Ficlet: Black Coffee and Cigarettes
Title: Black Coffee and Cigarettes
Fandom: LotR RPS
Genre: General
Rating: PG13
Pairing: ViggOrli
Disclaimer: Not true...
Dedication: My flist, who have been such dolls... *glomptacklehugs everyone* Here is the promised ficlet...
Notes: Unbeta'd. Nothing fancy... Just a typical ambiguous, seemingly pointless ViggOrli conversational piece involving coffee and fags in typical disjointed Ryuuen fashion, with all the vagueness and twisted metaphors that come with it... ;) It was such a struggle writing this, though, since numbers have begun taking over my brain again, so I hope you'd take it easy on me, just this once. Will you? *puppy dog eyes* Inspired by a Weiss Kreuz fic of the same title...
BLACK COFFEE AND CIGARETTES
By: Ryuuen
2 AM.
A lone figure sits in moonlit darkness, hands cradling pale blue ceramic. Warm brown fluid, almost black, swirling languidly, in contrast to the blowing of the chilly night wind. Steam rising steadily, heating a weary face, joining soft blue eyes mapping the velvet, silver-studded canopy above. Stars stare back down -- glaring, too bright -- constellations strange and unfamiliar, reminding him of the facets of his life he has left a world away: his son, his home, his work; of how different things have become since leaving smoggy LA for the lush green countryside of New Zealand; of how much his life has changed. And, almost unwillingly, his thoughts turn to the brown-eyed mystery, wrapped in the trappings of youthful exuberance, of careless grace, of sunlight and warmth, that he has found there.
A sigh escapes chapped lips, loud in the stillness of pre-dawn.
He has always been like this, has always been drawn to the beauty of the unknown, the unfamiliar. Like a ship to a siren's song -- sensual, alluring, dangerous. But when the desire to understand began developing, metamorphosing into something yet unspeakable, he knew it had to stop.
And he closes his eyes, reverently lifting his head as though in worship, and sends a silent prayer to Whoever may be listening, asking unnamed entities to take away this attraction... this passion... this obsession... that was threatening to become something else altogether. Pleading, beseeching Him to take it away before it kills him.
A slammed door draws him from his reverie, noisy footsteps approaching.
And he sighs, for he knows too well who it would be.
"Hey mate! What the fuck do you think... Viggo?"
Surprise.
A strained smile.
"Good morning, Orlando."
"God, you fuckin' scared me!"
"Plan to have me arrested for breaking and entering?"
Calm, amused.
A glare.
"You know, normal people actually sleep at two fuckin' o'clock in the fuckin' morning."
A gesture.
"Mind if I sit?"
A shrug.
"It's your house. And since when did people start considering me normal?"
"Bloody smart-arsed artists."
A chuckle.
"You know, it never fails to impress me how you've transformed swearing into a completely different art form."
A snort.
"Is that a compliment, old man?"
Another shrug.
"So, can't sleep?"
Fidgeting.
"Yeah. Something about a room full of hobbits, a pervy old wizard and a snoring dwarf that just doesn't agree with me."
"Big scene tomorrow. Nervous?"
"That too. I'd actually be doing something, lines and all, other than stand around looking pretty."
A laugh.
"Well, it's what you do best, isn't it, prissy elf?"
A playful swat.
"Filthy human. What are you doing out here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be painting some vague thing or writing some thought-provoking verses about world peace and prosthetic ears and all that shit?"
A quirked brow.
"And just how are you aware of my nightly activities, I wonder..."
A blush.
"A good guess. As if you'd do some other things with your free time... Would you?"
Silence.
"I've been keeping watch."
Brown eyes blink, confused.
"I've been keeping watch. That is what I've been doing."
"Really?"
Curious, almost naive.
A chuckle.
"The stars are beautiful tonight, Orlando."
A frown.
"Are you sure you're okay, old man?"
An unidentifiable flicker. Concerned, almost...
"I'm fine. Just another bout of insomnia, is all."
"And you drink black coffee?"
A shrug.
"Habit."
"You're strange."
"So I've been told, in varying degrees."
Shaking of a mohawked head.
"I'll never understand you."
"Hmm..."
"Mind if I smoke?"
"Free country."
Another frown.
"You're awfully chatty today, aren't you, Vig?"
"Hmm..."
"You didn't mind me calling you 'old man', did you?"
"Not at all."
A hand reaches into his pocket for the only cigarette left before tossing its pack aside, slightly crushed. The Brit lights the fag, takes a puff, bringing it to soft-looking lips. He is distracted, watching, smelling vaguely scented smoke escaping an exquisite mouth, flowing into the thin night air. Wondering how it would feel to...
"Do you miss them?"
...He catches himself, halts that train of thought, looks away.
"Who?"
"I dunno... Your family, friends... a girlfriend, maybe..."
Hesitation.
"Maybe. Among other things..."
"Is she nice?"
"Who?"
"Your girlfriend."
"What makes you think I'm involved?"
A shrug.
"You never seem to show interest in m... in anyone. You must be attached."
A clipped tone. Something unusual. Eyes meet.
Blue eyes piercing, probing, searching, trying to decipher. And then...
Carefully.
"I'm not."
Brown eyes look away, a flush staining high-boned cheeks.
"Oh."
"I admit that I'm homesick, yes. But mostly, it's my son that I miss." A smile. "He was the one who convinced me to take this role in the first place. And I'd do anything for his happiness."
A hand on his shoulder.
"You are a good father, Viggo."
A smile, before drawing away.
"I feel that too, you know." Another puff. "Homesickness, I mean. It's like... I dunno... There just are times when I can't help but feel so alone. I know we've been like a family, looking after each other and all but... It's different. We're practically in an entriely different world. It just feels so surreal at times. There's like... this... this barrier between here and the real world, which stops time from passing even as the whole world keeps on turning. I'm afraid we'd get left behind and... I dunno... It just gets lonely sometimes."
"Orli..."
"Did that even make any sense?" A long puff. "Damn it, Vig! I've known you for one fuckin' month and your brooding-artist persona's beginning to rub off onto me!"
A sympathetic smile.
"It's alright to allow yourself to feel, Orlando. It's what makes us human after all."
"Getting all morose on me again, old man?"
A chuckle.
"Maybe. Up for tomorrow's scene?"
A wane smile.
"Yeah. I've followed your advice, trying to work out Leggy's motivations and stuff..."
"Didn't they teach you that in drama school?"
Teasing.
A glare.
"Are you insulting my education, Vig? I'm wounded!"
A laugh.
"Enough with the drama, Elfboy. We all know you're a fuckin' natural."
"Elf boy? You're calling me and Leggy, Elf boy? I'd have you know, Mr. Man-Who-Wouldn't-Be-King-Until-the-Third-Movie that I'm supposed to be an elvish prince, not just some bloody sidekick!"
"Are you now?"
Amused.
A shrug. Shifting. Another puff. Brown eyes looking into the distance, not really seeing.
"Orli?"
"Well, I've given that much thought, actually. 'Cause hey, almost all of my scenes involve you, Aragorn, in one way or another, yeah? So, I figured, there must be a reason for that, yeah? It's like, I dunno, the thing that motivates the elf comes from his relationship with the ranger. They have this... this friendship... this brotherhood... this... special bond... that seems to mean so much to the elf, you know..."
Silence.
"I dunno, but I think there's something... more... about their relationship that kept Legolas by Elessar's side. I mean, he didn't sail West until Aragorn died, yeah? So maybe it was that friendship... that bond... that kept him from leaving Middle Earth."
Brown eyes intense with subtle wisdom.
"I think Aragorn had more than Legolas' loyalty and friendship, though. The King of Men had his trust... his devotion... his..."
"Love?"
"Yeah."
Brown meets blue, a flicker of something -- fleeting, evanescent, ephemeral. Breaths held, pulses racing... And then...
Blue eyes tear themselves away, their owner forcing himself to ignore the beating of his heart against his chest. His mouth feels dry and he lifts his mug to his lips instinctively, taking a swig of the caffeine-potent beverage.
"You've done some pretty intense character-internalizing then."
A careful glance.
"Though I still say you don't need it much. You're a talented actor, Orli."
Silence. Awkward. Imposing.
"You're a method actor, yeah, Vig?"
Cool. Composed. Determined.
"Is that a trick question, Elfboy?"
A shrug.
"I dunno. I may want to try method acting some time. I'm rather interested."
An unreadable look.
"Just curious and all."
A pause.
"You know, I think Aragorn and Legolas are lovers."
A quirked brow.
"What?"
"I said, I think Arwen's not the only elf in Aragorn's life."
A sigh.
"Orli..."
"Don't tell me it hadn't crossed your mind?"
Mocking silence. He stares at the starlit sky, wondering what he may have done in a past life to tempt Fate so.
"Nevermind. Black coffee usually tastes better with cigarettes, did you know, Vig?"
A confused frown.
"Black cofee and cigarettes?"
"Yeah."
A slender hand reaches for the blue mug.
"May I?"
Hands brush, eyes meet once again, and something passes, before it is gone. He watches, mesmerized, as his companion takes another puff, long and indulgent, before touching the mug to his lips and taking a sip. A beautiful smile highlights ethereal features in the silver of moonlight and he has to remind himself to breath.
Brown eyes look straight back at him, as though daring him, tempting him.
"It's good. Wanna try?"
He looks away.
"I quit. Nasty habit."
A raised eyebrow.
"Did you, now? Got tired of fags so soon, Viggo?"
A sultry smile.
A shrug, nonchalant. Willing himself not to give in.
"Maybe."
"I see."
Steady hands cradling a stubbled face. Warm breath fanning across each other's faces, too close. He can't break away. He doesn't want to. And then, softly...
"Let's do this my way, then."
And lips meet, passionate, demanding -- mouths opening, tongues clashing, hands wandering. He pulls him closer, pushing into a willing young mouth, asserting his dominance -- marking, conquering, possessing, claiming. Tasting the lingering residues of nicotine and caffeine and something else uniquely Orlando's, blending. Intoxicating. Breathtaking. Addictive.
He draws away, panting. Stares into dazed brown eyes.
"Orli..."
Flushed faces, erratic pulses. Realization.
Brown eyes look away, lithe body trying to break free from the heated embrace.
"I'm sorry, Vig."
A frown. Calloused hand against soft skin.
"Orli..."
"Bad habits die hard, Vig. Once can never be enough. It's either you indulge yourself in them forever or not at all."
"Orli..."
"I don't know what you want, Vig."
A sigh.
"I don't, either. But maybe... We could find out. Together."
A gentle hand tilting a beautiful face, willing him to believe.
The younger man steps away.
"Orli?"
"I'm going inside now, Vig."
Silence. Time stands still. And then...
"Are you coming?"
Soft. Hesitant.
A smile.
"Yeah."
And he lifts his head, sends a thankful prayer to the One who has given him this, whatever it is, leaving everything behind but the memory of this moment, before walking back into the house where the possibility of a future awaits.
Meanwhile, on the porch, a pale blue mug sits next to an empty packet of cigarettes.
The coffee has gone cold.
The cigarette has gone out.
Left behind.
Forgotten.
But not quite.
They are not alone.
A soul may have found its mate this night.
Somewhere, a cock crows.
End.
Feedback shall be appreciated.
Cross-posted at viggorli, fellow_shippers and _insatiable_.
Fandom: LotR RPS
Genre: General
Rating: PG13
Pairing: ViggOrli
Disclaimer: Not true...
Dedication: My flist, who have been such dolls... *glomptacklehugs everyone* Here is the promised ficlet...
Notes: Unbeta'd. Nothing fancy... Just a typical ambiguous, seemingly pointless ViggOrli conversational piece involving coffee and fags in typical disjointed Ryuuen fashion, with all the vagueness and twisted metaphors that come with it... ;) It was such a struggle writing this, though, since numbers have begun taking over my brain again, so I hope you'd take it easy on me, just this once. Will you? *puppy dog eyes* Inspired by a Weiss Kreuz fic of the same title...
BLACK COFFEE AND CIGARETTES
By: Ryuuen
2 AM.
A lone figure sits in moonlit darkness, hands cradling pale blue ceramic. Warm brown fluid, almost black, swirling languidly, in contrast to the blowing of the chilly night wind. Steam rising steadily, heating a weary face, joining soft blue eyes mapping the velvet, silver-studded canopy above. Stars stare back down -- glaring, too bright -- constellations strange and unfamiliar, reminding him of the facets of his life he has left a world away: his son, his home, his work; of how different things have become since leaving smoggy LA for the lush green countryside of New Zealand; of how much his life has changed. And, almost unwillingly, his thoughts turn to the brown-eyed mystery, wrapped in the trappings of youthful exuberance, of careless grace, of sunlight and warmth, that he has found there.
A sigh escapes chapped lips, loud in the stillness of pre-dawn.
He has always been like this, has always been drawn to the beauty of the unknown, the unfamiliar. Like a ship to a siren's song -- sensual, alluring, dangerous. But when the desire to understand began developing, metamorphosing into something yet unspeakable, he knew it had to stop.
And he closes his eyes, reverently lifting his head as though in worship, and sends a silent prayer to Whoever may be listening, asking unnamed entities to take away this attraction... this passion... this obsession... that was threatening to become something else altogether. Pleading, beseeching Him to take it away before it kills him.
A slammed door draws him from his reverie, noisy footsteps approaching.
And he sighs, for he knows too well who it would be.
"Hey mate! What the fuck do you think... Viggo?"
Surprise.
A strained smile.
"Good morning, Orlando."
"God, you fuckin' scared me!"
"Plan to have me arrested for breaking and entering?"
Calm, amused.
A glare.
"You know, normal people actually sleep at two fuckin' o'clock in the fuckin' morning."
A gesture.
"Mind if I sit?"
A shrug.
"It's your house. And since when did people start considering me normal?"
"Bloody smart-arsed artists."
A chuckle.
"You know, it never fails to impress me how you've transformed swearing into a completely different art form."
A snort.
"Is that a compliment, old man?"
Another shrug.
"So, can't sleep?"
Fidgeting.
"Yeah. Something about a room full of hobbits, a pervy old wizard and a snoring dwarf that just doesn't agree with me."
"Big scene tomorrow. Nervous?"
"That too. I'd actually be doing something, lines and all, other than stand around looking pretty."
A laugh.
"Well, it's what you do best, isn't it, prissy elf?"
A playful swat.
"Filthy human. What are you doing out here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be painting some vague thing or writing some thought-provoking verses about world peace and prosthetic ears and all that shit?"
A quirked brow.
"And just how are you aware of my nightly activities, I wonder..."
A blush.
"A good guess. As if you'd do some other things with your free time... Would you?"
Silence.
"I've been keeping watch."
Brown eyes blink, confused.
"I've been keeping watch. That is what I've been doing."
"Really?"
Curious, almost naive.
A chuckle.
"The stars are beautiful tonight, Orlando."
A frown.
"Are you sure you're okay, old man?"
An unidentifiable flicker. Concerned, almost...
"I'm fine. Just another bout of insomnia, is all."
"And you drink black coffee?"
A shrug.
"Habit."
"You're strange."
"So I've been told, in varying degrees."
Shaking of a mohawked head.
"I'll never understand you."
"Hmm..."
"Mind if I smoke?"
"Free country."
Another frown.
"You're awfully chatty today, aren't you, Vig?"
"Hmm..."
"You didn't mind me calling you 'old man', did you?"
"Not at all."
A hand reaches into his pocket for the only cigarette left before tossing its pack aside, slightly crushed. The Brit lights the fag, takes a puff, bringing it to soft-looking lips. He is distracted, watching, smelling vaguely scented smoke escaping an exquisite mouth, flowing into the thin night air. Wondering how it would feel to...
"Do you miss them?"
...He catches himself, halts that train of thought, looks away.
"Who?"
"I dunno... Your family, friends... a girlfriend, maybe..."
Hesitation.
"Maybe. Among other things..."
"Is she nice?"
"Who?"
"Your girlfriend."
"What makes you think I'm involved?"
A shrug.
"You never seem to show interest in m... in anyone. You must be attached."
A clipped tone. Something unusual. Eyes meet.
Blue eyes piercing, probing, searching, trying to decipher. And then...
Carefully.
"I'm not."
Brown eyes look away, a flush staining high-boned cheeks.
"Oh."
"I admit that I'm homesick, yes. But mostly, it's my son that I miss." A smile. "He was the one who convinced me to take this role in the first place. And I'd do anything for his happiness."
A hand on his shoulder.
"You are a good father, Viggo."
A smile, before drawing away.
"I feel that too, you know." Another puff. "Homesickness, I mean. It's like... I dunno... There just are times when I can't help but feel so alone. I know we've been like a family, looking after each other and all but... It's different. We're practically in an entriely different world. It just feels so surreal at times. There's like... this... this barrier between here and the real world, which stops time from passing even as the whole world keeps on turning. I'm afraid we'd get left behind and... I dunno... It just gets lonely sometimes."
"Orli..."
"Did that even make any sense?" A long puff. "Damn it, Vig! I've known you for one fuckin' month and your brooding-artist persona's beginning to rub off onto me!"
A sympathetic smile.
"It's alright to allow yourself to feel, Orlando. It's what makes us human after all."
"Getting all morose on me again, old man?"
A chuckle.
"Maybe. Up for tomorrow's scene?"
A wane smile.
"Yeah. I've followed your advice, trying to work out Leggy's motivations and stuff..."
"Didn't they teach you that in drama school?"
Teasing.
A glare.
"Are you insulting my education, Vig? I'm wounded!"
A laugh.
"Enough with the drama, Elfboy. We all know you're a fuckin' natural."
"Elf boy? You're calling me and Leggy, Elf boy? I'd have you know, Mr. Man-Who-Wouldn't-Be-King-Until-the-Third-Movie that I'm supposed to be an elvish prince, not just some bloody sidekick!"
"Are you now?"
Amused.
A shrug. Shifting. Another puff. Brown eyes looking into the distance, not really seeing.
"Orli?"
"Well, I've given that much thought, actually. 'Cause hey, almost all of my scenes involve you, Aragorn, in one way or another, yeah? So, I figured, there must be a reason for that, yeah? It's like, I dunno, the thing that motivates the elf comes from his relationship with the ranger. They have this... this friendship... this brotherhood... this... special bond... that seems to mean so much to the elf, you know..."
Silence.
"I dunno, but I think there's something... more... about their relationship that kept Legolas by Elessar's side. I mean, he didn't sail West until Aragorn died, yeah? So maybe it was that friendship... that bond... that kept him from leaving Middle Earth."
Brown eyes intense with subtle wisdom.
"I think Aragorn had more than Legolas' loyalty and friendship, though. The King of Men had his trust... his devotion... his..."
"Love?"
"Yeah."
Brown meets blue, a flicker of something -- fleeting, evanescent, ephemeral. Breaths held, pulses racing... And then...
Blue eyes tear themselves away, their owner forcing himself to ignore the beating of his heart against his chest. His mouth feels dry and he lifts his mug to his lips instinctively, taking a swig of the caffeine-potent beverage.
"You've done some pretty intense character-internalizing then."
A careful glance.
"Though I still say you don't need it much. You're a talented actor, Orli."
Silence. Awkward. Imposing.
"You're a method actor, yeah, Vig?"
Cool. Composed. Determined.
"Is that a trick question, Elfboy?"
A shrug.
"I dunno. I may want to try method acting some time. I'm rather interested."
An unreadable look.
"Just curious and all."
A pause.
"You know, I think Aragorn and Legolas are lovers."
A quirked brow.
"What?"
"I said, I think Arwen's not the only elf in Aragorn's life."
A sigh.
"Orli..."
"Don't tell me it hadn't crossed your mind?"
Mocking silence. He stares at the starlit sky, wondering what he may have done in a past life to tempt Fate so.
"Nevermind. Black coffee usually tastes better with cigarettes, did you know, Vig?"
A confused frown.
"Black cofee and cigarettes?"
"Yeah."
A slender hand reaches for the blue mug.
"May I?"
Hands brush, eyes meet once again, and something passes, before it is gone. He watches, mesmerized, as his companion takes another puff, long and indulgent, before touching the mug to his lips and taking a sip. A beautiful smile highlights ethereal features in the silver of moonlight and he has to remind himself to breath.
Brown eyes look straight back at him, as though daring him, tempting him.
"It's good. Wanna try?"
He looks away.
"I quit. Nasty habit."
A raised eyebrow.
"Did you, now? Got tired of fags so soon, Viggo?"
A sultry smile.
A shrug, nonchalant. Willing himself not to give in.
"Maybe."
"I see."
Steady hands cradling a stubbled face. Warm breath fanning across each other's faces, too close. He can't break away. He doesn't want to. And then, softly...
"Let's do this my way, then."
And lips meet, passionate, demanding -- mouths opening, tongues clashing, hands wandering. He pulls him closer, pushing into a willing young mouth, asserting his dominance -- marking, conquering, possessing, claiming. Tasting the lingering residues of nicotine and caffeine and something else uniquely Orlando's, blending. Intoxicating. Breathtaking. Addictive.
He draws away, panting. Stares into dazed brown eyes.
"Orli..."
Flushed faces, erratic pulses. Realization.
Brown eyes look away, lithe body trying to break free from the heated embrace.
"I'm sorry, Vig."
A frown. Calloused hand against soft skin.
"Orli..."
"Bad habits die hard, Vig. Once can never be enough. It's either you indulge yourself in them forever or not at all."
"Orli..."
"I don't know what you want, Vig."
A sigh.
"I don't, either. But maybe... We could find out. Together."
A gentle hand tilting a beautiful face, willing him to believe.
The younger man steps away.
"Orli?"
"I'm going inside now, Vig."
Silence. Time stands still. And then...
"Are you coming?"
Soft. Hesitant.
A smile.
"Yeah."
And he lifts his head, sends a thankful prayer to the One who has given him this, whatever it is, leaving everything behind but the memory of this moment, before walking back into the house where the possibility of a future awaits.
Meanwhile, on the porch, a pale blue mug sits next to an empty packet of cigarettes.
The coffee has gone cold.
The cigarette has gone out.
Left behind.
Forgotten.
But not quite.
They are not alone.
A soul may have found its mate this night.
Somewhere, a cock crows.
End.
Feedback shall be appreciated.
Cross-posted at viggorli, fellow_shippers and _insatiable_.