Rust (LOTR RPS: VM/OB)
Title: Rust
Author: Leale
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: LOTR RPS, VM/OB
Summary: "If he wants Orlando in his bed tonight, he is going to have to go retrieve him. Inspired by magazine photos from "The Face" which can be found on Orlando Multimedia. Feedback: Wouldn't kick it out of bed! (Er, please?)
Archive: Sure, just let me know.
Author's Note: Love, love, love to valour for beta-reading this and for kickstarting the Muse into overdrive. Gr, but thanks. :)
Disclaimer: I have never met the men mentioned in this story and I have no knowledge of their sexuality. Everything in this story has come completely from my imagination.
Rust
Viggo likes shoes, himself. He prefers not wearing them at all, but as clothing goes, shoes are definitely among the more interesting. But how on earth, he wonders, can one young man own so many pairs of shoes?
He wades through the ocean that is Orlando's closet floor and reaches for the sticky note jammed onto the shelf. Somehow it doesn't surprise him that Orlando can't leave a note somewhere more accessible, like, say, the kitchen table. It has taken him quite a while to impress upon Orlando to leave a note at all.
"'Lij in town, went to Rust. Meet us!"
Because, of course, Viggo knows what Rust is, where it's located, and just why these particular seventy shoes on Orlando's floor have been deemed inadequate to present themselves to Rust.
Work backward, think logically--Rust is probably alcoholic and dark, where shoes wind up sticky and won't be seen. Orlando is probably wearing his ratty old Chuck Taylors. No, they're stuffed under the shoe rack, demonstrating their age in flexibility. Ok, Rust is someplace nicer, probably just as alcoholic and possibly not so dark.
Location won't be a problem, probably close to where Elijah is staying, but ultimately easy to find. All Viggo has to do is call a taxi and give the name.
He still holds that it is likely alcoholic and at least partially dark, though there is no chance of deducing its atmosphere through wardrobe depletion--Orlando has enough stuff in his closet to clothe Middle-Earth and the concept of hangers is a vague one.
Meet us. And this is the real problem. Not for location, or even, really, for dress--because Viggo wears what Viggo is comfortable in--but because Viggo has a sinking feeling that if he wants Orlando in his bed tonight, he is going to have to go retrieve him.
If they even get in before dawn, Orlando's most likely place of rest will be sprawling senselessly across Elijah's bed or possibly even the floor--Orlando isn't one to be picky when drunk.
He doesn't doubt Orlando's love or loyalty, but Orlando's thoughtfulness leaves just a little to be desired.
He's found that it's best to let Orlando do as Orlando wishes, but the 'Meet Us!' is problematic.
It means that Orlando expects him to show, to show in this...place, whatever it is. And if he doesn't?
There will be pouting, followed by sulking, and probably finished off with some moping.
True, there will be sex, but he'll have to go through the pouting, sulking and moping and he'll have to work out an appropriate seduction.
If he makes an appearance at Rust, Orlando will undoubtedly take on the burden himself, and without the drama.
That in itself is likely worth the price of admission.
***
Orlando is going to have to produce some damn good sex to reimburse the price of this admission, Viggo thinks later, peeling off a bill and handing it to the bouncer.
Rust is dark, indeed, and slightly smoky. Something Elijah is undoubtedly contributing to. If Orlando is smoking with him, Viggo swears to himself, there will be no kissing on the mouth.
At least not until Orlando sucks on something. A mint. Or...something.
He shakes his head to clear that thought as he shoulders through the clusters of people at the door.
Apparently he's miscalculated. Rust is almost completely dark, and the reverberating bass is not playing anything he'd term music. He's also managed to underdress. Faded jeans and a black silk shirt, only half buttoned, will blend in to probably 80% of anywhere in LA.
The kids passing Viggo, though, are in leather and black, pacifiers between their teeth and rings, studs and gems glittering from their faces. Wherever Orlando is, he's undoubtedly in trouble. Or rather, *is* trouble.
He walks the room slowly, examining as many faces as he can see, clearly or not. He pauses at the bar to order a scotch and gets a funny look from the bartender.
He doesn't have time to change his order before a slight form with spiked hair and thick eyeliner charges him.
"Viggo!" He can't hear Elijah, only six inches away, but he can easily read the lips of the younger man. He catches Elijah's shoulders and hugs him, ruffles a hand through the gelled-stiff hair and instantly regrets the attempt.
Elijah pulls back, tilting his head at a small table by the bar.
Aha.
Orlando.
Leather pants, slinky shirt that glints scarlet in the pulsing lights, and boots, complete with a chunky heel that makes him taller than Viggo as he sets aside the cigarette in his hand and stands.
His gorgeous curls are combed out and gelled up in spikes that looked more deadly than Elijah's. And his eyes...his eyes are ringed in deep smudges of black kohl.
"You're not kissing me with that mouth," Viggo says into the pounding beat of the music as Orlando saunters up to him as Elijah, grinning, retreats to the table to retrieve the cigarette Orlando left burning in the ashtray.
Orlando, apparently, can't read lips.
Actually, Viggo decides when Orlando replaces his lips with his thumb, that Orlando reads lips rather well, really.
"You came," Orlando says, his lips red enough to be read clearly.
"Not yet," Viggo replied, and yes, Orlando's lip-reading skills has improved drastically from two minutes before.
Orlando laughs, throwing his head back and Elijah returns, with bottles of water for all.
Viggo takes the water in one hand and Orlando by the hip with the other and draws the boys back to their table, Orlando settling comfortably on his lap. They can't possibly talk in here, but Viggo figures that just his being here is enough for now--visiting with Elijah comes later, maybe tomorrow, over lunch, or if they leave early enough, an all-night diner.
If Orlando doesn't stop squirming, Elijah will be eating his scrambled eggs and hash browns by himself.
Orlando hasn't really been smoking either--the taste of nicotine isn't lingering on his breath, likely the one puff he took while Viggo was watching was his only one.
Trying to make him mad, Viggo decides, lifting the pacifier around Orlando's neck as Orlando's mouth traces over his ear.
Elijah's grinning at them, but Viggo's not into exhibitionism. When Orlando comes up for water, he holds the pacifier up with a warning glare and pops it in Orlando's laughing mouth.
He's not naive enough to think it'll teach Orlando a lesson, or even stay in, but it's a start.
Elijah's grinning again, so Viggo slaps Orlando gently on the hip and pushes him vertical. He gestures to 'Lij to come with them and steps into the fray. They can't talk, and alcohol doesn't seem to be the draw, so they might as well dance. He'd rather dance with Orlando at home, where the music makes sense to him, but since he had Orlando here, dressed up and obviously enthusiastic, he has to admit that the music does have an erotic tempo.
He moves, head, then hips, working into the music slowly. Orlando and Elijah are already part of the music, part of the crowd, but he takes his time, getting comfortable with the beat.
Lij and Orlando kiss and he's not jealous, not really, because first off, it's hot, and secondly, Lij isn't really into men.
Then, they're separated and Elijah is waving goodbye and disappearing in the crowd.
Orlando turns to Viggo, his lips parting in a smile and he puts his mouth against Viggo's face.
Lunch tomorrow, is what's said and Viggo only knows that because he can feel the words against his cheek.
Viggo nods, because he knows Orlando's not watching his mouth.
Orlando's busy, working himself into the curve of Viggo's arms, against his neck, except that he's too tall this way and Viggo presses his hand into the small of Orlando's back.
Orlando's body arches into a long curve, his chin tilting up and his black-rimmed eyes closing as he deliberately grinds his hips against Viggo's.
Viggo shifts his grip, both hands, this time, on the leather hugging Orlando's narrow hips.
Orlando opens his eyes and there's that smile again, the dimples that ruin his punk rentboy look.
Viggo moves one hand to Orlando's face, cupping the rounded jaw, moving his thumb to that hollow behind Orlando's ear. He almost misses the points, the elf ears that Orlando threatened to leave on during their first night together.
Almost, because these taste infinitely better, and thinking that, he uses his hand to bring Orlando's head closer and takes the lobe gently between his teeth. He feels Orlando shudder against him and tilts the dark head down to move his lips up along the natural curve of Orlando's ear. He darts the tip of his tongue into the curve, teasing. Orlando snaps his head up, his eyes dark between the kohl.
Viggo leans back and presses the end of his thumb against Orlando's bottom lip.
Orlando responds as expected, darting his tongue out and then sucking the digit into his mouth.
Viggo's other hand goes under Orlando's shirt, feels the quivering stomach muscles, and he reveals his own dimples.
"I think," he growls into Orlando's ear, "my little elf boy has had enough for tonight."
Orlando replies something in the negative, but the backward steps let Viggo know that Orlando is protesting to having enough of Viggo, not having enough of the club. Orlando was done with the club the moment Viggo stepped through the door.
"God!" Orlando cries as he explodes out of the club, running half a block on pure adrenaline accumulated from the push through the crowd. He stretches out his arms and twirls in the chill night air, tilting his head back to the stars.
Viggo just stands back and watches, loving the sight of Orlando in the moonlight. He regrets not bringing his camera, or a sketchpad, or anything to capture this moment.
Orlando slows to a halt and centers his head, beaming at Viggo. "What?" he asks, suddenly solicitous. He walks forward, quickly, his eyes suddenly wide and luminescent despite the makeup.
"Nothing," Viggo assures him hurriedly. "Nothing. Just--" He shakes his head. "You're beautiful, elf-boy. I was wishing I had my camera."
"Vig..." Orlando's hands are suddenly framing Viggo's face and his mouth is hot and sweet on Viggo's.
Viggo leaves his eyes closed as Orlando pulls away--pulls back, really, since Viggo can still feel Orlando's breath on his face.
Orlando kisses him again, lightly, on the jaw, before speaking again.
"That's what makes them moments, Vig," he explains in that way he has. "You only get them for a moment, and then they're gone."
He's right of course, and Viggo's just starting to think that maybe Orlando really is wiser than his years when he opens his eyes to the exuberantly made-up face and spiked hair.
"And," Orlando offers, with a wicked rise of his eyebrow, "the best thing about moments is that there are always more."
"C'mon, elf-boy," Viggo says lazily, because it's late and he was up early watching the sun rise, "let's go make some moments."
And Orlando, by some miracle of the night, keeps his mouth shut.
Author: Leale
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: LOTR RPS, VM/OB
Summary: "If he wants Orlando in his bed tonight, he is going to have to go retrieve him. Inspired by magazine photos from "The Face" which can be found on Orlando Multimedia. Feedback: Wouldn't kick it out of bed! (Er, please?)
Archive: Sure, just let me know.
Author's Note: Love, love, love to valour for beta-reading this and for kickstarting the Muse into overdrive. Gr, but thanks. :)
Disclaimer: I have never met the men mentioned in this story and I have no knowledge of their sexuality. Everything in this story has come completely from my imagination.
Rust
Viggo likes shoes, himself. He prefers not wearing them at all, but as clothing goes, shoes are definitely among the more interesting. But how on earth, he wonders, can one young man own so many pairs of shoes?
He wades through the ocean that is Orlando's closet floor and reaches for the sticky note jammed onto the shelf. Somehow it doesn't surprise him that Orlando can't leave a note somewhere more accessible, like, say, the kitchen table. It has taken him quite a while to impress upon Orlando to leave a note at all.
"'Lij in town, went to Rust. Meet us!"
Because, of course, Viggo knows what Rust is, where it's located, and just why these particular seventy shoes on Orlando's floor have been deemed inadequate to present themselves to Rust.
Work backward, think logically--Rust is probably alcoholic and dark, where shoes wind up sticky and won't be seen. Orlando is probably wearing his ratty old Chuck Taylors. No, they're stuffed under the shoe rack, demonstrating their age in flexibility. Ok, Rust is someplace nicer, probably just as alcoholic and possibly not so dark.
Location won't be a problem, probably close to where Elijah is staying, but ultimately easy to find. All Viggo has to do is call a taxi and give the name.
He still holds that it is likely alcoholic and at least partially dark, though there is no chance of deducing its atmosphere through wardrobe depletion--Orlando has enough stuff in his closet to clothe Middle-Earth and the concept of hangers is a vague one.
Meet us. And this is the real problem. Not for location, or even, really, for dress--because Viggo wears what Viggo is comfortable in--but because Viggo has a sinking feeling that if he wants Orlando in his bed tonight, he is going to have to go retrieve him.
If they even get in before dawn, Orlando's most likely place of rest will be sprawling senselessly across Elijah's bed or possibly even the floor--Orlando isn't one to be picky when drunk.
He doesn't doubt Orlando's love or loyalty, but Orlando's thoughtfulness leaves just a little to be desired.
He's found that it's best to let Orlando do as Orlando wishes, but the 'Meet Us!' is problematic.
It means that Orlando expects him to show, to show in this...place, whatever it is. And if he doesn't?
There will be pouting, followed by sulking, and probably finished off with some moping.
True, there will be sex, but he'll have to go through the pouting, sulking and moping and he'll have to work out an appropriate seduction.
If he makes an appearance at Rust, Orlando will undoubtedly take on the burden himself, and without the drama.
That in itself is likely worth the price of admission.
***
Orlando is going to have to produce some damn good sex to reimburse the price of this admission, Viggo thinks later, peeling off a bill and handing it to the bouncer.
Rust is dark, indeed, and slightly smoky. Something Elijah is undoubtedly contributing to. If Orlando is smoking with him, Viggo swears to himself, there will be no kissing on the mouth.
At least not until Orlando sucks on something. A mint. Or...something.
He shakes his head to clear that thought as he shoulders through the clusters of people at the door.
Apparently he's miscalculated. Rust is almost completely dark, and the reverberating bass is not playing anything he'd term music. He's also managed to underdress. Faded jeans and a black silk shirt, only half buttoned, will blend in to probably 80% of anywhere in LA.
The kids passing Viggo, though, are in leather and black, pacifiers between their teeth and rings, studs and gems glittering from their faces. Wherever Orlando is, he's undoubtedly in trouble. Or rather, *is* trouble.
He walks the room slowly, examining as many faces as he can see, clearly or not. He pauses at the bar to order a scotch and gets a funny look from the bartender.
He doesn't have time to change his order before a slight form with spiked hair and thick eyeliner charges him.
"Viggo!" He can't hear Elijah, only six inches away, but he can easily read the lips of the younger man. He catches Elijah's shoulders and hugs him, ruffles a hand through the gelled-stiff hair and instantly regrets the attempt.
Elijah pulls back, tilting his head at a small table by the bar.
Aha.
Orlando.
Leather pants, slinky shirt that glints scarlet in the pulsing lights, and boots, complete with a chunky heel that makes him taller than Viggo as he sets aside the cigarette in his hand and stands.
His gorgeous curls are combed out and gelled up in spikes that looked more deadly than Elijah's. And his eyes...his eyes are ringed in deep smudges of black kohl.
"You're not kissing me with that mouth," Viggo says into the pounding beat of the music as Orlando saunters up to him as Elijah, grinning, retreats to the table to retrieve the cigarette Orlando left burning in the ashtray.
Orlando, apparently, can't read lips.
Actually, Viggo decides when Orlando replaces his lips with his thumb, that Orlando reads lips rather well, really.
"You came," Orlando says, his lips red enough to be read clearly.
"Not yet," Viggo replied, and yes, Orlando's lip-reading skills has improved drastically from two minutes before.
Orlando laughs, throwing his head back and Elijah returns, with bottles of water for all.
Viggo takes the water in one hand and Orlando by the hip with the other and draws the boys back to their table, Orlando settling comfortably on his lap. They can't possibly talk in here, but Viggo figures that just his being here is enough for now--visiting with Elijah comes later, maybe tomorrow, over lunch, or if they leave early enough, an all-night diner.
If Orlando doesn't stop squirming, Elijah will be eating his scrambled eggs and hash browns by himself.
Orlando hasn't really been smoking either--the taste of nicotine isn't lingering on his breath, likely the one puff he took while Viggo was watching was his only one.
Trying to make him mad, Viggo decides, lifting the pacifier around Orlando's neck as Orlando's mouth traces over his ear.
Elijah's grinning at them, but Viggo's not into exhibitionism. When Orlando comes up for water, he holds the pacifier up with a warning glare and pops it in Orlando's laughing mouth.
He's not naive enough to think it'll teach Orlando a lesson, or even stay in, but it's a start.
Elijah's grinning again, so Viggo slaps Orlando gently on the hip and pushes him vertical. He gestures to 'Lij to come with them and steps into the fray. They can't talk, and alcohol doesn't seem to be the draw, so they might as well dance. He'd rather dance with Orlando at home, where the music makes sense to him, but since he had Orlando here, dressed up and obviously enthusiastic, he has to admit that the music does have an erotic tempo.
He moves, head, then hips, working into the music slowly. Orlando and Elijah are already part of the music, part of the crowd, but he takes his time, getting comfortable with the beat.
Lij and Orlando kiss and he's not jealous, not really, because first off, it's hot, and secondly, Lij isn't really into men.
Then, they're separated and Elijah is waving goodbye and disappearing in the crowd.
Orlando turns to Viggo, his lips parting in a smile and he puts his mouth against Viggo's face.
Lunch tomorrow, is what's said and Viggo only knows that because he can feel the words against his cheek.
Viggo nods, because he knows Orlando's not watching his mouth.
Orlando's busy, working himself into the curve of Viggo's arms, against his neck, except that he's too tall this way and Viggo presses his hand into the small of Orlando's back.
Orlando's body arches into a long curve, his chin tilting up and his black-rimmed eyes closing as he deliberately grinds his hips against Viggo's.
Viggo shifts his grip, both hands, this time, on the leather hugging Orlando's narrow hips.
Orlando opens his eyes and there's that smile again, the dimples that ruin his punk rentboy look.
Viggo moves one hand to Orlando's face, cupping the rounded jaw, moving his thumb to that hollow behind Orlando's ear. He almost misses the points, the elf ears that Orlando threatened to leave on during their first night together.
Almost, because these taste infinitely better, and thinking that, he uses his hand to bring Orlando's head closer and takes the lobe gently between his teeth. He feels Orlando shudder against him and tilts the dark head down to move his lips up along the natural curve of Orlando's ear. He darts the tip of his tongue into the curve, teasing. Orlando snaps his head up, his eyes dark between the kohl.
Viggo leans back and presses the end of his thumb against Orlando's bottom lip.
Orlando responds as expected, darting his tongue out and then sucking the digit into his mouth.
Viggo's other hand goes under Orlando's shirt, feels the quivering stomach muscles, and he reveals his own dimples.
"I think," he growls into Orlando's ear, "my little elf boy has had enough for tonight."
Orlando replies something in the negative, but the backward steps let Viggo know that Orlando is protesting to having enough of Viggo, not having enough of the club. Orlando was done with the club the moment Viggo stepped through the door.
"God!" Orlando cries as he explodes out of the club, running half a block on pure adrenaline accumulated from the push through the crowd. He stretches out his arms and twirls in the chill night air, tilting his head back to the stars.
Viggo just stands back and watches, loving the sight of Orlando in the moonlight. He regrets not bringing his camera, or a sketchpad, or anything to capture this moment.
Orlando slows to a halt and centers his head, beaming at Viggo. "What?" he asks, suddenly solicitous. He walks forward, quickly, his eyes suddenly wide and luminescent despite the makeup.
"Nothing," Viggo assures him hurriedly. "Nothing. Just--" He shakes his head. "You're beautiful, elf-boy. I was wishing I had my camera."
"Vig..." Orlando's hands are suddenly framing Viggo's face and his mouth is hot and sweet on Viggo's.
Viggo leaves his eyes closed as Orlando pulls away--pulls back, really, since Viggo can still feel Orlando's breath on his face.
Orlando kisses him again, lightly, on the jaw, before speaking again.
"That's what makes them moments, Vig," he explains in that way he has. "You only get them for a moment, and then they're gone."
He's right of course, and Viggo's just starting to think that maybe Orlando really is wiser than his years when he opens his eyes to the exuberantly made-up face and spiked hair.
"And," Orlando offers, with a wicked rise of his eyebrow, "the best thing about moments is that there are always more."
"C'mon, elf-boy," Viggo says lazily, because it's late and he was up early watching the sun rise, "let's go make some moments."
And Orlando, by some miracle of the night, keeps his mouth shut.