FIC: One-Way Ticket to Nowhere
Title:One-Way Ticket to Nowhere
Series: LotR RPS
Pairing: ViggOrli
Genre: Still NA... (NOT Angst)
Rating: PG13/R-ish
Disclaimer: Fiction... NOT true...
Comments: The title just popped into my head and it sounded cool enough so I went and wrote something... And since today seems to be turning out to be one of those "Ryuuen-couldn't-write-proper-angst" days, I figured, what the heck...
Warning: Blatant overuse of terms such as Brit, younger man and lover... Another warning: this is my first R-ish piece, ever... Please be kind... *puppy dog eyes*
ONE-WAY TICKET TO NOWHERE
by Ryuuen
He had known, the moment he opened his door to find a cold, shivering Orlando fidgeting at his doorstep and trying to seek refuge from the merciless onslaught of pouring rain, that things had just started their trip to nowhereland. He had known, the moment he let the younger man into his home at the late hour of two o'clock in the morning of a shooting day, that there would prove to be so much more to this than mere coincidence. He had known, the moment he looked into expressive brown eyes and found an undefinable emotion in them -- both familiar and foreign to him -- that shelter and warmth and comfort weren't the only things his companion desired of him that night.
And yet he ignored it -- the instinctive feeling, the knowledge that things were starting to take a different turn. Maybe he didn't think much of it, thought that if he ignored the palpable tension in the air, it would dissipate and vanish and he'd find himself in bed again a short while later. Or maybe he was just too weak to do anything about it, maybe a lifetime of denial and restraint and pretending to be nothing more than the concerned best friend was finally taking its toll on him. Or maybe, a part of him mocked, it was what he wanted after all.
He tried to keep things casual, acted as though he felt nothing different about that night -- chided Orlando for being out at such an hour, offered him a towel, told him to take a shower while he made tea and oh, if he saw something that fit him in the dresser, he could go ahead and borrow it, didn't want our elf catching a cold now, did we? Thankfully, the young man did as he was told and returned minutes later, clad in what Viggo recognised as a pair of old sweatpants, joking on how he really should bring a set of clothes or two there the next time he visits. For emergencies like this, he said, then laughed. He pressumed the Brit felt the tension,
too, and that was his way of lightening things up. For maybe the only reason he felt it was because it was he himself causing it. He had turned around then, trying to come up with a witty retort, only to find a pair of dark, molten orbs staring at him. And then a murmur, a question he had both dreaded and anticipated and he knew...
So he was not really surprised when he felt a pair of warm, damp hands upon the nape of his neck, pulling him closer towards luscious lips that have haunted his thoughts and plagued his dreams for so long. He wasn't surprised when he heard the silent invitation, to possess, to conquer, venerate what he had always wanted. He wasn't surprised when their lips finally met, soft and gentle, at first, merging into passion and desperation and need. And when hands began to wander and lips began to hunger for more, he knew he was too far gone to care.
Moments later, when they tumbled unceremoniously unto his unmade bed, all the while touching and tasting and undressing rather eagerly, panting heavily, breath labored with desire and lust and passion finally unchained, tongues clashing, eyes and mouth devouring, consuming, worshipping, hands tracing, mapping the expanse of heated tender flesh, skin on skin, when he had him writhing in pleasure amidst groans and moans and cries of "Yes, Viggo!" and "Fuck!" and "More!" as they moved together to a rhythm as old as time, he understood. And when they came and the dam finally burst in a blinding flash of white light, it was then that he knew, somewhere in between, they had finally "left the shore."
It was only later, much later, when he found himself lying on his bed with an armful of beauty and elegance and something yet unspoken, sated and contented and on the edge of consciousness, with the aura of an angel, his angel, the only thing filling his senses, that he managed to whisper the words he had repressed for so long. And Orlando had opened his eyes and took his stubbled face in his hands, pressed their foreheads together and murmured the same. And he was content. And when his lover finally succumbed to the allure of sleep, he allowed himself a small smile. Their trip to nowhere was turning out to be quite a ride.
He woke up a few hours later, to the play of early morning sunlight filtering in through the blinds and the ethereal visage of a celestial being, he knew he could get used to waking up like this. The digital clock Henry had placed at the bedside table blinked, as luminiscent numbers told him it was time to get up. But as he moved to extricate himself from his slumbering lover, he felt the arms around his waist tighten and a sleepy murmur, slightly muffled against his chest, was heard. "Where're you goin' Vig?"
He chuckled, before planting a lingering kiss on the still half-asleep Brit, and whispered, "Nowhere, Orli, just downstairs to prepare breakfast."
Orlando smiled, considerably more awake this time. "Okay... I guess now that we're, y'know... You'd have all the more incentive to feed me, right, old man?"
He laughed at that, before finally getting up and searching the pile of discarded clothing on the floor for something to put on. He was almost half way out when he heard his name being called out and he found his lover in his arms once again.
"I love you, Vig."
A soft, tender kiss. "I love you, too, angel." Then he stepped back, "But we really have to get going."
Orlando pouted a bit and began to make his way towards the shower. "I know... Shouldn't get on PJ's nerves. He's still mad about the prank we played on him last weekend..."
He nodded and began to close the door when...
"Oh, and Vig..."
He stopped, wondering what it was this time.
"Nowhere is always a good place to go. I've never been there before."
He blinked, then smiled fondly back. "Neither have I, Angel." And then, softly... "But something tells me there'd be no turning back."
A pause, a giggle.
"Sounds good to me, Vig. Sounds good to me."
And with that, the door closed, the sound of the shower running the only thing that could be heard.
End.
Feedback will be appreciated.
Cross-posted at viggorli, _insatiable_ and fellow_shippers...
Series: LotR RPS
Pairing: ViggOrli
Genre: Still NA... (NOT Angst)
Rating: PG13/R-ish
Disclaimer: Fiction... NOT true...
Comments: The title just popped into my head and it sounded cool enough so I went and wrote something... And since today seems to be turning out to be one of those "Ryuuen-couldn't-write-proper-angst" days, I figured, what the heck...
Warning: Blatant overuse of terms such as Brit, younger man and lover... Another warning: this is my first R-ish piece, ever... Please be kind... *puppy dog eyes*
ONE-WAY TICKET TO NOWHERE
by Ryuuen
He had known, the moment he opened his door to find a cold, shivering Orlando fidgeting at his doorstep and trying to seek refuge from the merciless onslaught of pouring rain, that things had just started their trip to nowhereland. He had known, the moment he let the younger man into his home at the late hour of two o'clock in the morning of a shooting day, that there would prove to be so much more to this than mere coincidence. He had known, the moment he looked into expressive brown eyes and found an undefinable emotion in them -- both familiar and foreign to him -- that shelter and warmth and comfort weren't the only things his companion desired of him that night.
And yet he ignored it -- the instinctive feeling, the knowledge that things were starting to take a different turn. Maybe he didn't think much of it, thought that if he ignored the palpable tension in the air, it would dissipate and vanish and he'd find himself in bed again a short while later. Or maybe he was just too weak to do anything about it, maybe a lifetime of denial and restraint and pretending to be nothing more than the concerned best friend was finally taking its toll on him. Or maybe, a part of him mocked, it was what he wanted after all.
He tried to keep things casual, acted as though he felt nothing different about that night -- chided Orlando for being out at such an hour, offered him a towel, told him to take a shower while he made tea and oh, if he saw something that fit him in the dresser, he could go ahead and borrow it, didn't want our elf catching a cold now, did we? Thankfully, the young man did as he was told and returned minutes later, clad in what Viggo recognised as a pair of old sweatpants, joking on how he really should bring a set of clothes or two there the next time he visits. For emergencies like this, he said, then laughed. He pressumed the Brit felt the tension,
too, and that was his way of lightening things up. For maybe the only reason he felt it was because it was he himself causing it. He had turned around then, trying to come up with a witty retort, only to find a pair of dark, molten orbs staring at him. And then a murmur, a question he had both dreaded and anticipated and he knew...
So he was not really surprised when he felt a pair of warm, damp hands upon the nape of his neck, pulling him closer towards luscious lips that have haunted his thoughts and plagued his dreams for so long. He wasn't surprised when he heard the silent invitation, to possess, to conquer, venerate what he had always wanted. He wasn't surprised when their lips finally met, soft and gentle, at first, merging into passion and desperation and need. And when hands began to wander and lips began to hunger for more, he knew he was too far gone to care.
Moments later, when they tumbled unceremoniously unto his unmade bed, all the while touching and tasting and undressing rather eagerly, panting heavily, breath labored with desire and lust and passion finally unchained, tongues clashing, eyes and mouth devouring, consuming, worshipping, hands tracing, mapping the expanse of heated tender flesh, skin on skin, when he had him writhing in pleasure amidst groans and moans and cries of "Yes, Viggo!" and "Fuck!" and "More!" as they moved together to a rhythm as old as time, he understood. And when they came and the dam finally burst in a blinding flash of white light, it was then that he knew, somewhere in between, they had finally "left the shore."
It was only later, much later, when he found himself lying on his bed with an armful of beauty and elegance and something yet unspoken, sated and contented and on the edge of consciousness, with the aura of an angel, his angel, the only thing filling his senses, that he managed to whisper the words he had repressed for so long. And Orlando had opened his eyes and took his stubbled face in his hands, pressed their foreheads together and murmured the same. And he was content. And when his lover finally succumbed to the allure of sleep, he allowed himself a small smile. Their trip to nowhere was turning out to be quite a ride.
He woke up a few hours later, to the play of early morning sunlight filtering in through the blinds and the ethereal visage of a celestial being, he knew he could get used to waking up like this. The digital clock Henry had placed at the bedside table blinked, as luminiscent numbers told him it was time to get up. But as he moved to extricate himself from his slumbering lover, he felt the arms around his waist tighten and a sleepy murmur, slightly muffled against his chest, was heard. "Where're you goin' Vig?"
He chuckled, before planting a lingering kiss on the still half-asleep Brit, and whispered, "Nowhere, Orli, just downstairs to prepare breakfast."
Orlando smiled, considerably more awake this time. "Okay... I guess now that we're, y'know... You'd have all the more incentive to feed me, right, old man?"
He laughed at that, before finally getting up and searching the pile of discarded clothing on the floor for something to put on. He was almost half way out when he heard his name being called out and he found his lover in his arms once again.
"I love you, Vig."
A soft, tender kiss. "I love you, too, angel." Then he stepped back, "But we really have to get going."
Orlando pouted a bit and began to make his way towards the shower. "I know... Shouldn't get on PJ's nerves. He's still mad about the prank we played on him last weekend..."
He nodded and began to close the door when...
"Oh, and Vig..."
He stopped, wondering what it was this time.
"Nowhere is always a good place to go. I've never been there before."
He blinked, then smiled fondly back. "Neither have I, Angel." And then, softly... "But something tells me there'd be no turning back."
A pause, a giggle.
"Sounds good to me, Vig. Sounds good to me."
And with that, the door closed, the sound of the shower running the only thing that could be heard.
End.
Feedback will be appreciated.
Cross-posted at viggorli, _insatiable_ and fellow_shippers...