Morning Observations -- Lotrips. Sean Bean/Orlando; PG-13.
Author: Zarah
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sean Bean/Orlando Bloom
Note: Written for Contre La Montre. Sixty minutes, focus on touch, no pwp.
Summary: Wherein there's glue and coffee and lack of sleep.
Disclaimer: Fction; not true. Slash; not meant to imply.
Morning Observations
Glue has made them come up with new pick-up lines.
"I know a nice little place where you can massage my feet."
"Hey, baby, wanna pick my ears?"
"I could show you what glue tastes like."
Of course, they've never actually used them -- only on each other, anyway, and unsuccessfully as well as jokingly, at that -- but the lines help to while away some time during the long hours of make-up, when the cushioned chairs seem unbearably hard, the paper and books in their hands heavy, pages rough beneath their fingertips.
It's different for the humans, of course. During evenings spent in a bar, it's easy to tell humans from elves and hobbits -- the humans are the ones who don't sit in the booth, one hand wrapped around a glass, the other absentmindedly playing with an ear.
Orlando envies them, from time to time. There are some advantages to not playing an elf.
It's one of those days when he's been up and in the trailer for almost an hour already before Sean comes in, looking to all the world like he just rolled out of bed. Yeah, there are indeed some advantages to not playing an elf.
"Coffee," Sean says. Yawns, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and adds, "please."
Orlando raises a brow. "You know, some of us have been awake and here before certain others even stumbled out of bed."
"Here? Yes." For better access to an ear, Orlando's make-up artists tilts Orlando's head to one side. "Awake? Not so much."
"Point being?" Sean asks. His fingers feather over Orlando's neck, the ghost of a touch, as he passes on his way to the coffee machine. The touch lingers, tingles, tickles, and Orlando concentrates on feeling it fade away before he remembers to answer.
"That you have no right to be tired."
"Don't I?" The coffee is still steaming, Sean's hands wrapped tightly around the cup. A probing sip, and Sean grimaces as the liquid apparently burns his tongue.
"No," Orlando says. But because there are dark circles under Sean's eyes, the skin stretched too tightly, he doesn't really mean it.
Sean returns the smile, but his eyes remain tired.
"Why are you here?" Orlando slides into the booth, finds himself pressed against Sean's side a moment later because Dom follows, claims more space on the bench than there actually is. Sean's sweater is the kind that scratches, and Orlando tries to move his arm so that the cloth no longer touches his skin.
He reaches for Sean's drink, takes a sip and grimaces. Sets it back down and meets Sean's gaze. "Didn't you say you'd try to actually get some sleep tonight?"
Sean tilts his head, dim half-light catching on his face. The circles are still there. "No point in trying, really." He shrugs, and the sweater scratches Orlando's skin. "I've tried just that for most of last week, but when I go to bed early, I always wake up at around two in the morning."
"You need to relax."
"That another expression for 'get laid'?" A warm smile; Sean's lips stretching, curling. They look soft, somewhat lipbalm-commercial-like. Orlando looks away.
"Maybe."
He's not sure if Sean heard. Not sure if he wants Sean to have heard. The sweater is still rough against his skin, but Orlando no longer tries to move away.
It's morning.
He's sober.
Viggo's right there.
There's really no excuse, Orlando realizes. He also realizes that he doesn't care. Doesn't care because there's a bluish tint to the skin beneath Sean's eyes, and because even the stubble growing on Sean's cheeks looks tired. Um.
"Hey." Orlando places his hand on Sean's, feels the warmth of the coffee cup seep through the gaps between Sean's fingers, transferring to Orlando's palms. Sean looks up, startled, raises his gaze from the floor.
"Hey." Soft, quiet.
Thumb moving in small circles, and Orlando smiles, hopes that it doesn't look forced. "Remember what I told you?"
One corner of Sean's mouth lifts. "You tend to talk quite a lot. Especially when you're drunk."
The tone is teasing, so Orlando doesn't mind. Takes a step closer, almost pressed against Sean's side now, and waits for Sean to move away. Sean doesn't.
He doesn't.
Perfect seconds pass, both of them motionless. The heat of the coffee warms their hands.
"About needing to relax," Orlando says, eventually.
"Oh."
Viggo chooses that exact moment to open his eyes, chair creaking as he sits up, yawns. He glances over at them, blinks and grins. "You quite comfortable over there?"
"Just fine." Dimples appear as Sean grins, and for some reason, he looks less tired, just a little. The grin reaches his eyes, but their expression changes, becomes intimate, when he shifts his gaze to Orlando. "So?"
Or course it's not the right thing to say -- not now, not when he's serious -- , but Orlando leans in, breath fanning across Sean's cheek, voice lowered to a whisper. "Wanna pick my ears?" Beat, and he curses his ability to say the wrong thing at the right time.
Sean's quiet laugh isn't mocking, though. Or, um. At least Orlando hopes so.
"You really think that'd be enough to tire me out?" Sean asks. He turns his head slightly, stubble scratching Orlando's nose. Orlando feels rather than sees the smile.
"Well, um." He shapes the words against Sean's lips. "It would be a start."
"A start," Sean repeats, as if tasting the way it sounds on his tongue. "Yes."
"Yeah?" Orlando asks, just before -- oh.
Sean's lips really are soft, and although his tongue isn't hot, not like the coffee, it floods Orlando's body with a tingle of warmth all over. It's...
A start.