And Then.
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Lord of the Rings Movies › General › Lord of the Ring Stars
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,415
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › General › Lord of the Ring Stars
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,415
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is work of fiction! I do not know the celebrity(ies) I am writing about, and I do not profit from these writings.
And Then.
If this were true, I’d be a happy little girl, but it isn’t, so I’m not.
And Then.
By Sonja (limey_sugar@yahoo.co.uk)
Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen
Love. Sappy, sweet-as-fuck love. I was going to write smut, then moony-eyed!Orickeicked me in the knee.
__________
There was Viggo, all artsy and cool, sitting on a towel on the beach, writing something or another.
And then there was Orlando, all vibrant and bouncy, who was in love with Viggo, all artsy and cool, sitting on a towel on the beach, writing something or another. Orlando liked to pretend that maybe Viggo was writing about. Li. Liked to pretend that maybe he was writing beautiful poetry about a young lad from Canterbury with chocolate eyes and olive skin and a certain zest for life that got him into trouble sometimes.
He knew better, of course, but it was fun to pretend.
And Orlando thanked God every day that he was an actor, and could act like he didn’t care if Viggo was about or not, like he didn’t want to drown in the depths of Viggo’s eyes or be smothered by a thousand Viggo-kisses as they lay in bed late on a Saturday morning. And Orlando prayed to God that maybe he’d have a Saturday morning with Viggo like the one he could pretend he didn’t want.
He knew he never would, of course, but it was nice to think about.
And then one day, Orlando slipped and forgot to be an actor. Just for a moment, but it was the wrong moment, when Viggo had been sitting alone under a tree reading the script changes. Orlando stared at him, at Aragorn, because that’s who was sitting under the tree, and Aragorn-Viggo had looked up from the script and had seen him sta. Ar. Aragorn-Viggo didn’t smile or frown or wave or give him the fingers, he just stared back with those intense blue eyes and Orlando laughed. Laughed because he thought he’d seen something in the blue that could not have been there.
He knew he hadn’t seen anything, but it was fun to believe he had.
And Orlando was walking back to his trailer after a long day of shooting and reshooting, and all he wanted to do was have a hot shower and a hot tea and go to bed. He was just walking when he felt the hand on his shoulder, stopping him from just walking, spinning him around.
And then there was Viggo, all artsy and cool, with his lips on Orlando’s and his hands on Orlando’s, and Orlando died. Died because he was in love with Viggo, all artsy and cool, with his lips that had now moved to Orlando’s ear and had said he loved him too.
He knew he’d wake up in the morning, fresh from the dream, but it was nice to pretend it was real.
And Orlando woke up, on Saturday morning, smothered by a thousand Viggo-kisses, drowning in the depths of those damned blue eyes. And then Viggo handed him a box with a ribbon tying it closed, which he opened, and in it was a book. A book of things written about a young lad from Canterbury with chocolate eyes and olive skin and a zest for life that got him into trouble sometimes.
He thought he wanted to wake up like this every morning, and it was nice to know that he would.
~END.
And Then.
By Sonja (limey_sugar@yahoo.co.uk)
Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen
Love. Sappy, sweet-as-fuck love. I was going to write smut, then moony-eyed!Orickeicked me in the knee.
__________
There was Viggo, all artsy and cool, sitting on a towel on the beach, writing something or another.
And then there was Orlando, all vibrant and bouncy, who was in love with Viggo, all artsy and cool, sitting on a towel on the beach, writing something or another. Orlando liked to pretend that maybe Viggo was writing about. Li. Liked to pretend that maybe he was writing beautiful poetry about a young lad from Canterbury with chocolate eyes and olive skin and a certain zest for life that got him into trouble sometimes.
He knew better, of course, but it was fun to pretend.
And Orlando thanked God every day that he was an actor, and could act like he didn’t care if Viggo was about or not, like he didn’t want to drown in the depths of Viggo’s eyes or be smothered by a thousand Viggo-kisses as they lay in bed late on a Saturday morning. And Orlando prayed to God that maybe he’d have a Saturday morning with Viggo like the one he could pretend he didn’t want.
He knew he never would, of course, but it was nice to think about.
And then one day, Orlando slipped and forgot to be an actor. Just for a moment, but it was the wrong moment, when Viggo had been sitting alone under a tree reading the script changes. Orlando stared at him, at Aragorn, because that’s who was sitting under the tree, and Aragorn-Viggo had looked up from the script and had seen him sta. Ar. Aragorn-Viggo didn’t smile or frown or wave or give him the fingers, he just stared back with those intense blue eyes and Orlando laughed. Laughed because he thought he’d seen something in the blue that could not have been there.
He knew he hadn’t seen anything, but it was fun to believe he had.
And Orlando was walking back to his trailer after a long day of shooting and reshooting, and all he wanted to do was have a hot shower and a hot tea and go to bed. He was just walking when he felt the hand on his shoulder, stopping him from just walking, spinning him around.
And then there was Viggo, all artsy and cool, with his lips on Orlando’s and his hands on Orlando’s, and Orlando died. Died because he was in love with Viggo, all artsy and cool, with his lips that had now moved to Orlando’s ear and had said he loved him too.
He knew he’d wake up in the morning, fresh from the dream, but it was nice to pretend it was real.
And Orlando woke up, on Saturday morning, smothered by a thousand Viggo-kisses, drowning in the depths of those damned blue eyes. And then Viggo handed him a box with a ribbon tying it closed, which he opened, and in it was a book. A book of things written about a young lad from Canterbury with chocolate eyes and olive skin and a zest for life that got him into trouble sometimes.
He thought he wanted to wake up like this every morning, and it was nice to know that he would.
~END.