by Megolas

Faded blue jeans. Skin-worn and loved, stretched across slim hips. They dip as Orlando leans up against the bar, revealing an inch of smooth skin between waistband and gaudily patterned shirt.

Hands. Long tapering fingers, forever moving, never staying still. His hands are resting on the bar, continuously stroking the beer-stained wood.

Mouth. Always smiling, laughing, talking, kissing. It's fascinating to watch and even more so to kiss.

Or so Viggo thinks.

His hands clench around his drink and he carefully tears his attention away from Orlando's slim figure at the bar and focuses on Sean's hand, waving in front of his face. Watches his mouth and his hands as they talk but they don't have the same attraction, the same magnetic fascination that Orlando's do. Viggo can feel his attention slipping as Orlando approaches the table, snake-hipping his way through the crowded pub, those sinful fingers curled tightloose around glasses of alcohol.

Viggo catches himself being jealous of the condensation on the glasses and shakes his head. He's far too old for this sort of teenaged behaviour.

Bump of a hip against the back of his chair as Orlando slides past into an empty chair and sets the drinks down on the scarred tabletop. There is still condensation clinging to his fingers and the irrational jealousy of water flares up, a warm burning deep in Viggo's stomach. He wants to grab those flighty hands and trap them into stillness between his own. Replace the condensation on those fingers with his tongue. But he doesn't, he just nods his thanks and reaches for the new drink. He doesn't want nor need it but it keeps his hands occupied and that, Viggo thinks, is a good thing.

Viggo's so busy concentrating on his drink that he doesn't hear Orlando speak, only realises this when those hands touch his shoulder. Blinks, pauses and swallows a hasty mouthful of drink before replying with a extremely intelligent 'Huh?' Watches Orlando smile and repeat his question. Would Viggo like to share a taxi with him when they return to their houses? Viggo would. Viggo would also like to push Orlando up against the smoke-scented plastic leather interior of said taxi and find out just how kissable that mouth is but thankfully, he doesn't say that bit out loud.

Spends the rest of the night half in conversation with Sean Bean and half in silence, watching Orlando and the hobbits laugh, talk and tease over the top of his glass. Orlando's hands never stop moving once and the urge to trap them between his own is growing stronger. It doesn't help that when Liv joins them, Orlando scoots his chair over so she can squeeze in, leaving Viggo in a hell of his own making -- Orlando's thigh pressing against his own, warm through the denim, Orlando's hand occasionally brushing along Viggo's thigh as he gestures and pretends to shoot them all with an invisible elf-bow.

Sean wishes them all good night and leaves early - he has to re-record some lines first thing in the morning. Everyone scoots around the table again, everyone apart from Orlando, who stays where he is, denim covered thigh still flush with Viggo's own. Viggo drinks more.

The hobbits and Liv are next to go, all piling into a taxi in a happy, drunken heap. Viggo can imagine the hangovers they'll be greeted with at 5am when they're collected for feet. It's quiet now, Viggo realises that it's only them left. Orlando's oddly silent, idly tracing patterns in the puddles of spilt drink. Viggo drains his glass and stands up, no wobbling, just a sort of heady feeling of not being completely there.

Takes a few steps and okay, maybe a little bit of wobbling and Orlando's dry chuckle in his ear. Maybe he has drank a bit too much but either way, he's glad for Orlando's steadying hands as they step out into the cool New Zealand air. Taxi arrives and they both get in. Viggo on one side and Orlando on the other. Orlando's staring out the window, fingers tapping out a beat on the door and Viggo closes his eyes before the sense of disconnection from his body gets too much.

The taxi stops outside Viggo's house and Viggo notes with surprise that Orlando's paid the driver and slid out of the taxi. Orlando's house is a further block and half away. They walk up towards the front door and Viggo asks if Orlando would like a coffee? Orlando would, thank you very much. They sit in the kitchen and wait for the kettle to boil. Viggo has to clear the table of scripts and photos first and then find a second mug. How does Orlando take his coffee? No milk, two sugars. Viggo has to find his sugar pot as well. They make idle chat while the kettle boils and Orlando keeps tapping on the table top, driving Viggo to distraction. Reaches out before he can think and traps Orlando's hands between his own. Blinks at the feel of restless warm skin against his own and tightens his grip, running a thumb along the base of Orlando's. So smooth.

Orlando's chair scraps against the floor as he pushes it closer, the sound jarring Viggo out of his disconnection. Viggo makes to loosen his grip but the next thing he sees is Orlando close up to him, face quizzical, almost Legolas-like before he dips down and kisses Viggo, lips hesitant and gentle. Viggo inhales, dropping one of Orlando's hands so he has a free hand to slide into Orlando's scruffy mohawk and pull him closer. Orlando's free hand creeps behind Viggo's neck, a thumb brushing slowly across the sensitive skin. Orlando's mouth tastes of alcohol and salt, his lips are smooth and warm as they move against Viggo's.

The kettle whistles, Viggo pulls away and exhales. He's sobered up rapidly, Orlando is watching him and Viggo realises that he's still got hold of one of his hands. Breathes deeply and breaks the silence. "Can I kiss you?"

Orlando grins, "A bit late, don't you think?" and pulls Viggo back into a kiss. Viggo smiles against Orlando's lips and pulls them upwards. One hand curves around Orlando's waist, the other returns to his hair and Orlando's hands make a beeline for the pockets of Viggo's jeans. His mouth breaks away from Viggo's to whisper 'Coffee or bed?' into his ear.

Viggo growls. "Fuck the coffee." And the next thing he knows, they're attempting to navigate their way down the hall without breaking contact. Viggo swears as his ankle collides with the bottom of the door and Orlando spins them around, narrowly missing a small table as he pushes Viggo down on to the bed.

"You're wearing too many clothes." Orlando hisses, fingers scrabbling against buttons and cloth before reaching flesh. Viggo inhales sharply as Orlando's thumbs brush across his nipples, swiftly followed by his teeth worrying the sensitive skin. At some point, Orlando has lost his shirt and all that's separating them now is denim. Orlando's knee makes itself at home between Viggo's legs and he lets his hands skim across Viggo's ribs as he trails a line of kisses towards and across his collarbone.

Viggo groans as Orlando's blunt teeth nip a passage down from his clavicle to the base of his ribs. One hand slides further down to cup his hip; the other is still playing with the nape of Viggo's neck.

Viggo's hands are everywhere. Orlando's hair, fingers pushing through the stubble and running down the back of his neck and on to his shoulders. Pushes him down and bites his lip hard enough to bleed when Orlando's tongue swirls around his stomach and dips into his bellybutton before following the trail of hair towards the waistband of his jeans and slipping underneath. Orlando's hand slides down from Viggo's neck and flicks open the first two buttons, his thumb rubbing against the bulge, causing Viggo to jerk, hands closing around the top of Orlando's arms.

Orlando slides back up and tugs Viggo into a kiss before shimmying back down and taking care of the remaining buttons, one, two, three and a tug, Viggo's jeans and boxers are around his ankles and all he can feel is denim rubbing against his exposed skin. A feeling soon replaced by that of Orlando's mouth on his skin. Wet, hot breaths creeping slowly up his thigh. Viggo thinks his eyes might have just rolled back, it would explain the fuzziness of his vision. Fuzziness that swiftly vanishes when Orlando places a kiss on his cock before slowly sliding it into his mouth, eyelashes fluttering against Viggo's stomach as he licks and sucks, cheeks hollowing, throwing his cheekbones into stark relief.


A muffled chuckle from Orlando, sending shockwaves up Viggo's spine, and he comes, hips bucking up against Orlando's face. Orlando pulls back slightly and swallows. His tongue sliding out to lick his lips, a satisfied look on his face. Viggo lies boneless and sweaty, almost unable to move when Orlando slides back up next to him, jeans lying abandoned on the floor.

Viggo exhales. "That was... fascinating."

Orlando smirks, sliding one arm under Viggo. "Fascinating? What ever happened to fantastic?"

Chuckle. "It was that too."

"Good. I've been wanting to do that for some time."

Viggo can feel Orlando's erection pressing against his side and he curls his mouth in a grin, rolling over to pin Orlando beneath him. "Forgive me, I am such a terrible host, leaving my guest in such," twists his hips and Orlando groans deep within his throat, "a state."

Runs his hands along Orlando's skin, paying particular attention to the soft folds between the ribs and noting the feel of it against his fingers. Viggo takes this time to study the skin he's so often caught a glimpse of, while Orlando is spread beneath him. But Orlando's muffled plea snaps him back to earth and he bends down to kiss him, delighting in the feel of Orlando's lips and skin against his own.

Orlando's breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling in time to his heartbeat. Both speed up when Viggo's mouth closes on the join of shoulder and neck and suckles. When he pulls back, there is a darker mark against Orlando's skin.

"You know, the makeup girl is going to kill me," comes Orlando's breathless voice. Viggo chuckles and catches Orlando's mouth with his own again. He's still conscious of Orlando's erection against his leg so when he pulls back, he slides a hand down and cups it, listening as Orlando's breath hisses out between his teeth.

Viggo enfolds it within his hand, thumb smearing the pre-cum across his skin before starting a gentle upward motion. Squeeze, slide, and repeat. Orlando's body spasms against his hand and he can feel the dull heat of his cock against the skin of his palm. Orlando is cursing softly, a gentle litany of curses and moans that taper off into snuffles and shallow breathing when Viggo speeds up and finally fall silent as he comes quivering. Viggo's hand is slick with Orlando's seed. Fingers clench around Viggo's wrist and he follows their pull back up Orlando's body, choking back a yelp as his fingers are sucked into Orlando's mouth and cleaned, cat-rough tongue swirling around each finger in turn before slipping down to the palm. Orlando's eyes are heavy-lidded, eyelashes throwing shadows on his skin.

Viggo is fascinated. The word rolls off his tongue and into Orlando's mouth as he's tugged back into another kiss, legs and arms tangled in the sheets. Viggo's feeling pleasantly alive now, half-tired and half-wired from the heady combination of Orlando and alcohol. Orlando curls around him and yawns. Within moments he is fast asleep, looking decidedly - unreal - innocent in slumber. Shifting around to avoid the wet patch, Viggo joins him, dimly aware of Orlando's warmth against his skin.


The lunch tent is quiet until it's disturbed by a clatter of trays and Viggo looks up from his table in time to see Orlando and the rest of the hobbits sit down. They're laughing and chattering; Orlando's hands going all over the place as usual. Catches snippets of their conversation. Dom mimicking Billy's accent, Elijah and Sean discussing the scene they just shot and Orlando adding quick remarks to their conversation.

Viggo just sits back and watches them, a half-smile on his face. Orlando looks up and catches his eyes, shoots him a quick smile and goes back to the conversation. Viggo is still fascinated but at least now, his fascination is just that - his, to watch, to touch, to kiss. Viggo smiles and returns to his script.

Fascination, such a wonderful thing.


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