Viggo Obscura
by Starlite

Everyone eats dinner together and then the Hobbits go off on a night shoot with Andy and Peter. "I've written another poem" Viggo says, quietly. "Would you like to hear it?" Orlando smiles, because he can see Viggo in his suite at the lodge, how he would have been sitting on his bed writing and crossing out, tearing, crumpling, swearing and throwing, shredding the pieces of yellow legal paper he wrote his poems on in longhand. Orlando had once asked him, in mock elf-indignance, why he didn't word-process to save trees. Viggo had replied that unless he felt paper sliding under his hand, unless he saw silver smudges on his fingers by the final word, it didn't really feel like writing at all. Orlando had just smiled.

Viggo says and does things with a concentration that mystifies others. The rest of the guys call Vig "intense" when speaking of him to the press in interviews. Viggo knows just as well as everyone else does that "intense" is polite Hollywood-ese for "we don't get him and he kind of weirds us out". He also knows that 43 is an age away from 25, farther still from 18. Sean and Elijah and Billy and Dominic and Orlando are simply different animals than he. Even the video games that the teen idols play have names that hold no meaning for him: Halo. Grand Theft Auto. Dead or Alive Xtreme Beach Volleyball, which from what he gathers, is a game that consists of little more than T&A and some sand. The boys jump off of high places, shotgun beers, and grab at things with skirts on with a pleasant, youthful disregard for deeper meaning, he sometimes thinks privately. But lately, just in the past few weeks, Orlando has been coming over to his trailer. After lines have been run and put away, he's asking to hear the verse Viggo wrote that day, or see the contacts of the pictures he'd shot that week.

And now, the younger man sitting on his bed is staring up at him and Viggo is sure that it's not just his imagination working overtime. Orlando is looking at him with eyes that understand, eyes that admire, and when Viggo bends to kiss him, those eyes close and the admiration transcends into desire as Orlando's mouth opens against his, drawing Viggo's tongue in. And anxiety over image, age, perception, it slips away as his arms tighten across the younger man's back. Because at least Orlando understands.


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