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rsadelleI thought I would continue with the theme and post some more lotrips from back in the day. At the top of this fic, I wrote, "This fandom sucks." I do still like what I was trying to do with verb tense. Yes, I am a giant grammar nerd.
I should warn you that this is one that ends in the middle of a not particularly explicit sex scene.
Elijah breaks him. He will tell someone later that the night shoots broke all of them, but Elijah is the one who breaks him.
It happens so easily. A smoke break, Elijah's lips on a cigarette turning into Elijah's lips on his cock.
He doesn't mind, at first, the way Elijah can go from the sweetness of a clove to the bitterness of his cock. He likes it even. Hell, a blowjob is a blowjob.
But Elijah never lets him get in more of a touch than his hands against his cheeks.
On the day Elijah fucks him, he leaves. He goes home and goes to bed, and when he wakes up in the morning, it's not important because he has to be on set. He lets Legolas take over to get him through the day. He worries that maybe this is the first part of some acting-induced multiple personality disorder, but it gets him through his scenes, and Peter says he's doing his best work yet.
And it works. It works for a long time. It gets him through the night shoots without killing him. It gets him through the vacation time with only a few Hobbit-comments about his newfound stillness.
"You're becoming one with the Elf," Billy teases.
But then one morning in makeup Viggo shows up with his thrice-damned camera and starts taking pictures. That in itself isn't so bad. Orlando's used to being on camera by now, and he's learned to ignore this particular camera. It only ruins things a couple of weeks later when Viggo brings prints to a casual get together at Ian's house. He passes them around, and Orlando is careful not to distance himself from the merriment and good-natured ribbing.
"A *fish*? What the hell were you thinking, Dom?"
"Christ, Lij, you're such an addict. Out on your knees in the snow. Fuck."
But Viggo hands him a print of himself, contact lens just inches from his eye, solemn concentration in his face, and he can't stand it anymore. He looks up, and Viggo meets his eyes. Orlando can't face answering the silent question. He puts down his drink and goes out the door. He pulls out a cigarette and lighter, more to have an excuse than because he really wants one, and starts walking. No destination in mind, just moving away.
Viggo, with his x-ray camera, has seen inside him.
Viggo catches up with him somewhere far enough from the house that they're hidden from sight. Viggo walks next to Orlando until he sighs and stops and faces it. They just look at each other for a long time.
"Why?" Orlando finally breaks the silence.
"You're not Legolas."
Orlando snorts. "I am. Just like you're a Ranger, and Elijah's the Ring-Bearer, and Ian's the Wizard."
Viggo's hand catches his wrist. "You're supposed to act, not be."
"So says the method actor." But he can't bring himself to pull away.
"You don't have to," Viggo says, and his thumb caresses the spot where Orlando will one day have Elvish script inked into his skin. "You're still in there."
Orlando looks at him, pulls Legolas around himself and hides.
Viggo's grip tightens, bruising him. "You saw the picture."
"It doesn't mean anything," Orlando says Elf-cool.
"It means everything." And Viggo finally lets go and leaves him to smoke a cigarette alone.
Years later he will tell Viggo that this is the moment that scattered the already-broken pieces of him.
He smokes the cigarette and squelches it beneath his heel and lights another one. No reason really, just needs a reason to be outside, away from them. Away from Elijah with his mouth and Viggo with his camera. Away from the Hobbits and their easy camaraderie. Away from Sean and Viggo and their brotherhood of two. Away from Ian with his too old eyes.
He has to go back sometime, and so he does, after his third cigarette. Walks back in and doesn't quite manage to laugh at the teasing that accompanies his entrance. He flinches from Viggo's eyes and imagines that they all notice it.
After that, there's no peace. Peter yells at him twice in one hour's worth of shooting. Makeup yells at him for scratching at his ears when he should know better. Elijah yells at him for stepping on his feet and for not playing Hobbit games.
Late one night, after he's been drinking with the Hobbits despite the yelling, his feet take him to Viggo's house without his instruction. Later he will realize that Viggo has meant comfort to him for far longer than he consciously realized.
Viggo opens the door to him, the way he always has and always will. Viggo waits for him to speak first, but he doesn't know what to say, and they're left silent in the living room the way they were silent on the street the morning Orlando found out that Viggo saw the truth.
Orlando waits for Viggo to take his wrist again, and he unconsciously rubs the spot that held the bruise for days. Viggo's touch, Viggo's mark on him. It was a strange comfort to look down and see it, even through the heavy makeup that was meant to disguise it.
He wonders if Viggo will allow his touch, so he tries it. His hand on Viggo's arm, fingers just resting lightly. Viggo makes a small sound that might be approval or consent and doesn't make him stop.
"He never let me touch him," Orlando finds himself saying. Here and now, it doesn't seem like the right thing to say, and he sees something like hurt flash across Viggo's face.
"He's a child," Viggo says.
Orlando laughs bitterly. "He's not. He's horrible."
Viggo just looks at him, and Orlando doesn't know what it means, so he just keeps talking.
"And I can't hate him, because he's Elijah and he's Frodo and he's the Ring Bearer, and how can I protect him if I hate him?"
Viggo puts a hand on Orlando's chest, over his heart. The shock of it stops the flow of words. "You're still in there. He's not the Ring Bearer. You don't have to protect him."
Orlando finds the words oddly reassuring. Viggo as father figure. It's something he's never thought of before. Viggo seems more like the kind of guy to let you make your own mistakes and trust that you'll learn from them. Orlando will find out later, when they've been together long enough that Viggo lets him all the way into his life, that this is how Viggo deals with Henry, within reason, of course. He's not a completely reckless parent.
"Legolas does. How can I be Legolas if I don't want to protect him?"
"You don't have to be Legolas. You just have to act."
Viggo's hand is warm against his chest, and Orlando's eyes fill with tears he refuses to let fall. "I can't. I was so good when I was being Legolas. Peter said it's the best Elf footage he's got."
Viggo presses his hand harder against Orlando's chest. "Fuck Peter," he says. He's angrier than Orlando has ever seen him. "And fuck his movie." It feels like he's trying to reach into Orlando's chest cavity and touch his heart. "You're not Legolas. Orlando's still in there."
"Orlando's broken," Orlando says, trying with one last gasp to be Legolas.
Viggo's other hand comes up to cup his cheek, and Orlando has to fight not to crumble. "So put yourself back together."
"Can I touch you?" Orlando asks, the words tumbling out of him unbidden. "He never let me touch him." His mouth is on Viggo's before he gets an answer, his hands in Viggo's hair. Viggo lets him touch, lets him kiss. Receptive, but not reciprocating.
"I can't fix you," Viggo says when Orlando realizes and pulls back.
Orlando makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. "I just want to touch."
"It won't fix things."
Orlando kisses Viggo's jaw. "I know. Please. Let me touch."
Viggo sighs and bows his head. "Okay," he says, stroking Orlando's cheek. "Okay."
Orlando kisses him desperately and slows at the direction of Viggo's hands. Viggo makes everything slow. It takes forever to get to his bedroom, and another age before Viggo lets him push slowly in.
I should warn you that this is one that ends in the middle of a not particularly explicit sex scene.
Elijah breaks him. He will tell someone later that the night shoots broke all of them, but Elijah is the one who breaks him.
It happens so easily. A smoke break, Elijah's lips on a cigarette turning into Elijah's lips on his cock.
He doesn't mind, at first, the way Elijah can go from the sweetness of a clove to the bitterness of his cock. He likes it even. Hell, a blowjob is a blowjob.
But Elijah never lets him get in more of a touch than his hands against his cheeks.
On the day Elijah fucks him, he leaves. He goes home and goes to bed, and when he wakes up in the morning, it's not important because he has to be on set. He lets Legolas take over to get him through the day. He worries that maybe this is the first part of some acting-induced multiple personality disorder, but it gets him through his scenes, and Peter says he's doing his best work yet.
And it works. It works for a long time. It gets him through the night shoots without killing him. It gets him through the vacation time with only a few Hobbit-comments about his newfound stillness.
"You're becoming one with the Elf," Billy teases.
But then one morning in makeup Viggo shows up with his thrice-damned camera and starts taking pictures. That in itself isn't so bad. Orlando's used to being on camera by now, and he's learned to ignore this particular camera. It only ruins things a couple of weeks later when Viggo brings prints to a casual get together at Ian's house. He passes them around, and Orlando is careful not to distance himself from the merriment and good-natured ribbing.
"A *fish*? What the hell were you thinking, Dom?"
"Christ, Lij, you're such an addict. Out on your knees in the snow. Fuck."
But Viggo hands him a print of himself, contact lens just inches from his eye, solemn concentration in his face, and he can't stand it anymore. He looks up, and Viggo meets his eyes. Orlando can't face answering the silent question. He puts down his drink and goes out the door. He pulls out a cigarette and lighter, more to have an excuse than because he really wants one, and starts walking. No destination in mind, just moving away.
Viggo, with his x-ray camera, has seen inside him.
Viggo catches up with him somewhere far enough from the house that they're hidden from sight. Viggo walks next to Orlando until he sighs and stops and faces it. They just look at each other for a long time.
"Why?" Orlando finally breaks the silence.
"You're not Legolas."
Orlando snorts. "I am. Just like you're a Ranger, and Elijah's the Ring-Bearer, and Ian's the Wizard."
Viggo's hand catches his wrist. "You're supposed to act, not be."
"So says the method actor." But he can't bring himself to pull away.
"You don't have to," Viggo says, and his thumb caresses the spot where Orlando will one day have Elvish script inked into his skin. "You're still in there."
Orlando looks at him, pulls Legolas around himself and hides.
Viggo's grip tightens, bruising him. "You saw the picture."
"It doesn't mean anything," Orlando says Elf-cool.
"It means everything." And Viggo finally lets go and leaves him to smoke a cigarette alone.
Years later he will tell Viggo that this is the moment that scattered the already-broken pieces of him.
He smokes the cigarette and squelches it beneath his heel and lights another one. No reason really, just needs a reason to be outside, away from them. Away from Elijah with his mouth and Viggo with his camera. Away from the Hobbits and their easy camaraderie. Away from Sean and Viggo and their brotherhood of two. Away from Ian with his too old eyes.
He has to go back sometime, and so he does, after his third cigarette. Walks back in and doesn't quite manage to laugh at the teasing that accompanies his entrance. He flinches from Viggo's eyes and imagines that they all notice it.
After that, there's no peace. Peter yells at him twice in one hour's worth of shooting. Makeup yells at him for scratching at his ears when he should know better. Elijah yells at him for stepping on his feet and for not playing Hobbit games.
Late one night, after he's been drinking with the Hobbits despite the yelling, his feet take him to Viggo's house without his instruction. Later he will realize that Viggo has meant comfort to him for far longer than he consciously realized.
Viggo opens the door to him, the way he always has and always will. Viggo waits for him to speak first, but he doesn't know what to say, and they're left silent in the living room the way they were silent on the street the morning Orlando found out that Viggo saw the truth.
Orlando waits for Viggo to take his wrist again, and he unconsciously rubs the spot that held the bruise for days. Viggo's touch, Viggo's mark on him. It was a strange comfort to look down and see it, even through the heavy makeup that was meant to disguise it.
He wonders if Viggo will allow his touch, so he tries it. His hand on Viggo's arm, fingers just resting lightly. Viggo makes a small sound that might be approval or consent and doesn't make him stop.
"He never let me touch him," Orlando finds himself saying. Here and now, it doesn't seem like the right thing to say, and he sees something like hurt flash across Viggo's face.
"He's a child," Viggo says.
Orlando laughs bitterly. "He's not. He's horrible."
Viggo just looks at him, and Orlando doesn't know what it means, so he just keeps talking.
"And I can't hate him, because he's Elijah and he's Frodo and he's the Ring Bearer, and how can I protect him if I hate him?"
Viggo puts a hand on Orlando's chest, over his heart. The shock of it stops the flow of words. "You're still in there. He's not the Ring Bearer. You don't have to protect him."
Orlando finds the words oddly reassuring. Viggo as father figure. It's something he's never thought of before. Viggo seems more like the kind of guy to let you make your own mistakes and trust that you'll learn from them. Orlando will find out later, when they've been together long enough that Viggo lets him all the way into his life, that this is how Viggo deals with Henry, within reason, of course. He's not a completely reckless parent.
"Legolas does. How can I be Legolas if I don't want to protect him?"
"You don't have to be Legolas. You just have to act."
Viggo's hand is warm against his chest, and Orlando's eyes fill with tears he refuses to let fall. "I can't. I was so good when I was being Legolas. Peter said it's the best Elf footage he's got."
Viggo presses his hand harder against Orlando's chest. "Fuck Peter," he says. He's angrier than Orlando has ever seen him. "And fuck his movie." It feels like he's trying to reach into Orlando's chest cavity and touch his heart. "You're not Legolas. Orlando's still in there."
"Orlando's broken," Orlando says, trying with one last gasp to be Legolas.
Viggo's other hand comes up to cup his cheek, and Orlando has to fight not to crumble. "So put yourself back together."
"Can I touch you?" Orlando asks, the words tumbling out of him unbidden. "He never let me touch him." His mouth is on Viggo's before he gets an answer, his hands in Viggo's hair. Viggo lets him touch, lets him kiss. Receptive, but not reciprocating.
"I can't fix you," Viggo says when Orlando realizes and pulls back.
Orlando makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. "I just want to touch."
"It won't fix things."
Orlando kisses Viggo's jaw. "I know. Please. Let me touch."
Viggo sighs and bows his head. "Okay," he says, stroking Orlando's cheek. "Okay."
Orlando kisses him desperately and slows at the direction of Viggo's hands. Viggo makes everything slow. It takes forever to get to his bedroom, and another age before Viggo lets him push slowly in.