Fic: Sunburn (V/O, 1/1, New Zealand)

[laeglass]

Title: Sunburn
Author: laeglass
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not true.
Author's note: Beta'd by silvan_lady *hugs*. All mistakes are my own. The timelines, locations et al. may not match with reality. And I do like Dom, a lot.
Summary: Orlando is bright in every single way. New Zealand fic.


Orlando's hands were blunt but delicate. Viggo watched him dip some of the shells in the sea water, and then flick them in attempt to get rid of the excess water. He picked up a rock, a small roundish piece of black and red, and smoothed the surface with gentle fingertips.

“Just imagine, this piece of rock might be millions of years old. How long do you think it's been lying here?”

“Waiting for you to find it?” Viggo sounded amused.

Orlando raised his head, his teeth showing in a happy grin. “I could make a necklace out of these. For mum. She'd love it.”

“You might want to keep one for yourself,” Viggo said. “I hear some of these can't be found anywhere else in the world. It would be an awful waste of resources and time if you had to come back just to get yourself one.”

Orlando nodded happily, his attention back on the seashells again. He picked up a small pink one, tracing the delicate whitish rim with his small finger. How fragile it was. Would it break apart if he drilled a hole through it? His mind made up, Orlando made a small hole in the sand and buried the seashell. He wasn't going to be the one to destroy it, not for just his own selfish pleasure. He looked up again and caught Viggo watching him, a curious look in his eyes. He shook his head and stood up, making a face as his knees popped.

“Thought I'd leave something for the younger generations too,” he said lightly, and nudged Viggo's arm with his elbow. “Wanna get going? I didn't mean to keep you with my scavenging."

He felt breathless somehow, exposed by the way Viggo had been watching him, had seen him. There were times when he just felt so young in Viggo's presence that he got unnerved. Young and naïve, sheltered perhaps. Childish, sometimes. Not now, though.

Viggo didn't budge, but turned his face to the sun, squinting against the bright glare. It gave Orlando the chance to watch him, in turn, watch him and see without the fear of getting caught. Watch and learn. Viggo's jaw was shadowed with stubble; his pink lips a bright contrast to the dark hair. Orlando's eyes focused on the scar on his upper lip, slightly lighter in colour and raised. He wondered why Viggo hadn't got stitches on it.

“I read somewhere,” Viggo said, “that staring at the sun could cause permanent damage to your retinas. Not just a glimpse, mind you, but this, really looking at it.”

“Which is why we have these ingenuous things called sunglasses,” Orlando said glibly.

Viggo didn't look at him. “The retina is the part of the eye which receives the image formed by the lens. You stare at the sun long enough, it'll burn a hole in it, and you can kiss your reading vision goodbye.”

“So stop staring at the sun now,” Orlando said with a slight chuckle. “Come on, the Hobbits are probably finished already and wondering where we went to.”

Viggo said something then, so softly and quietly that Orlando missed it.

“What was that?”

“I said; this is almost like what I feel with you.” Viggo did look at him then, a serious, long look. “Catch a glimpse and you'll be fine. Forget yourself and keep on looking, and you'll get burned.”

Orlando shifted his weight from one foot to another, a nervous scuffle. “Are you comparing me to the sun now?” he asked, an unsure smile on his face. “Go on feeding my ego, why don't you?”

Viggo didn't smile back. “I knew what I was asking,” he said. “And I understand your reasons. I'm not stupid and I know how this industry works. I just hope you're not expecting me to become your fuck-buddy.”

“I'm not! I don't,” Orlando said. He felt he was on very unsure footing now, threading on ice so thin he could practically hear it crackle under his feet. “I-- I can't do this. I can't. You know that's not what I came here for.”

“As opposed to me?”

“No! I know we're all here for the same thing, to make a film. Or three films, if one wants to be specific.” Orlando fiddled with the seashells he had collected, and tried to get himself together. “What I mean is; this is my chance. My one chance, possibly. Everyone else has a name already. I'm nobody. I screw this up, and I may never get another opportunity like this again. I can't forget about why I'm here. Not to start affairs with co-stars, especially with male co-stars, and frolic around as if nothing else matters. I'm here to grab this chance with both hands and make the best of it.”

“Then you wouldn't call what we had an affair?”

“What we did, Viggo. Not what we had.” Orlando kept his gaze in his hands. “We had sex, sorta, and it was nice. Better than. But it can't be more than that. It can't. I can't have a reputation that follows me around, a reputation that says that I'm apt to jump colleagues and start on-set romances left, right and centre. I can't afford that.”

“But you can afford jumping me at the end of a night spent clubbing, and giving me head on the way home,” Viggo said. “So long as no one knows about it.”

“Look, this is a big deal for me,” Orlando said, and shoved the seashells in his pocket, now facing Viggo fully. “I'm not the club-hopping twink you're trying to paint me as. So I am weak and I have needs, yeah? So I have this gorgeous co-star that doesn't mind me hugging him and snogging him and giving him head, yeah? Well I'm sorry, but I'm not perfect. I thought we could have some fun, and still be friends. 'Cos that's what I want, a friend. That's what I need. If I'd known giving you a blow job would ruin it...”

“Give it time,” Viggo said. “Nothing's ruined yet. Just pass me a pair of sunglasses for a while and we'll be fine.”

“And what passes for sunglasses in that little metaphor?” Orlando asked, his throat feeling like he was suddenly coming down with a cold.

Viggo looked at him, looking almost thoughtful. “Perhaps some privacy,” he finally said.

Orlando nodded, not trusting his voice. He knew what Viggo was saying, but he still couldn't help feeling that he had just lost a friend. Determined not to go off on a string of babble, he deliberately turned in the direction of where the Hobbits were gathering their belongings.

“Shall we?”

* * *

Back at his place, he took a long, scalding shower, washing the small grains of sand from between his buttocks and the small crevices underneath his bollocks. The drive back had been a quiet affair, with Viggo behind the wheel and Elijah riding shotgun, and the rest of them piled haphazardly on the back seat. He'd promised the Hobbits to meet them at their customary watering hole in a couple of hours, but Viggo had made no such promises. Normally Orlando would have hounded him until he gave in just to humour him, but this time he'd listened quietly to Elijah whining and Dom ribbing Viggo for being such an old arse.

He knew he had his reasons. Viggo knew he had his reasons too. Then why did it feel so unreasonable to act on those reasons? For once in his life he had a plan thought out, and right now, everything he did must serve that plan. He'd done a few smaller flicks and had seen how people interacted on set. There was always gossip and rumours flying around, and the more important you were, the more closely people kept an eye on you. He wasn't the leading man here, but Viggo was one of the central people on set and under close scrutiny from those that that liked to gossip.

Orlando did everything he could to fly under the radar, but already he'd heard some rumours concerning himself, revolving mainly around his penchant for tackling people in bodily hugs and wearing his heart on his sleeve. He needed to get his act together, stat. Viggo could perhaps afford being written off as an eccentric method actor, but he didn't have that luxury. Everything had to go just right, just according to his plan.

Orlando stepped out of the shower stall and dried himself, wondering if he really was coming down with something. He felt quite off, and the raw feeling in his throat hadn't ebbed in the slightest since leaving the beach.

He remembered his seashells then, and went to his trousers, carefully retrieving the coloured shells from his pocket. He took them to the sink and gently cleaned them, using an old toothbrush he kept for just these occasions, handling them with care. He found that concentrating on something other than his discussion with Viggo on the beach and finding his hands something to do helped a little, and alleviated his fear that he had just broken something that couldn't be repaired.

Orlando picked apart a small piece of coral, and gently brushed off the grains of sand and traces of seaweed. This one would make a gorgeous pendant for his mother whose birthday was coming up in a couple of weeks. Another, a beautiful swirl of brown and pink, he thought he'd keep for himself.

* * *

"He's fucking strange, man. In some weird method actor headspace that the rest of us mortals don't belong in," Dom complained. "Except Orli, of course. Hey, Orli, how come you get a pass to the headspace in La La land and the rest of us don't?"

Orlando rested his head on his hands, leaning on the table, and didn't bother answering. Dom was going on and on about his favourite subject; Viggo. The Ranger. The King. Orlando couldn't pinpoint when his life had become all about Viggo.

"Some would say it's because he's banging him, of course," Dom said. "Someone should sneak a video camera into the 'bago.The studio execs would make millions in porn films. Crazy method actor shags poncy elf, fifteen dollars for your viewing pleasure."

"Dom, shuddup," Orlando said. "No one's banging anyone except in your dirty mind. You're so interested in Viggo fucking people, why don't you go over and see if he'll have a go at you."

"Why, you done with him now?" Dom asked with a glint in his eyes.

"Who's fucking who?" Elijah asked as he returned with his beer.

"No one," Orlando said with emphasis.

"Viggo and Orli," Dom said.

Orlando stood up on wobbly legs, suddenly fed up with the ribbing. It had been going on for weeks and he'd learned to turn a deaf ear to it, but not tonight. He had somehow screwed up his friendship with Viggo, without meaning to, and Dom's little remarks did nothing to make him feel better.

"You know what? Fuck you, Dommie."

"Orli, wait," Elijah said. "We don't need to talk about Viggo the whole time, do we? Not when he's not present. You know we don't feed the gossip mill."

"I'm going home," Orlando said. "See you tomorrow on set."

He walked by the beach, kicking at the sand, and every now and then bent to pick up a rock to throw at the waves. Dom was just jealous, he told himself. Jealous of Viggo's time and attention. Both of which he'd been hogging almost exclusively ever since Viggo arrived on set.

So he'd blown Viggo once. He remembered that night with a weird clarity that sometimes comes with the state of utter inebriation. The stars had been bright that night. Bright and cold. He'd waxed poetic about the millions of miles separating them and all the wasted heat and Viggo had chuckled at his pronouncements. He'd been leaning hard against the seatbelt to see if the stars on Viggo's side were any different to the stars on his side, and Viggo had pushed him back to his seat.

Viggo's hands were warm and broad. He'd breathed hard at the feeling of Viggo's palm against his chest, and the plan had been forgotten when Viggo pulled over by the curb at his house, and Orlando's fingers had retained enough of their dexterity to undo the seatbelt and lean over properly. Viggo's facial scruff was soft, but his lips were thin, and Orlando had been slurping on his mouth almost loudly enough to wake up the neighbours.

"Not a good idea, this," Viggo had whispered, but he hadn't resisted when Orlando's fingers worked their magic again, this time on his belt, and Orlando was leaning even lower. "Oh my God," Viggo had said as Orlando enveloped half of his shaft in one go, and then there was no talk.

By the time Viggo came in his mouth Orlando had a sore jaw and a sorer neck, but Viggo had kissed him so sweetly afterwards that he hadn't cared. The Hobbits always teased him that he was a horny drunk, but that was the first time in New Zealand that he'd gone with anybody. The first time he'd wanted to. Not the last by a long shot, but he'd learned to guard himself better around Viggo after that.

Viggo had watched him go to the house on wobbly legs, and hadn't started the car again until after Orlando had let himself in. He'd had a sour taste in his mouth, but it turned him on, and he'd dropped down to his bed and stroked himself until he came in his boxer shorts.

It wasn't a great romance, that. And, like Viggo had said, it hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had. But Viggo had gone along with it - then, most men did when someone was sucking their cock - and it wasn't fair that Orlando alone was made out to be the bad guy.

He picked up another rock and threw it as far as he could. The weapons training had done a lot for his upper body strength, and the plop of rock hitting the surface of the water sounded somewhere in the distance. Orlando entertained a notion of challenging Dom to a wrestling match over Viggo and then kicking his arse. He bet Viggo didn't know what was being said about him behind his back. He hoped no one was thoughtless enough to repeat the remarks around Viggo where he could hear them.

The wind was picking up, and Orlando thought back on what Viggo had said about watching the sun for too long. The good retorts were coming to him now, when he no longer needed them. He should have made light of Viggo's words and say that he was mistaking him for a sun when Orlando really was a star in the making; that he might be a brainy sort of fellow but Stephen Hawking he wasn't.

Glib never worked on Viggo, though, nor did wilfully ignorant, or deliberately obtuse. The man just had to be so bloody intense all the time. Bloke got a blowjob and had to read meaning into it. Why did he have to ditch his great plan for the one man in the known universe who didn't appreciate no-strings-attached sex?

Orlando threw another smallish rock, and heard the splash. It was too dark to see anything.

He'd ditched his plan for Viggo because Viggo was the only person for whom he'd do that. And being that bloody intense was an integral part of Viggo's personality. And wasn't he digging himself into a nice little hole here, all by himself?

Viggo wanted privacy, so he'd give him privacy. Maybe Dom would ease off the ribbing once Orlando wasn't taking most of Viggo's time and focus.

Because it was true, what Viggo had said, Orlando was the sun, and the others were left in his shadow.

* * *

Legolas's impassive face betrayed nothing of what Orlando was thinking.

There had been some talk earlier during a break about going camping the following weekend. Dom seemed to be the primary instigator, and he'd already talked Viggo into going, and the rest of the Hobbits were sure to follow. Beanie said that if he wanted to get lost in the woods and get eaten by a horde of insects he couldn't think of a better place, or better people. That earned him a chorus of 'awww's and 'shut up you wankers’, and he flipped a bird to everyone.

Orlando didn't think he'd go. First off, he hadn't been asked. Second, that would quite neatly undo his earlier decision to let Viggo have his space. Not that Viggo would notice him when they were out in the wild. He'd take out his camera, or a writing pad, or just go traipsing through the woods and get himself lost in the wilderness. Orlando had zero sense of direction to talk about, and for all his Ranger status, Viggo was the same. They had spent a very memorable night in the woods a month or so back because neither of them was able to find their way back to the car in the dark.

"A case of beer and a deck of cards," Dom was saying to Viggo as Orlando passed by. "Alright, and a camera, maybe. Orli isn't coming along so we won't need to pack condoms."

He didn't quite flinch, but it was a near thing. He pictured up-ending his water bottle on Dom's curly head, but decided such stunts were beneath Elven princes, even if they were blatantly insulted.

Viggo said something then but Orlando was too far to make out the words. Dom replied eagerly and they continued talking about the camping trip. The camping trip that Orlando was obviously meant to sit out.

He had known others would gladly claim his usual space by Viggo's side, but he hadn't expected to be shunned. He was glad to wear Legolas's face as the day dragged on, and all around him people made plans for the weekend. And the cold he'd caught that day at the beach had yet to go away. For the first time he was glad he didn't have that many lines.

* * *

The ocean was a dark, dull grey. Orlando had donned his parka for his walk on the beach, and the wind was whipping at what remained of his hair. His sneakers were already darkened with water, and he knew he should go back to the house soon and find a pair of dry socks or risk worsening his cold.

A Saturday lost most of its meaning and importance when there was no one around with whom to share it. Spare time was rare and treasured all the more for it, but he didn’t feel like appreciating that now.

He'd come back to the beach to continue the beach-combing he'd started the other day. Some shells were shaped like the horn of a unicorn, and he picked those up to be cleaned later. Then there were flat, oval shaped seashells that would fit nicely in the necklace he planned to make for his mother. He wished he'd asked Viggo about the rare ones, the ones that you could only find in the Wellington area.

Viggo hadn't said a word to him the previous day outside their scripted lines. It wasn't that he was sulking, or even really ignoring him. It was almost as if Viggo had willingly dropped out of his sphere, and Orlando had ceased to exist. Elijah had hung out with him during their breaks, talking about the new Star Wars film they'd just started filming in Australia and how cool it would be to visit the set in the week long break that loomed on the horizon. He had to agree that it would be a nice distraction, if nothing else.

Orlando crouched and drew a rough circle in the wet sand, and then smoothed it out. Then he drew a heart and wrote his own initials inside it, and on a whim, added the letters V and M below them. You're getting maudlin, he told himself and stood up, using the toes of his sneakers to destroy the sand drawing.

Sometimes the enormity of what they were doing got to him, and he felt like he was standing on the edge of a chasm and just waiting to trip and fall. The number of people involved was just mind-blowing, people making sure that everything ran smoothly from housing to catering, and the cast could concentrate only on delivering solid performances in front of the camera.

His first movie experience, Wilde, had been from a different world altogether. They had only needed him for a week, for starters, and he'd been too wild-eyed and too taken with the whole process to pay much attention. Stephen had talked to him between the takes, mildly flirtatious but a true professional, and it was he who had said that when working together, people had the tendency to start gravitating toward each other, and for someone as beautiful as Orlando the offers would be coming from all directions.

It was up to him, however, Stephen had said, whether he wanted to concentrate on his work, or split his focus between on-screen and off-screen escapades; however, when at the beginning of his career, the former would perhaps be preferable to the latter.

Orlando had taken those words to heart. He didn't want to screw this up. He just hadn't expected Viggo.

Seagulls screeched somewhere overhead. Orlando murmured the words of Galadriel to Legolas, a short poem he'd found in the book while leafing through Viggo's copy of the trilogy. Easy to memorize since he had so few lines to remember otherwise.

Legolas Greenleaf long under tree
in joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea!

He'd been happy in New Zealand. He'd been happy about his friendship with Viggo. Happy to have Viggo as his mentor, someone to learn from while he tried to find his footing among the more professional actors. He'd valued Viggo's comments, and Viggo's insight, and Viggo's suggestions, and allowed himself to get sucked into something he couldn't quite name.

Viggo likened him to the sun, while it was Orlando who was in the danger of getting burned.

* * *

On Monday, Dom had the largest hickey on his neck that Orlando had ever seen. He didn't ask.

He didn't have to, because Elijah cornered him soon after breakfast, looking upset.

"Orli, man, you should have been there. It was a disaster. Everything went to hell."

"Did Dom fall into the fire neck first?" Orlando asked. The make-up girls were going to kill him.

"That would've been better, actually." Elijah stared at his hands, and once again Orlando pitied his fingernails. Elijah was a chronic nail-biter. "It's like this. Not a word to anyone, right?"

Orlando mumbled a 'right'.

"See, Dommie's been an asshole to you because he has a crush on Viggo. And Billy... Swear you won't tell anyone." Orlando swore. "Well, Billy has a crush on Dommie. I think. And Dommie wanted to have a go at Viggo this weekend, because you weren't around, and... well, it didn't turn out too well. And then he got drunk and made out with some tech guy, Mike or something. And now Dom and Viggo aren't talking, and Dom and Billy aren't talking, and Pete's going to kill him."

"And what does all this have to do with me?" Orlando asked, and then processed what Elijah had just said. "Wait. Billy has a crush on Dom? Jesus Christ, is everyone in this cast bent?"

Elijah blushed. "Well, both Seans are straight, I think. And John. And me."

"I'm starting to wonder about the casting process," Orlando said, a hysterical little giggle threatening to escape. "But yeah, I still fail to see what this has to do with me. Do you want me to talk to Dom or what?"

"No, actually I wanted to warn you away from him. I don't know what he and Viggo talked about but he's been pissed ever since. I think he's blaming you."

"For what?" Orlando asked. "I stayed away from the camping trip because he wanted me to. What else does he want? My written permission to shag Viggo?"

Elijah looked uncomfortable. Orlando had to suppress another hysterical giggle at the thought of Elijah as the middleman in a strange gay love triangle. It was surreal.

"No, I think he's just mad because you got to Viggo first. Nothing for you to worry about. I just thought it'd be cool if you two didn't get to any fights on the set, at least."

"Have you seen me fighting with Dom?" Orlando asked. "No, mate, I've been taking his verbal abuse because I haven't wanted to be a dick. And where has that got me? Not on any camping trips, to be sure."

Elijah cracked up, and Orlando joined him. Billy walked by and gave the heads up to Elijah that he was needed at Feet, and on impulse, Orlando pulled him into a hug.

"Oi, accosting Hobbits now, are you?" Billy asked with a bemused grin after Orlando released him.

"Nah, I'm just glad to see a sane person around every once in a while," Orlando said, and punched Billy's arm lightly. "Guess I'm needed in make-up too. Hey, have you seen Beanie?"

Billy scrunched up his face.

"Nah, but I saw Viggo going in earlier. Is there some spat going on between you and Viggo?"

"No. At least not on my part. Look, Billy, I'd like to talk to you alone at some point. Is that okay?"

"Sure. What about?"

"Just some personal stuff. Nothing life-threatening," Orlando said with a weak grin.

"Well, anytime," Billy said. "Watch yourself though, Dom is in a stroppy mood today."

Orlando sighed.

"Yeah. So I heard."

* * *

Viggo was sitting on his chair in the Cuntebago, writing something down. It was common enough a sight, but to Orlando's knowledge, anyone had yet to ask what exactly he was writing. And now he felt like he had given up that right.

So he sat down on his own chair and leaned back, closing his eyes.

"What did you get up to during the weekend?"

Viggo's voice was soft, and it took a minute to register that Viggo was talking to him. He'd been on the verge of dozing, actually.

"Not much. Walking on the beach. Found some more seashells."

"Are you starting a collection?"

Orlando snorted through his nose. Most people didn't get Viggo's sense of humour, but he did. Viggo was pulling his leg right now.

"Yeah. If this actor thing doesn't pan out I'll need something to fall back on."

"Let me know if you figure something out for me."

Orlando indicated the writing pad perched on Viggo's knee. "Doesn't seem to me that you'll be needing any career advice," he said. "What are you writing?"

There. It hadn't been so hard.

"Just jotting down some thoughts. I might use them for something later." Viggo glanced at him warmly and then returned to his writing.

"Yeah? So what's the last thing you just wrote?"

"The Elf will start drooling soon. I better say something," Viggo said, deadpan.

"Shut up, you bugger, you didn't write that!"

"A boy scout's word of honor."

"And you weren't a boy scout, either," Orlando scoffed. "Fine, don't tell me."

He saw Viggo glancing at him from the corner of his eye, on the verge of cracking up. Viggo was crazy. He was absolutely crazy. That was the one thing everyone on set agreed on. Viggo saw him looking at him and lost it.

Orlando was peripherally aware that the women were eyeing them both like they were insane, as both Viggo and he gasped for breath and tried to dab at their eyes to avoid ruining the make-up base.

"I hate you, you know that," Orlando said finally, his voice cracking. "My reputation as a sane person is shot to hell when people see me socializing with you."

"Do you care?" Viggo asked, genuinely curious. Orlando considered, scrunching up his nose.

"No. Not really. Sanity is overrated, yeah?"

* * *

When shooting wrapped for the day, Billy asked him out for a pint. Orlando got himself in Billy's car and ignored the looks they got. Dom, in particular, didn't look any too happy seeing Orlando and Billy leaving together.

"You wanted to talk," Billy said as soon as he'd taken his first sip. "So, Elf Prince, what seems to be the problem?"

Orlando shrugged with one shoulder. Most of his worries had dissipated after he and Viggo had started talking again, and returned to some semblance of normality. But not all. And he wasn't sure what 'normal' meant, anyhow, in the context of Viggo.

"I talked with Viggo in the 'bago, and we're good. Were people saying that he and I have had a row?"

"Well. You two seemed joined at the hip at one point, and now there's been, what, four days of almost complete radio silence. I think that just got some attention, that’s all."

Orlando thought about what Elijah had said about Billy and Dom. Billy and Dom weren't talking because of what had happened on the camping trip. Everyone had been able to tell that everything wasn't right in Hobbiton today, Merry and Pippin ignoring each other even during the breaks. It was unheard of.

"Look, Billy, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Go ahead, ask."

"What happened last weekend to make you and Dom get so mad at each other?"

Billy's eyelids flickered, and he turned to stare into his pint.

"And you're not asking just for fun?"

"No. I'm asking because I'm starting to think that we're going to have a hell of a breach in the Fellowship, and soon, and Pete's going to have an aneurysm if we fuck up these films."

Billy sighed.

"Lij talked to you, didn't he? In any case, you're right. I tried to tell Dom that he should leave Viggo alone, and he didn't want to listen. He thinks it's your fault that Viggo's too taken with you to notice him. Right? So we had a row about Viggo and you and him. Dom is being an arse and I said as much. He can't go around blaming you when you're not even within a hundred mile radius."

Orlando picked up his pint and took a swig. His hands were shaking when he put it back down on the tabletop.

"And you love him, right?"

Billy turned to look at him with a grim face, all playfulness gone.

"I don't use that word lightly, Orli. But yes, I do love him, even when he's being an arse. Not that it changes anything."

"Oh, Billy," Orlando said. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything. That's just how it is."

Orlando swallowed against his dry throat, and then took another long swig, emptying his pint.

"Someone told me that on-set relationships are a bad idea," he said at length. "But it can't be that black and white, now can it? If you have feelings for someone you can't just turn that off. And if you don't act on them you'll be just plain miserable. I don't think that makes sense. Being miserable around a person you work with has got to show on film. Right?"

"Maybe they meant casual things," Billy said. "Like me jumping you right now just for fun. That would be a bad idea."

Orlando nodded heartily. He realised he'd drunk his pint far too fast as the pub seemed to spin around him. Thankfully it did it slowly.

"Dom would probably die from rage," he said with a hysterical little chuckle. "Did you see his face when we left the set?"

"No," Billy said. "He's not a bad guy, Orli. I know he's been ragging into you lately but he'll get over that."

"We used to be friends," Orlando said. "That's what gets to me the most. He used to be my friend."

"And he will be. We're not going to break the Fellowship for a fight over Viggo. Who, by the way, has done nothing to deserve this."

Orlando nodded again.

"So how do I get Dom and you to make up?"

"Get him to take his head out of his arse and I'll consider it," Billy said. "Nah, Orli, it's not your headache. Glad to hear that you and the King are talking, though. He was in a right mood the whole weekend. Maybe because we'd left the Elf behind."

"No one asked the Elf," Orlando said a bit sharply. "Look, I'm sorting something out in my head. It may take a while to get things straight. I just need to know that Dom's not going to chop my head off if I find myself in your trailer at some point. And that you'll make up. If you love the guy, you can't ignore him forever, you know?"

"It isn't just his trailer, it's mine and Lij's too, so Dom had better not to chop off any heads," Billy said with a grin. "We'll be fine, Orli. Trust me. Or trust Lij. He won't let anyone go sulking around him for too long."

Billy emptied his pint, and for the first time took in their surroundings.

"We're the only people here, Orli."

"Yeah, I kind of noticed. Should we call the others to come over?"

Billy considered.

"Naaah. Let me get you another pint."

* * *

He put the shells in a water-bleach solution and left them to soak.

Flaky brown/grey turned almost irisdecent white. He scrubbed the shell gently with a soft toothbrush and stroked along the lip with a fingertip, feeling a slight imperfection that could be smoothed down later. He didn't think he'd go that far. Everything that was truly beautiful needed a flaw.

Orlando found the cowry Viggo had slipped into his pocket the other day; it was small and yellowish in colour, leaning to dark beige. Simple and unassuming, almost plain. Orlando picked it up and felt its glossy surface, wondering why Viggo had chosen this one, and why he'd wanted Orlando to have it.

He could ask. He felt the smooth surface and knew he wouldn't.

* * *

Viggo's writing pad was on the table of the 'bago, and the man himself was nowhere in sight.

Orlando knew he shouldn't. He couldn't. It would be akin to reading someone else's diary, or journal. A breach of trust. An intrusion in privacy.

He picked up the book after making sure there was no one else in the trailer.

Viggo hadn't been lying; the pages were filled with random looking doodles, odd phrases, bits and pieces of a poem. Viggo's handwriting was atrocious, but that probably owed to the fact that he usually wrote with the book perched on his lap, or knee, or against a tree trunk or someone else's back. Come to think of it, Orlando had never seen him writing at a table, like a normal person.

~ close enough, to speak, if I dared ~

~ B can do the most beautiful jig after three beers, captured it on my own camera ~

~ E and A had breakfast this morning with us, sharing food with each other as if they had always done it, these are the moments that we won't remember ~

~ S is late again, he has sweet dreams, it seems ~

He leafed to the end of the book, seeing that Viggo had almost already filled the pages, curious to see what Viggo had really written that morning. Maybe it was an ode to the lube they used for Ranger sweat.

~ nearing sleep, lashes like wings, this bloom of compassion ~

Orlando put the book away before someone caught him snooping. God, he was the worst kind of thief, taking what didn't belong to him. Greedy for things that Viggo didn't want to share. But he wanted *something* of the man who could spend a year at your side and still let you scratch just the surface.

Sitting back on his chair, waiting for the others to arrive, he suddenly understood why Dom seemed to crave Viggo like he did. Because the man was so bloody weird you wanted to immerse yourself in him, burrow yourself in and bask in the slightly insane mind of the man who inhabited Aragorn's head most of the time.

Orlando also understood why Dom stood a snowball's chance in hell of getting what he wanted.

Because Viggo was in love with *him*.

* * *

Beanie and Billy were engrossed in some strange game that included tickling the other's hands and then slapping them if the other wasn't quick enough to pull them back in time. Elijah was staring at their game completely engrossed, voicing verbal encouragement to Billy who was presently getting his hands slapped every time it was his turn to get tickled.

Orlando glanced at Dom across the table. He was peeling off the label of his bottle and shredding it to small pieces, not talking to anyone. Elijah elbowed him in the ribs and said something, and Dom shook his head.

Orlando looked at the man sitting on Dom's other side; Viggo and his whiskey. He was watching Beanie and Billy too, grinning slightly. Orlando suddenly got the most inappropriate idea to ask him to play a round of slap and tickle with him. Not necessarily by the same rules Billy and Bean were playing, though. Viggo's eyes turned to him and Orlando blushed suddenly, kicking Elijah under the table.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, Lij, that was me," Orlando said. "Hey, Beanie, lemme out."

"Your bladder is the size of a peanut," Beanie said, but made way.

Orlando went outside and breathed in the night air. The sky was clear and the stars were bright, but inside his head chaos reigned. Damn you, Stephen, he thought. Damn you and your advice to the novice. I could be happily shagging that man without a worry for tomorrow if not for you.

Well, that wasn't quite true. Viggo wouldn't want a meaningless shag. If he did, he would have followed Orlando to his house the night Orlando had sucked his cock. If Viggo wanted a meaningless shag he wouldn't be watching Orlando like he did, and writing that bit about him in his notebook.

I can't have it all, can I? Orlando asked himself. It's one or the other. And what if it doesn't work out, and I blew my chance for nothing? What if I'm not what he thinks I am? What if it's just New Zealand and the fact that we all practically live in each other's pockets and what I'm feeling isn't real?

He slipped his hands into his pockets, and one of his fingertips slid inside the cowry Viggo had given him. Orlando exhaled hard and curled his fingers around it. Viggo's gift.

He remembered that he had spent the weekend missing his friend. Viggo had asked for privacy, but Orlando was reluctant to grant it. There should be no artificial boundaries between them; not when they were so comfortable with each other. Not when it made Orlando unhappy to be closed out of Viggo's life.

Viggo loved him.

Orlando squeezed the cowry and closed his eyes, his heart thudding almost uncomfortably. He was slightly tipsy after two pints, but not nearly drunk yet. His feet wouldn't take him back inside to the others, and so he stood silently in the New Zealand evening, breathing in the crisp air.

Someone's hand curled around his shoulder and his eyes snapped open. Viggo.

"How's life treating you today, lad?" Billy asked. He was flexing his fingers, and Orlando winced, making a mental note to never play 'slap and tickle' with Beanie.

"Fine," Orlando said. "It's okay. No one's tried to strangle anyone so that's progress, yeah?"

Billy chuckled under his breath. "Lij probably put a tranquilizer into Dom's beer."

"Yeah? Best idea I've heard all week."

"How's your head"?

"Hm?"

"The other day you said you were getting your head sorted out. How's that coming along?"

Orlando blushed, but the darkness thankfully hid his embarrassment.

"Getting there. I think."

Billy put his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders up. Orlando remembered the first time he'd seen him at Heathrow; all friendly smiles, and with the knack of saying something to break the ice in any imaginable situation. Orlando's nerves had melted like ice cream in the sun by the time they landed in Wellington.

"The King said he'd take you home," Billy said, and Orlando's stomach twisted itself into a knot.

"Yeah?" Well, that could have come out a bit more feeble if he'd tried *really* hard. Maybe.

"So he said. And Beanie is drinking his whisky, so I think he means business."

"Oh God," Orlando said, and bit down on his tongue, hard. "That's too soon. I can't."

Billy's brows climbed. "He's not taking you down the aisle, lad, it's just a ride home."

"I know, but..." Orlando shivered. The last time Viggo had driven him home he had ended up blowing him in the car. "Right now?"

"Any time, I guess."

* * *

Orlando twiddled the radio dial to have something to do with his hands. The heater was on and he felt hot, but Viggo seemed bundled up and Orlando didn't want to start a fight over the heater.

"Do you want to go home?" Viggo asked, surprising him.

"Hm? Um, not really. I mean, yeah. Why?"

"Yes or no, Elf boy," Viggo said, and glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "You've seemed to have taken to the beach and I thought you'd like to get some fresh air."

God, yes. He was melting.

"Yeah, that'd be brilliant." Orlando bit his lip as Viggo turned off the main road. Yes or no. Yes or no. And he'd had to go with the yes because otherwise it would have been just too bloody uncomplicated.

"I never took you for a wool-gatherer, Elf boy," Viggo said as they made their way to the beach, Orlando following him in the dark.

Orlando suppressed a bewildered 'huh?' and grinned self-consciously.

"Yeah. I'm not, usually. Just a lot on my mind, I guess. I've been talking to Billy."

"Billy is a good man," Viggo said thoughtfully. "Talented, too. Any one of us could look to him for advice, acting or otherwise."

"I always thought that it was bad idea to get involved with someone you work with," Orlando blurted. Viggo was a darkened shape some feet away, his face turned to the ocean. "And I still think that it -- could be. But it depends on the person. And whether it's just about sex."

Viggo kept staring out to the ocean.

"Are you thinking about getting it on with Billy?" he asked.

"No! Christ," Orlando said. "No. Billy likes -- someone else."

"Ah. That's what you've been talking about?"

Orlando toed his sneakers in the sand, remembering the day he had drawn the heart with Viggo's and his own initials. He was such a kid, and this was just a crush. Or not. Could he really live with not knowing?

"Among other things, yes. But I didn't want to talk about Billy's private life."

"What *did* you want to talk about?"

"You tell me. You brought me here," Orlando said. Viggo's hands were tucked into his armpits, and Orlando felt a wash of something tender going through him. He spoke absentmindedly. "I love this beach. It's so quiet in here. No people with their dogs and their kids."

"Not during the night, no," Viggo said dryly, and opened his arms as Orlando burrowed in. "Whoa."

"I was thinking about going to bed with you," Orlando said, his voice muffled. "You filthy Human. I must be out of my mind."

"Orlando... I can be your friend without the physical part," Viggo said, his voice sounding odd. "You don't need to think that I'll want you out of my life. I might have been a bit too harsh the other day; I know you were hurt."

"Oh, shut up," Orlando said, relieved laughter welling up inside him. "You're the daftest man I've ever known. And you're brilliant. And I'll just die if we'll let this *thing* between us die out and result in just one shoddy blowjob in a car because it could be so much more, and better."

Viggo shivered, and Orlando wasn't sure it was just from the cold.

"I'd like to return the favor, at the very least," Viggo said, his voice tight. "You have no idea how much I've been thinking about that night, Elf boy. I should've followed you to your house and made sure you came at least twice that night and then done it again in the morning."

"Twice?" Orlando asked meekly. His knees felt weak all of a sudden and he was glad he was so closely snuggled against Viggo's body. The King would grab him if he started to faint. "Christ, yes. I want that, too."

"Greedy Elf."

"Presumptuous Human."

Orlando felt Viggo's grinning mouth against his own and opened up. Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Wind tugged at Viggo's coat and his hair, and the stars burned eternal fire in the night sky as Orlando fell in love.

* * *

~ his face fits against mine, in his sleep ~

~ respect for this moment, this first night wondering about you, Elf boy, in wonder about you ~

* * *

"You are a daft cunt, but who could not love you?" Dom asked, and threw his arms around Orlando's shoulders, squeezing him hard. "A daft and lucky cunt, I might add. 'bout time you did something about it, actually."

"I know," Orlando said with a brilliant, far away smile. "I know."

Ahead, Viggo was crouching in the sand, his hands filled with cowries, wearing a pair of sunglasses which Orlando had bought for five dollars earlier that day, along with a floppy hat which hid most of his face from view. Not his smile, though.

Orlando didn't want him sunburned.

finis