Not symmetric, nor having exactly similar parts on either side of a dividing line
The face that stares back at him from the mirror looks like shit, pale and tired; with dark shadows under the eyes that exhaustion has left there. His features appear almost haggard and the cheekbones seem more prominent than normal. True, in the last four weeks their filming schedule had been gruelling, to say the least. Perhaps he also had a few tequila shots too many tonight. Work hard, party hard – that’s his motto. Too much alcohol? Not enough sleep? So what?
But there’s something else that’s harder to stomach. He doesn’t want to go deeper into this. No. No. Bad idea. Only starting to think about it makes his guts twinge and not even the tequila can wash away the awkward feeling that sits heavily on his chest.
He rolls up his sleeves and holds his wrists, pulse upturned, under the tap. Bending over the sink, he splashes water in his face. It doesn’t help to make him feel better, though.
He starts to examine his features, as closely as it’s possible in the feeble, yellowish light that comes from a row of tiny bulbs above the mirror. Ah, he may look like shit right now, but he’s still a young, hot thing, isn’t he? Why doesn’t the stupid bastard see that?
With his middle finger he traces the drops of water that have run down the side of his neck, following their trail down to his collarbone. He opens two more buttons on his shirt and, taking a deep breath, he lays a hand flat on his sternum.
Fuck, he’s not used to that. He always got the ones he wanted, both women and men; it didn’t even take a lot of flirting. Never did he have to beg for someone’s attention. No, wait, it’s not as if Viggo didn’t take notice of him, more than once Orlando has caught him staring. But maybe he had been gazing into the sunset or at the landscape behind Orlando or at some other fucking poetic shit.
And even if he had been looking at Orlando, it had been of no consequence. Not that he was avoiding Orlando, quite the contrary, he seemed to have fun teasing his cast-mate in a good-humoured way. But that was all.
Orlando makes a face at himself in the mirror. He sighs. Something’s missing, something essential’s lacking here.
Damn this oh-so-thoughtful, oh-so-understanding, but at the same time totally clueless ‘Ranger’ – where’s his artistic sensitivity that he doesn’t pick up any vibes at all? Such a prick. What if he’s actually straighter than straight? And just takes Orlando for a little puppy to make fun of and play with.
Ah, I wish he’d really ‘play’ with me …
Orlando’s hand moves lower, circling one nipple teasingly. When he squeezes his eyes half-shut it’s as if he can see Viggo, too, standing behind him, a small, inscrutable smile playing on his lips.
“So you wanna be my toy boy, my shorn Elf?” he says against Orlando’s face, voice only a low growl, while his hands ghost down Orlando’s arms. Their eyes meet in the mirror.
Orlando feels the blood rush to his cock. Instead of an answer he leans back into Viggo’s embrace, and, yeah, Viggo seems to quite like that, pulling him closer, his hands strategically placed on Orlando’s hips now.
“Try me.”
Viggo’s grin turns predatory. “You’re sure?”
“Uh-huh,” Orlando nods, watching, watching as Viggo’s hands flip open his shirt, warm, strong hands that know exactly what they’re doing. One thumb skims Orlando’s sun tattoo, while the other hand goes deeper, creeps into his jeans and under the waistband of his boxers.
“Keep on playing,” Orlando groans, grinding his back against Viggo.
“Right here?”
Orlando gasps as Viggo’s finger’s close around him, writhing in Viggo’s grip. “Yeah, right now.”
“Hey, where’s the Elf gone?” someone shouts from outside.
Orlando’s eyes shoot open. Again, it’s only him in the mirror, looking more dishevelled than before, with his shirt hanging down his shoulder and his hand buried in his trousers, wrapped tightly around his needygreedy cock. What a sight – if the hobbits stepped in on him now, he’d be so fucked.
Hastily, he yanks his hand from his trousers. Shit. Shit. Shit. He can’t go out now. Not before he has taken care of himself first.
He stumbles into one of the stalls and with a bang the door falls closed on him. In that moment the door to the bathroom opens and someone comes in.
“Hello, anybody in here?”
Orlando holds his breath, petrified. Of course, it’s nobody else but Viggo.
There’s a small knock against his door.
“Excuse me, Orlando, is this you? Are you alright?”
Orlando’s head is spinning. Yeah, he’s drunk, but not drunk enough yet. He knows he has to keep on working with this man, even if he makes a complete arse of himself now. But somehow, he doesn’t care any more. Not. At. All.
The lock on the door creaks in its hinges when he pulls it open with a swift, decisive movement.
Immediately, Viggo comes into view. “Orlando, we’ve been worried you were sick. You looked … ”
Viggo’s eyes widen and instantly, Orlando realizes what Viggo sees – a young man, leaning against the wall, hips slightly tilted forward, his whole posture signalling availability. Or what else is Viggo to make of the shirt that’s loosely draped around Orlando’s naked torso, the low-riding trousers or the swollen head of Orlando’s cock trapped between his stomach and his boxers?
“Horrible,” says Viggo, lamely trying to complete a sentence whose beginning he has already forgotten, his voice suddenly no more than a harsh whisper. Orlando watches Viggo’s adam’s apple move up and down, apparently his mouth has gone dry, and Viggo, in turn, stares.
There it is again, the predatory gaze Orlando has fantasized about. So it exists in reality, too. The knowledge ofit flashes through Orlando’s brain like a fiery, brighthot comet, leaving him shivering in its wake.
Suddenly, more voices can be heard from the corridor outside. With a loud batter the bathroom door flies open.
Quickly, Viggo steps inside the stall and closes the door behind him.
Scraps of music and heavy footsteps. “Viggo? Viggo, did you find the Elf?”
Viggo closes a hand over Orlando’s mouth. “No, he’s not here. Maybe he went down to the beach …”
Orlando’s eyes widen, he swallows a small, surprised gasp, but Viggo glares at him like a cat that’s about to eat the mouse.
Snort-giggling sounds come from the other side of the bathroom. “Right, down to the beach, Dommie, let’s hunt some Elf.”
The water is turned off again. Paper towels are ripped from the dispenser.
Orlando thinks he’d better start breathing again now or he’ll faint any second. So he opens his mouth and instantly his tongue darts out to give the thumb that’s placed over his mouth a little lick. Something hot and indefinable flickers in Viggo’s eyes.
Now or never, Orlando decides, moving closer, just a little closer to that solid presence looming before him.
“See you in a sec, Vig,” Elijah shouts cheerfully from the other side of the bathroom.
But Viggo doesn’t answer. He can’t answer because he’s kissing Orlando. And the last thing that flashes through Orlando’s mind is, Whoa, that’s for real now. And then he kisses Viggo back.
Luckily, the hobbits immediately followed their King’s orders and look for their Elf elsewhere, as Orlando, all too quickly, finds himself moaning into Viggo’s mouth, quite loudly, clinging to him like a drowning man.
“You’re drunk, Orlando,” Viggo says, smiling, touching his cheek tenderly.
Orlando leans back against the tiles; they’re cold against his back, but that’s a good thing because it’s so hot in there. He studies Viggo’s face, trying to decide whether this is just another joke. “You don’t seem drunk to me.“
Viggo swallows again, giving him a long, dark look. “I’ve been intoxicated from the moment I saw you.”
Orlando blinks. What?
“But why … why didn’t you say anything?”
“I never thought you could be interested, I mean, I could almost be your father.”
“Now, really, as if I needed another father figure.”
“You don’t? That’s good, because one rebellious son is quite enough for me to handle.”
“So …? What do we do now that we’ve sorted this out?”
Once more Orlando’s fingers close around his cock, giving it a playful squeeze. He closes his eyes, a lascivious smile on his lips.
“You naughty Elf,” Viggo replies and the sandpaper voice goes straight down to Orlando’s groins. “Not. Here.”
Deftly, Viggo closes Orlando’s flowery shirt. Yet he cant’ get it somehow right, with all this kissing going on.
“Hard work, these buttons, eh?” Orlando, chuckles, guiding Viggo’s hand down on him because he needs this so desperately. Right. Now.
Orlando doesn’t last long when Viggo’s hand wraps around him, over Orlando’s fist, repeating Orlando’s movements, but this way it’s much, much better than before. And then there are more wild, wet kisses, and little moans and enthusiastic groping and this is how it should be. It feels so right and hot and …
Orlando bites his lips when he comes over Viggo’s fingers and over his wrongly buttoned shirt, making quite a mess of both of them.
“Tsk, tsk, now look at you.“ Viggo grins, holding him tight. “We need to get you out of these clothes.”
Orlando nods eagerly. “Yeah, definitely.”
It’s not an easy task zipping and buttoning himself up again while watching – as if in a trance - Viggo lick the come off his fingers and the tiny mad flicker in his eyes just makes Orlando burn.
Before leaving the bathroom they stop in front of the sink. Orlando quickly washes his hands and splashes more water in his face. When he looks up, this time, Viggo actually stands behind him, smiling.
Orlando smiles back.
The image in the mirror appears no longer asymmetrical. It’s perfect now.
