Ficlet: WANT
Title: Want
Fandom: LotR RPS
Genre: Drama/Romance/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: ViggOrli
Disclaimer: Lies, all of them.
Summary: Orlando knows just how much Viggo wants him.
Notes: Unbeta-ed. The things I come up with at 5 AM of a non-class day... Was supposed to be alot more angsty than it turned out to be but I couldn't bring myself to write something with an unhappy ending right now, what with the "crisis" plaguing the fandom. So... Yeah... And... Note to self: Never ever try writing slash with your parents bitching at you again...
WANT
By: Ryuuen
You want me.
I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice, feel it in your touch.
You want me.
I know, you know. I know how much you want me. I've seen that flicker in your eyes as they drift over me when you think no one is watching. I've felt the way your hands tremble at every deliberately accidental touch. I've heard it in the way you say my name in that quiet, raspy voice that makes me hard just listening to it.
You want me.
And yet, you don't say anything. You just sit there, at the back of that goddamned booth, getting pissed on scotch or vodka or whatever exotic drink you've chosen for the evening. But not too pissed, of course, since everybody knows whom you'd end up driving home by the end of the night. I can feel your eyes upon me, unwavering, intense, like a predator watching its prey. I can feel your eyes upon me, even as I start to lose myself in the frenzy of the music and the massive throng of bodies moving in sync to it. I can feel your eyes upon me, even as you attempt to strike up a conversation with Bean or Miranda or Ian or anyone with half the mind to pretend to understand your ideals on life and love and world peace and the covered canvas at the back of your room that you can't just quite finish.
I wonder if you've ever painted me, if you've ever considered the idea. I wonder if you've composed poetry for me, about me, speaking of careful kisses and respect for moments and words better left unspoken, even as we find just how much our faces fit. I've seen the pictures, though, stuck haphazardly with scotch tape to your make-up mirror, together with the rest of your photos and clippings and all those artistic quirks that never fail to make me smile. I've been aware of you taking most of them, like that one you took of me putting in my contacts or the one with the hobbits down at the beach. However, once in a while, you'd throw me off guard with pictures that take me by surprise, make me think, like that of Legolas sitting under a tree with eyes surprisingly closed in sleep. And I wonder at times, just how your artistic eyes see me and how that makes watching me all the more alluring than reaching out for the real thing.
It'd be so easy, you know, to break this pattern of detached admiration. You could have me. All you need to do is ask and I'd willingly give you everything. You should know by the way I look back at you, the way I touch you, that I wouldn't reject you. I have this feeling that we could be so good together, that we'd be so happy, if only you would do something.
I know I could always make the first move, could always pull you against me behind the make-up trailer and shamelessly offer myself to you. I've wanted to. God knows, I have. And yet somehow...
It'd mean so much to me if you would only say those words, if you'd only tell me what you feel. No, I am not hoping for some outlandish declaration of love or the promise of forever and all that mushy romantic crap you poets go on and on about. I'm not yet that far gone. No. All I want is some sort of reassurance, some acknowledgement that there is indeed something going on between us. And if it turns out to be nothing more than horniness and the desire for gratuitous sex, then so be it. Though something tells me it just wouldn't be the same...
So I let my touches linger a little bit more than necessary. Curl my tongue around your name as I would want to do to a certain part of your anatomy. Meet your eyes and bare my soul to you. Smile as I never have for any other. I've played this game, this role before, you know. The part of the seducer, the tempter. And yet, for you, it's somehow... different. And I wonder if there's so much more to this than trying to break through your cold facade.
You're watching me more closely now, and I have to smile in spite of myself, grinding my hips against no one and nothing in particular pretending it was you. And I close my eyes, losing myself in the illusion of your arms surrounding me, your hands on me, all over me -- touching, caressing, possessing. I can almost feel your mouth against my neck, warm and teasing as it nips at the sensitive flesh. I moan, the blood flowing from my heart and pooling in my groin as I could almost feel a hard body pressed against my back, a muscled arm against my stomach, a calloused hand probing lower... lower...
And then I feel strong arms pulling me away, almost harshly, and I open my eyes to see you standing over some nameless guy sprawled all over the dance floor, sporting a rather nasty black eye. You growl something that sounds suspiciously like a death threat and I am surprised at the ferocity of your voice. It is only then that I realize what, in my inebriation and wistfulness, I had almost allowed to happen. And it is in a semi-aware daze that I allow you to pull me against you as you force your way to the nearest exit, unmindful of the audience. I try to look up and yet your usually expressive face, those crystal blue eyes that speak volumes of that which words cannot express, are blank and expressionless. Though there's something about them that I should have recognized under other circumstances but couldn't.
You drag me out the door, into the street, and I am not really surprised when you pull me into an alley and slam me none-too-gently against the decrepit wall, your hands gripping my arms so tightly that I just know I'd be sporting bruises in the morning.
"What the fuck did you think you were doing, Orlando?" you hiss, and I could feel your breath fanning against my mouth, your stubble tickling my chin. And it takes all the restraint I didn't know I have not to flick my tongue out to taste your lips. And I wonder if you are aware of how easy it would be to lean in and claim what you want.
"What do you mean, Viggo?" I manage to ask, baiting, teasing, trying to play the innocent I never really was. I've never seen you like this... this passionate... this... out of control. And the fact that it was I who made you, the cool and composed Viggo Mortensen, lose your legendary composure turns me on even more.
You let out a frustrated growl, and I shiver, though if it were from the chill of the night or the coldness of the wall against my back or even your proximity that made me do so, I would never know.
"You have no fucking idea what you're doing to me, do you, Orlando?"
And there it is. Out in the open. Just as I wanted. And I couldn't help the sultry smile, the husky tone in my voice as I regard you through half-lidded eyes, hands lifting from my sides to waver over your forearms.
"I don't know, Viggo. Maybe I do..."
And I lean up, bringing our lips so tantalizingly close in an unmistakable invitation. It is your turn to shiver. And as I begin to cover the almost negligible distance between us, you suddenly release me and pull away.
"Fuck!"
It takes a moment to register what just happened and another to regain my lost balance, just in time to keep myself from collapsing upon the pavement.
"Viggo?"
I am confused, and when you speak, I am surprised to hear a slight tremor in your voice.
"Orlando, I'm... It's not... Oh God... Just... Just leave me be..."
I frown, not liking the way this conversation is going.
"Viggo, I don't understand."
And then you turn around and for the first time, I see what could be unshed tears blurring the intensity of your beautiful, beautiful eyes, reflecting pain and sorrow and...
"Orlando, I..."
And for some reason I, myself, couldn't fathom, I kiss you. Not with the passion and desperation and need I was expecting our first kiss to have but with a tenderness, a shyness, an emotional quality that makes me think that there could be so much more to this than what I had planned.
And then you're pulling me closer, taking control of the kiss that I have initiated, as both of us instinctively knew you were meant to. And I couldn't help but moan as you slip your tongue into my mouth -- exploring, marking, claiming, plundering. Your steady hands drift into my hair, down my back, over my arse, with a gentle possessiveness that make me tingle all over.
This continues for what seems like forever, desire heightening, passion rising, but altogether maintaining the poignancy of the kiss. But when the sometimes overrated need to breathe surfaces, we break apart hesitantly, resting our foreheads against each other.
"Orlando, I..."
You begin, and I chastely press my lips against yours once again to silence you.
"I know, Viggo."
"But..."
And I pull you down, my hands still clasped behind your neck, and look into your eyes, speaking of promises and forever and something yet unnamed. And I realize that maybe, just maybe, I was more far gone than I thought myself to be at first. That I wish this to become something more than a casual fling.
"I would never hurt you."
And when you smile, and I see the beginnings of the same something in the depths of your eyes, I couldn't help but smile back before pulling away.
"Orlando?"
I could almost feel the hurt and confusion in your voice as you watch me walk away. And then I stop, turn around, and offer you my hand.
"Take me home, Viggo. Just... take me home."
And you smile once again, teasingly lifting my hand to your mouth and kissing my knuckles.
"As you wish, my prissy elf."
And I couldn't stop the giddy giggle that escapes my lips as you pull me against you and lead me to your car.
You have always wanted me.
I have always wanted you.
Tonight, there's no doubt that both of us would be getting what we want.
But as you place your arm around me and usher me into the passenger seat, as I cuddle up to you watching the scenery pass, as you lead me into your home for the first time, I couldn't help but wish...
That someday...
Maybe...
It could be even more.
END.
Cross posted at viggorli, _insatiable_ and fellow_shippers.
Fandom: LotR RPS
Genre: Drama/Romance/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: ViggOrli
Disclaimer: Lies, all of them.
Summary: Orlando knows just how much Viggo wants him.
Notes: Unbeta-ed. The things I come up with at 5 AM of a non-class day... Was supposed to be alot more angsty than it turned out to be but I couldn't bring myself to write something with an unhappy ending right now, what with the "crisis" plaguing the fandom. So... Yeah... And... Note to self: Never ever try writing slash with your parents bitching at you again...
WANT
By: Ryuuen
You want me.
I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice, feel it in your touch.
You want me.
I know, you know. I know how much you want me. I've seen that flicker in your eyes as they drift over me when you think no one is watching. I've felt the way your hands tremble at every deliberately accidental touch. I've heard it in the way you say my name in that quiet, raspy voice that makes me hard just listening to it.
You want me.
And yet, you don't say anything. You just sit there, at the back of that goddamned booth, getting pissed on scotch or vodka or whatever exotic drink you've chosen for the evening. But not too pissed, of course, since everybody knows whom you'd end up driving home by the end of the night. I can feel your eyes upon me, unwavering, intense, like a predator watching its prey. I can feel your eyes upon me, even as I start to lose myself in the frenzy of the music and the massive throng of bodies moving in sync to it. I can feel your eyes upon me, even as you attempt to strike up a conversation with Bean or Miranda or Ian or anyone with half the mind to pretend to understand your ideals on life and love and world peace and the covered canvas at the back of your room that you can't just quite finish.
I wonder if you've ever painted me, if you've ever considered the idea. I wonder if you've composed poetry for me, about me, speaking of careful kisses and respect for moments and words better left unspoken, even as we find just how much our faces fit. I've seen the pictures, though, stuck haphazardly with scotch tape to your make-up mirror, together with the rest of your photos and clippings and all those artistic quirks that never fail to make me smile. I've been aware of you taking most of them, like that one you took of me putting in my contacts or the one with the hobbits down at the beach. However, once in a while, you'd throw me off guard with pictures that take me by surprise, make me think, like that of Legolas sitting under a tree with eyes surprisingly closed in sleep. And I wonder at times, just how your artistic eyes see me and how that makes watching me all the more alluring than reaching out for the real thing.
It'd be so easy, you know, to break this pattern of detached admiration. You could have me. All you need to do is ask and I'd willingly give you everything. You should know by the way I look back at you, the way I touch you, that I wouldn't reject you. I have this feeling that we could be so good together, that we'd be so happy, if only you would do something.
I know I could always make the first move, could always pull you against me behind the make-up trailer and shamelessly offer myself to you. I've wanted to. God knows, I have. And yet somehow...
It'd mean so much to me if you would only say those words, if you'd only tell me what you feel. No, I am not hoping for some outlandish declaration of love or the promise of forever and all that mushy romantic crap you poets go on and on about. I'm not yet that far gone. No. All I want is some sort of reassurance, some acknowledgement that there is indeed something going on between us. And if it turns out to be nothing more than horniness and the desire for gratuitous sex, then so be it. Though something tells me it just wouldn't be the same...
So I let my touches linger a little bit more than necessary. Curl my tongue around your name as I would want to do to a certain part of your anatomy. Meet your eyes and bare my soul to you. Smile as I never have for any other. I've played this game, this role before, you know. The part of the seducer, the tempter. And yet, for you, it's somehow... different. And I wonder if there's so much more to this than trying to break through your cold facade.
You're watching me more closely now, and I have to smile in spite of myself, grinding my hips against no one and nothing in particular pretending it was you. And I close my eyes, losing myself in the illusion of your arms surrounding me, your hands on me, all over me -- touching, caressing, possessing. I can almost feel your mouth against my neck, warm and teasing as it nips at the sensitive flesh. I moan, the blood flowing from my heart and pooling in my groin as I could almost feel a hard body pressed against my back, a muscled arm against my stomach, a calloused hand probing lower... lower...
And then I feel strong arms pulling me away, almost harshly, and I open my eyes to see you standing over some nameless guy sprawled all over the dance floor, sporting a rather nasty black eye. You growl something that sounds suspiciously like a death threat and I am surprised at the ferocity of your voice. It is only then that I realize what, in my inebriation and wistfulness, I had almost allowed to happen. And it is in a semi-aware daze that I allow you to pull me against you as you force your way to the nearest exit, unmindful of the audience. I try to look up and yet your usually expressive face, those crystal blue eyes that speak volumes of that which words cannot express, are blank and expressionless. Though there's something about them that I should have recognized under other circumstances but couldn't.
You drag me out the door, into the street, and I am not really surprised when you pull me into an alley and slam me none-too-gently against the decrepit wall, your hands gripping my arms so tightly that I just know I'd be sporting bruises in the morning.
"What the fuck did you think you were doing, Orlando?" you hiss, and I could feel your breath fanning against my mouth, your stubble tickling my chin. And it takes all the restraint I didn't know I have not to flick my tongue out to taste your lips. And I wonder if you are aware of how easy it would be to lean in and claim what you want.
"What do you mean, Viggo?" I manage to ask, baiting, teasing, trying to play the innocent I never really was. I've never seen you like this... this passionate... this... out of control. And the fact that it was I who made you, the cool and composed Viggo Mortensen, lose your legendary composure turns me on even more.
You let out a frustrated growl, and I shiver, though if it were from the chill of the night or the coldness of the wall against my back or even your proximity that made me do so, I would never know.
"You have no fucking idea what you're doing to me, do you, Orlando?"
And there it is. Out in the open. Just as I wanted. And I couldn't help the sultry smile, the husky tone in my voice as I regard you through half-lidded eyes, hands lifting from my sides to waver over your forearms.
"I don't know, Viggo. Maybe I do..."
And I lean up, bringing our lips so tantalizingly close in an unmistakable invitation. It is your turn to shiver. And as I begin to cover the almost negligible distance between us, you suddenly release me and pull away.
"Fuck!"
It takes a moment to register what just happened and another to regain my lost balance, just in time to keep myself from collapsing upon the pavement.
"Viggo?"
I am confused, and when you speak, I am surprised to hear a slight tremor in your voice.
"Orlando, I'm... It's not... Oh God... Just... Just leave me be..."
I frown, not liking the way this conversation is going.
"Viggo, I don't understand."
And then you turn around and for the first time, I see what could be unshed tears blurring the intensity of your beautiful, beautiful eyes, reflecting pain and sorrow and...
"Orlando, I..."
And for some reason I, myself, couldn't fathom, I kiss you. Not with the passion and desperation and need I was expecting our first kiss to have but with a tenderness, a shyness, an emotional quality that makes me think that there could be so much more to this than what I had planned.
And then you're pulling me closer, taking control of the kiss that I have initiated, as both of us instinctively knew you were meant to. And I couldn't help but moan as you slip your tongue into my mouth -- exploring, marking, claiming, plundering. Your steady hands drift into my hair, down my back, over my arse, with a gentle possessiveness that make me tingle all over.
This continues for what seems like forever, desire heightening, passion rising, but altogether maintaining the poignancy of the kiss. But when the sometimes overrated need to breathe surfaces, we break apart hesitantly, resting our foreheads against each other.
"Orlando, I..."
You begin, and I chastely press my lips against yours once again to silence you.
"I know, Viggo."
"But..."
And I pull you down, my hands still clasped behind your neck, and look into your eyes, speaking of promises and forever and something yet unnamed. And I realize that maybe, just maybe, I was more far gone than I thought myself to be at first. That I wish this to become something more than a casual fling.
"I would never hurt you."
And when you smile, and I see the beginnings of the same something in the depths of your eyes, I couldn't help but smile back before pulling away.
"Orlando?"
I could almost feel the hurt and confusion in your voice as you watch me walk away. And then I stop, turn around, and offer you my hand.
"Take me home, Viggo. Just... take me home."
And you smile once again, teasingly lifting my hand to your mouth and kissing my knuckles.
"As you wish, my prissy elf."
And I couldn't stop the giddy giggle that escapes my lips as you pull me against you and lead me to your car.
You have always wanted me.
I have always wanted you.
Tonight, there's no doubt that both of us would be getting what we want.
But as you place your arm around me and usher me into the passenger seat, as I cuddle up to you watching the scenery pass, as you lead me into your home for the first time, I couldn't help but wish...
That someday...
Maybe...
It could be even more.
END.
Cross posted at viggorli, _insatiable_ and fellow_shippers.