Snippet: Like the Whisper of Crisp Linen
Like the Whisper of Crisp Linen
Author: Eärendil Starr (jazzkiller)
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
Rating: G
Summary: Early morning whispers.
Warnings: none
Beta: not beta'd
Disclaimer: Fiction. Read that f i c t i o n. As in fake, made up. None of this is real. I don't claim to know Orlando Bloom nor Viggo Mortensen's sexual persuasions, neither do I claim to know of events in this story ever having happened. Read for enjoyment; can't handle it, don't read it.
Note: This was written with of course Viggo and Orlando in mind. I adore fresh, cold bed sheets that still smell of fabric softner. Cold rooms with sweet, clean scents, that's nostalgic for me and I hope I displayed it well enough.
Dedication: To my Grandmother, who always kept her house spotless, her sheet's fresh, and her house crisply cold.
False dawn creeps through the room, lightening the dark interior.
His breath soft as he lies awake.
"I love you," it whispers, ghosting across his lips and over his lover's cheek.
A soft rustle as the warm body beside him shifts, sighing; still asleep, but drawn closer.
Comfortable. Like the whisper of crisp linen, cool and inviting.
In the kitchen the percolator switches on.
The End
Author: Eärendil Starr (jazzkiller)
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
Rating: G
Summary: Early morning whispers.
Warnings: none
Beta: not beta'd
Disclaimer: Fiction. Read that f i c t i o n. As in fake, made up. None of this is real. I don't claim to know Orlando Bloom nor Viggo Mortensen's sexual persuasions, neither do I claim to know of events in this story ever having happened. Read for enjoyment; can't handle it, don't read it.
Note: This was written with of course Viggo and Orlando in mind. I adore fresh, cold bed sheets that still smell of fabric softner. Cold rooms with sweet, clean scents, that's nostalgic for me and I hope I displayed it well enough.
Dedication: To my Grandmother, who always kept her house spotless, her sheet's fresh, and her house crisply cold.
False dawn creeps through the room, lightening the dark interior.
His breath soft as he lies awake.
"I love you," it whispers, ghosting across his lips and over his lover's cheek.
A soft rustle as the warm body beside him shifts, sighing; still asleep, but drawn closer.
Comfortable. Like the whisper of crisp linen, cool and inviting.
In the kitchen the percolator switches on.
The End