion of him. It's frustrating, but he's wracked what's left of his brain and can't come up with anything better.

He folds the paper into a tight square and quickly scans the area. No hobbits, wizards, humans or any other creatures of an interfering nature. The coast is clear.

~~~

Viggo looks around him. He loves these people, he really does. He's not sure if he's ever seen so much enthusiasm, so much passion, so much love for a project, or for other people, in his entire career.

They look up to him. And he owes them all, owes them his attention and his time. He loves them. But sometimes, when Aragorn's voice won't leave his head and his body aches for rest, it overwhelms him. He's scattered too much, too far.

Careless really, losing all these little pieces of himself.

He barely registers a flash of blonde as he trudges to his car, opens the door to lay his sword on the passenger seat. Nearly misses the small square of paper folded tight under the windshield wiper.

Your dinner's at my place, sleepyhead

He doesn't need a signature to know who the exuberant, loopy handwriting belongs to. Turning the key in the ignition, he knows where he's headed. He's too tired to guard his heart.

~~~

Orlando hasn't been looking out of the window for the last half hour and he hasn't been kicking himself for leaving such a stupid, childish note under a windscreen wiper for God's sake, and he's surprised, he really is, when Viggo shows up at his door.

"Hey. Wasn't sure if you were coming," he says as he pulls Viggo into a hug, finding himself supporting most of his weight.

"I'm not one to turn down a free dinner," Viggo mumbles into his shoulder.

Orlando can't resist, presses a kiss to the rough cheek. "Come on, food's in the kitchen."

"I brought a change of clothes," Viggo says apologetically. "I hope you don't mind, but I don't think I'll be able to get home tonight."

"Don't be silly." Orlando sits him down on a chair. "You're always welcome."

~~~

"Feel like a limp noodle," Viggo rumbles, his voice muffled by pillows. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"I had a great physio when I did my back in. Wanted to learn how to do it, you know? And she showed me, not that I could ever do it on myself, but it's cool to be able to do it for other people. You know, you should get this done more often. There's a place near here that Sala swears by."

"Mmm," he hums. "I like your hands."

"My hands like you, too." What the fuck am I saying? Orlando wonders.

There's no response from Viggo. Orlando peers down at him. "Are you asleep?"

"Mmmm."

"Ok, you've been fed, massaged... have you brushed your teeth?"

Viggo grins, opens one eye. "Yes, Mom."

Orlando hits him with a pillow. "I guess I'll let you go to sleep, then."

"You want me to go to the guest room?"

"Nah, this is fine. Night, Viggo."

"Goodnight, Orlando."

Orlando lies in the dark, stares at the ceiling until the rhythm of soft, even breaths finally lulls him to sleep.

~~~

Orlando unfolds the note resting snug against the windscreen.

Thanks for last night

He has to laugh. Carefully folding his prize, he tucks it away in his wallet and saunters into the Cuntebago.

~~~

Notes become their preferred method of communication, written on everything from the backs of call sheets to till receipts to movie ticket stubs. Orlando knows that Viggo takes semi-skimmed milk with his Froot Loops (which aren't, as he claims, just for Henry), is partial to wholemeal bread with sunflower seeds, and has a weakness for Woolworths' Pick'n'Mix sweets. Viggo knows that Orlando paid $13 to see the four o'clock matinee of Sleepy Hollow on January 6th, and he likes to doodle little animals, particularly elephants, in the margins of his script.

Dinners, early morning horse riding practice, Elvish sessions, stargazing on the beach. All are scheduled, anticipated, remembered fondly under wipers unnaturally worn to accommodate the words. Tiny scratches on windshields hold testament to moments of quiet friendship, and the words remain unspoken.

Because Orlando knows he's desperately, stupidly, completely in love.

And Viggo knows Orlando will break his heart.