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Title: Dreaming Author: Loki Fin Classification: Slash (Orlijah variety) Rating: NC-17 Disclaimer: I don't own them, I don't know anything Feedback: Yes please Archive: uhhh, if you want, but please ask first ----------------------------------------------------------------
He awakened to darkness, unsure of why his eyes were open. The clock read 3:34, and he groaned, because there was an early cast call for the morning, and he knew from experience that there would be no more sleep tonight. He rolled on his back to stare blankly at the ceiling, thinking about the dinner at the commissary hours before. They had stopped filming late, and the other hobbits had been rowdy, excitedly chatting about the coming weekend's plan to go into town and celebrate two full days of freedom. Orli had been there, uncharacteristically silent, drinking a steaming mug of tea and observing the others. He had caught the brit's dark eyes on him a few times, coffee colored and inscrutable, making his spine tingle. Eating quickly, he had left, uncomfortable with Orli's stillness, unable to deny the pulling magnetism of his gaze. Picturing Orli's lithe form, he shifted restlessly. He had been watching the other man in recent weeks, and wondered now if his interest had not gone unnoticed. His hand slunk under the wrinkled sheets to rub absentmindedly at his groin. A rustle, barely distinguishable from the low hum of the air conditioning unit, sounded in the corner. His hand freezing, he darted wide eyes to the shadow, straining to see in the dark. A lank figure was there, lounging against the wall. His heart thumped painfully in his breast; his lungs squeaked out softly in surprise. The figure stepped forward smoothly into the dim moonlight drifting in between heavy curtains, and his pulse beat loudly in his ears. Imagination filled out the shadows, turning the silver highlights into burnished gold on sharp cheekbones and sleek shoulders. "Lij." A low whisper. He relaxed his tense muscles, breathing in relief. "Orli?" He questioned, confused then suddenly embarrassed at his position, hand still cupping his partially hardened flesh. His pulse picked up, rapid and uneven. The figure moved advanced again, halting at the edge of the bed. He could make out the bare chest, outlined in shimmering light; the dark jeans hanging loosely on narrow hips. He licked his lips nervously, sat up and jerked at the sheets to cover himself. But the man looming over him leaned down and gently poked stiff fingers into the bone of his chest and shoved him backwards. The mattress dipped under a bent knee. He closed his eyes, feeling the blood pounding in his throat and making his lips tingle. Fingertips trailed from his sternum to his stomach and rested there, barely touching. His belly jumped, quivered, and his faced burned as his cock lifted eagerly. "Lij," the whisper again. He struggled to make his thick tongue move. "What are-" "I've been thinking about you." Warm breath on his face, tantalizingly close to his ear. "Didn't you know?" His hands trembled as he fought the urge to raise them, to touch him. This was too unreal; too like half-forgotten dreams that faded with the rising sun. His hips twitched uncomfortably, and a low chuckle made him squirm all the more. Tickling fingers danced further, plucked the sweaty sheet away to reveal turgid flesh. He frantically tried to break out of this hypnotism, to wake, to speak, to open his clenched lids. "This is for me, yes?" The hand hovered, warmth crackling in the space between. He forced his eyes open, saw glittering orbs daring him to deny the source of his arousal. He tried to, but all that came out was a gutteral moan as the hand descended, gripped and massaged roughly. More breath snaked into his ear. "Yessss," the voice hissed, approvingly or in jest, he couldn't tell. "I know what you've been doing, Lij." and teeth glinted silver-white in a feral grin. He shrank back, cheeks stinging, and the hand let go, leaving blood to rush into his organ in painful waves. He gasped a mournful sound of loss. Then, the mattress dipped further under another body stretching out beside him. He felt the cold burn of a button searing his flank. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he attempted speech once more. "What do you want?" He sounded plaintive, whining, though he had meant his tone to be annoyed. "Can't you guess?" He shook his head slowly. A slim finger brushed the line of soft hair below his navel, sank into the natural depression leisurely. "I want you to tell me, Lij. Tell me what I know you've been thinking when you stare at me. Don't deny it," he was warned, and the finger lifted to graze his lips, tracing them softly. The man rolled closer, tight against him, and he felt the firm thighs encased in denim rasp deliciously on his bare skin. One knee slid up, over his legs, to rest under the pillow of his scrotum. "Tell me, Elijah, what do you dream about? What's behind those haunted looks I see?" A hand stroked his cheek soothingly, cool against the burning shame. Taking courage in the cajoling tone and the comfort of the being cradled thus, he drifted to remember a particular scene that had kept him up nights beyond count and followed him into dreams when he was too exhausted to give himself release. Haltingly, in breathless monotone, he began a story of being pulled into a darkened soundstage, pushed onto one of the rough planked tables from a tavern set. Murmurs of encouragement goaded him on in the description, and a heavy head pressed into his shoulder as fingers idly ran up and down his shaft. Fighting the overwhelming urge to push his hips into a more satisfying grip, he continued the fantasy, lulling himself deeper towards sleep even as he aroused himself further. He spoke quietly of being stripped and filling Orlando's mouth as he desperately tried to finish before a crew member stumbled upon the interlude. "Interesting," the voice whispered as the man shifted down the bed. "My mouth, you say?" He nodded weakly, mesmerized at the sight of a tongue slipping out to hover over him. Moisture seeped from the opening of his member as it flexed. The tone became teasing, tinged with laughter. "And what makes you think I would do that? To you?" He cringed, because Orlando was capable of such cruelty in the name of amusement. He stuttered, clutching at the sheet, face on fire, but was held still by a strong forearm across his hips. "Orli, don't," he pleaded, voice cracking. The dark eyes gleamed, and a tear slipped out the corner of his own eye, unheeded as it soaked into his hairline. "Shhhh," the man crooned, and suddenly warm lips enclosed the tip of his penis. His back arched, bolts of electricity shooting up his spine and down to his curling toes. He felt the heat move downwards, towards his root, and a shocking ripple as his tip was given entrance to a swallowing throat. Just a stunned few moments and he was exploding, darkness clouding over his vision. The arm held him like a steel band, caging his bucking hips. The suction withdrew slightly, and his spurting seed was lapped up greedily as spasms wracked his body. And then he was alone, barely remembering a light kiss on his lips, a soft order to sleep, and a rustle of denim. He woke in a haze, muddled images flashing vaguely in his mind as he raced to the makeup chair, gulping coffee. Dreams of Orlando were always this vivid, crossing the line between fantasy and maddening warping of reality, overwhelming all his senses for hours. Breakfasting in the chair beside his costars helped to clear his head and ground him back in normalcy. He followed Orlando with his eyes, half hiding behind a crumbly pastry. He received a bland stare and mild greeting from the object of his lust, and dropped his gaze to the script on his lap. He worked feverishly, promising himself a great deal of alcohol later that night to drown the relentless activities of his imagination. Finally, when the last take of the day was done, he had control of himself again and was able to smile when the other Hobbits raced by. Yelling that he would join them shortly, he trudged towards the costuming office to turn in his outfit for the day. Suddenly he was yanked backwards by his collar, choking on a surprised shout. He stumbled, gained his balance, and whirled around, to stand, dumbfounded, a shy smile slowly creeping across his face. Orlando rested his hip nonchalantly on the edge of a heavy trestle table, his arms folded across his chest. He lifted his eyebrow and grinned wickedly. "Reckon this one'll do?"
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