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Beautiful Moment	By : puremalevolence Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 2299 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Orlando Bloom. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Sweat. The sound of wood pounding, scraping, banging against wall. Smell of incense…sandalwood…his favourite scent of the stuff…crisp sheets clinging to wet skin. Clenched teeth. Blood pulsing in his ears. A low moan hanging somewhere in the balmy air between the crawling mass of flesh and fabric that is the bed and the whirring ceiling fan. Pillows, all thrown from the bed, save one. One pillow in whose soft cushion his face is firmly pressed. Grunts, sighs, swallowed, devoured by the pillow in question. Was that Radiohead playing softly in the background? He’d forgotten to turn off the CD player…there hadn’t been time.
Clothes. Enough clothes to fill an entire drawer, it seemed, strewn about the dark room. How long had it taken to remove so many garments? How long had it taken to kindle the fire of desire in their eyes, their hearts, their brains. …How long does it take for an enflamed young phallus to expel its seed into an eager orifice?
“New record, Orli,” Viggo sighed into the pillow.
“Dammit…I’m sorry, man,” he breathed, his voice heavy with frustration and shame. “I can’t believe I won’t even last a whole godammed minute once I’m in…”

***
Wake from your sleep…
Orlando shot straight up out of the tangle of sheets in which he’d been dreaming and breathed a sigh of relief/disappointment. Part of him thanked his lucky stars that the embarrassing ordeal had taken place within the sanctuary of a dream…but the other part…was sad to find that what had felt so incredibly real hadn’t been, except for in his mind. He felt rather like Gollum when he pondered his conflicting sides; we wants it, we needs it…No! its too risky…too tricksy…And in place of The Ring was…Viggo’s ass…?
“Lay off the fuckin’ Screwdrivers, man,” he commanded himself under his breath.
Orli shook his head rapidly to clear it but no clarity was gained, only disorientation. Once the dimly lit room had ceased its turning and he could see straight again, he switched the fan beside him from medium to high.
It was damn hot in the hotel room, and the intensity of the dream he’d just experienced didn’t exactly serve as a cool breeze. Nothing like adding gasoline to a fire to get it blazing.
Not enough time was spent inside the suite for Orlando to feel that air conditioning was a necessity, so as a rule he left it switched off. The dry air bothered him and it could get really cold sometimes, as the air vent was right beside his bed, but fans were situated throughout the place, all of them switched to the on position, stirring up the stuffy air, even the one in the bathroom. Orlando couldn’t stand walking into a smouldering hot bathroom…
He’d been running low on sleep ever since they’d started shooting, that was months ago, and these intense wet dreams weren’t exactly helping to boost the low level on his sleep-o-meter. Sure, he was a young lad, and was therefore equipped with a fair amount of stamina (Not as far as I’m concerned! the Viggo of his dreams mentally screamed at him. Orlando shoved him back in his brain and buried him in grey matter in an effort to shut him up.) …but Orlando missed sleeping till noon after a night of partying with his mates from back home. Oh, there was still plenty of partying, with different company, of course, but now he was lucky if sleep would keep him till seven. Now there was no furry, drooley Maude to lick his cheek signifying to her snoozing master that she was hungry and in need of some attention.
As difficult as it was to go to bed at one or two a.m. (usually his bedtime, on weekends especially,) he was grateful to be an elf, and not a hobbit. Elijah, Sean, Dom and Billy kept pretty much the same party hours as Orlando, as much of that partying was done together, the boys all shared practically the same bedtime. Orli felt downright sorry for the poor little guys with their furry prosthetic feet that took over an hour to apply. Sucks to be them. He felt an even greater amount of pity for John. Orlando considered himself fortunate that the only prosthetic body part that need be applied were his gelatin ears, some of the glue from which were eternally lodged within his own ears. A small annoyance, but it could be tolerated.
Orli glanced over at his alarm clock; 3:45 3:45 3:45 flashed the digital red numbers. He’d have to get up in less than three hours if he wanted to get to make-up on time.
Orlando yawned and scratched his fuzzy head. He kind of missed the ‘hawk but someone had made a comment about it…who was it? Had it been…? No…not Viggo… He remembered, it was the morning after he’d gotten it…That thing is ridiculous, Elfboy. Makes you look like such a punk, he’d said with that trademark smile, messing up what little hair ran down the centre of his otherwise bald head with a playful rub. Just like Viggo to throw in his un-wanted-yet-still-taken-to-heart old man-esque two cents in. “Whatever,” Orlando muttered to himself, running his palm over his peach fuzz once more and then lying back down. He had to at least try and go back to sleep, or there was no way he’d make it through shooting tomorrow without some serious regrets, afterwards and throughout.
But wait.
Orlando leaned over rather sluggishly and pressed stop on his cd player. Exit Music (for a film) had been on a loop since he’d fallen asleep. “Must have accidentally pressed repeat,” he thought aloud. He didn’t mind the constant din of soft music just next to his bed, it was soothing and had helped him fall asleep, but he didn’t want to wear out Elijah’s cd, especially not before he’d gotten the chance to burn it for himself.

***
Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. Beep! You’ve reached the Lembas bread hotline! Lembas: one small biet is enough to fill the stomach of a full-grown man! Our marketer is unavailable at the moment, so just leave your name, number and how many tins of our product you desire and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible! Thank you for calling!
“Orli, this is Viggo…” Interesting message you’ve got there, he thought to himself. Smart ass. “Where the hell are you? Shooting was supposed to start nearly an hour ago. Make-up people say they haven’t seen you…thought I’d give you a warning call before me and the rest of the Fellowship have to come and put Project: Get Elf Out of Hotel in motion. I think you’re there…are you there? I’m not hanging up until a) you answer, which is what I’m hoping for, b) you show up here, all elfed-up and ready to go, which would also be good, in fact it would be great…or c) the tape on your machine runs out, which is probably the most likely of the outcomes listed above. Really, Orlando…do you sleep with earplugs or something? Is there really that much glue stuck in your ears? I could be yelling till my throat bled and I bet—”
“ORLI GET YOUR LAZY ASS OUT OF BED!!!”
“Sorry…that was Elijah…kind of muscled the phone away from me. Really quite strong for a Hobbit. Its raining over here, how ‘bout there? Big fat drops, it just started…”
Orlando shot out of bed like a bullet from a gun for the second time in four hours.
“HOLY SHIT!” he screamed, throwing himself across the room to his answering machine, tripping over a tangle of legs and sheets as he went. Pressing the button, he began: “My God, my fucking alarm didn’t go off! Jesus-bleeding-Christ, you guys, I’m sorry! I didn’t get more than four hours of sleep, I just couldn’t wake up for shit, I mean, I didn’t even hear a thing till Elijah fucking screamed and shitisPetermad?Ibethe’sprettyfuckin’pissedatme,isn’the…?” Christ! Where were those black pants? On the chair? No… Fuck! He didn’t have time to look for a specific pair. The ratty old jeans wadded up in the corner would suffice. Right. He spotted a stained white t-shirt crumpled up on the table. It would work. His temporary home was getting pretty messy, but if there were an award for messiest living space, Elijah would win by a gazillion points. It was getting fairly hard to find things…but so long as he didn’t get there naked, he didn’t care what covered him. He didn’t have time to care. Actually, he wouldn’t have minded driving there bare-assed. He fancied it would be rather refreshing. He could just imagine the looks on the faces of the cast and crew... “Chill out, Orli,” Viggo purred through the speakerphone. His voice was always so soothing and calm, but Orlando didn’t take time to appreciate it. Not today. “Peter’s postponed shooting---”
Orlando looked over at his bedside clock and the nightmare became ever clearer with each blinking of the little red numbers: 8:21 8:21 8:21
“HOLY FUCK!” He could feel the migraine coming on faster than a racehorse, and pounding just as hard. Gotta get these socks on…where the hell are my shoes? To hell with shoes… He ripped off the sock as fast as he’d put it on and threw it across the room. It landed in a bowl of milk from yesterday’s cereal, not that he noticed. I’ll put the boots on as soon as I get to my trailer…
“Orlando, you need to calm down, man. Just get here as fast as you can and in one piece, that’s all we’re asking.”
“Right, I’m off to face the Wrath of the Almighty Director.” Shit Shit Shit Peter is gonna KILL me! It’ll be his loss, trying to find a new Legolas, yeah right! He can’t afford to kill me. Jesus, how the hell did I sleep until 8-bloody-20?? Why the fuck didn’t my alarm go off?? Keys keys…’kay, got m’keys…
“Ok, I’ll see you in a bit. Hm, the rain seems to have subsided--”
“YEP!” Orlando didn’t even wait for Viggo to hang up before he was out the door and on his way out to his car. If he had he may have been there for another half an hour, or more. Suffice it to say, Viggo’s answering machine messages/phone conversations were always very, um, thorough.
Orli ran out to his car as fast as his legs would carry him, cursing himself the entire time for sleeping in, but before he could get one more “fuck” out of his mouth, a sharp pain in his left foot silenced him.
Orlando blinked. What the hell…? Afraid to look, he hesitantly lifted his foot till the sole was facing upward.
There was a sharp stone lodged in the ball of his foot. Shaking from adrenaline he plucked the stone out with a wince. I don’t have time for this… he thought, clenching his teeth and shutting his eyes. When he opened them, red liquid was dripping from his foot and onto the gravel below in a steady rhythm.
“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!” he screamed, pressing his nails so deeply into his palms that it was painful. “I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!!” Luckily, there was no one around to notice his outburst, not that he would’ve bothered to give a damn, even if there was.
Limping as fast as he could to his car, he jammed the key in the door, unlocked it and practically ripped it from its hinges. It’s just a flesh wound it’s just a flesh wound…He got in and opened the glove compartment, hoping to find a bit of tissue or a napkin to stop the bleeding for the time being. He found a wrinkled brown napkin with a bit of ketchup in on one corner. No time to be picky about such things.
“This’ll do,” he muttered, placing the napkin beneath the injured foot and starting the engine. This was, despite its late start, going to be a very long day.

***
“Yo guys! OB’s here! I just saw him fly into the make-up trailer! And it didn’t look like he was wearing any--” Orlando slammed the door, not paying attention to Elijah’s announcement and limped over to the make up chair where he’d have his ears and wig etc. put on. He didn’t bother looking up to see the raised eyebrow of his principle make-up artist, but decided it best to just start right in on the apologies and excuses that would be substituting most of his “hey, how are you, man”s, today.
“Sorry I’m late, this morning has been hell.”
“Yeah? What happened to your shoes?” Mary asked, rising from where she’d been sitting and placing her magazine on the counter.
“My shoes are fine, it’s my foot that’s giving me trouble.” He peeled back the bloody napkin for emphasis, wincing as he did so.
“Jeez, Orlando, what the hell did you do?” she asked, wetting a cloth in the sink. “I’ll get you some band-aids.”
“I got a stone in my foot on the way out to the car.”
“How come you don’t have any sh—"
“No time. Couldn’t find ‘em, had to get my ass out the door and into The Chair. Now make me beautiful, beautiful.” Such a charmer. She thought. Even when he’s had a rough morning. What a sweetheart.
Once a bandage and some antibiotic ointment had been administered to the wound, the Elven primping process began, faster-paced than usual. No time for chitchat today, just had to get those ears glued on, those contacts shoved in and the Elf out the door.
Finally, Orlando was all dressed up and ready to go, or so he thought.
“You should take this for your foot,” said his make-up artist, handing him two small pills and a Dixie cup of water.
“Thanks.” No questions asked, he downed the meds and the water, crumpled the cup and tossed it into the trashcan across the trailer.
“Nice shot,” she said with a wink. Then, taking a deep breath, Orlando began his agonizing descent down the few stairs to the ground and across the way where a few of his fellow cast members stood talking and waiting for him. He hoped the medicine, whatever it was, worked fast. Elves didn’t gimp, albeit prancing didn’t much suit him either, but whatever. The point was, he’d have to be light on his feet, and that would prove a challenge, today.
“There he is.” Viggo clapped Orlando on the back as he stepped into the circle of actors. “What time is it?” asked the younger of the men, a frantic look in his pseudo blue eyes. Viggo glanced at his watch as the rest of the group, made up of Billy, Sean A., Dominic and Elijah greeted Orlando, who was too busy worrying about facing a brassed director to hear their playful taunts and jeers.
“Ten thirteen.” Viggo couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw the look of dismay on his friend’s face. It was clear he felt terrible about being so late and was having a very difficult time, that morning. Viggo’s sixth-sense (moulded by years of parenting) deceted that his young friend was in desperate need of a friendly hand.
“Aww c’mere, man,” he said, quieting the part of his mind that told him Orlando’s need for a hug was just wishful thinking on Viggo’s part and took the smaller man into his strong arms in a comforting embrace. Orlando didn’t know how to react to this unexpected display of affection. Not that the affection itself was completely unexpected and out of character; Viggo had always been very friendly and understanding of Orlando…of everyone, really…but after that dream, the touch felt different to him…not platonic like it was intended to feel. “You ok?” he whispered into a pointed ear. Orlando nodded slightly against the leather-clad chest and sighed.
“Today sucks, man. I just…I got up late, couldn’t find my shoes, got a razor-fucking-sharp stone in my foot…” he trailed off, his voice muffled by Viggo’s broad chest.
“A stone in your foot? Is this production becoming infamous for foot injuries or what?” he said, glancing over at Sean, and then Dom. Orlando pushed aside his bad mood and allowed himself a small chuckle. Before he’d had time to reply, Billy had called a group hug and the other guys were closing in around them. Orlando was pressed tighter into Viggo as eight pairs of hands patted and groped rubbed in unison and he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. If only they could just stay there like this all day, a huge group of buddies, pals, best friends…it would make up for the unfortunate events of earlier that morning. It was fantastically warm and comforting. A truly beautiful moment…“Ok, guys, let’s get going.”
Damn you, Sean, Orlando thought, the grin on his face disappearing as the writhing mass of Hobbits around him dissipated. He loved the guy, no doubt about it but he always had to spoil what ever fun was being had. And even worse than that, he was always right when he did it.
“Hey, hold on a sec, Orli.” Elijah grabbed him gently by the shoulder so that he’d slow his pace as they all walked to the car. “You left this in my trailer, yesterday.” Orlando took the green bandana ‘Lij hand just pulled from his pocket and put it on his head in a daze.
“Thanks,” he said, not even really acknowledging what was going on. That hug was just the thing he’d needed to both disturb him and make him feel better at the same time. He couldn’t really have explained how he felt if someone had asked him, he was just so out of it.
He was on autopilot as he followed the other actors to Viggo’s van, listening to his feet as the right said, “Come along, just walk. Don’t think, just do.” And the left, “Steady on, mate. I’m hurting, but I won’t let you down!”

***
“Pete, the cavalry is in!” Elijah cried, following up the proclamation with a fan fare “do-do-do-dooo!” as the doors of Viggo’s van flew open and all hell broke loose.
“Great, right on schedule,” he said sarcastically. Viggo and Orlando were the last ones out of the vehicle, the former due to his age and maturity, the later because he was scared shitless of Peter’s reaction and was so nervous he was having difficulty undoing his seatbelt. I need a cigarette, why did I leave them at the hotel? Cuz you didn’t have time to even say the word ‘cigarette,’ that’s why, you dumbass… It’d have been different if he didn’t value Peter’s opinion, but he did, very much, and the last thing he wanted to do was make that opinion a negative one.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Viggo reassured Orlando, sensing his friends anxiety. He would’ve had to have been blind not to notice the younger man’s darting eyes or how he wrung his bandana tightly in his hands. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, pulling Aragorn’s sword from the back seat of the van. He rarely went anywhere without the huge shaft of metal close by. It was as if it had become kind of a fifth limb or something. It was what made the transformation from Viggo Mortensen to Aragorn son of Arathorn.
Orlando managed to nod, not noticing the other item Viggo had taken from the back seat. He only heard Viggo tell him to smile and then a bright flash of white light temporarily blinded him shortly thereafter. He blinked, seeing green and pink dots where Viggo’s smiling face should have been.
“You bastard,” he muttered, taking a few dizzy steps backward. “I oughta shove that thing up your artsy arse. I’m sure that’d make a lovely picture.” Viggo chuckled.
“So you think my ‘arse’ is photogenic?” he asked and laid the camera on the driver’s seat.
“The press seems to think so…all those pictures of it in magazines…” Orlando said, pretending his eyes were still bothering him and then, ”Oh wait, I’m sorry, those are pictures of your face!” Viggo just smiled and shook his head as Orlando laughed and ran off to join the others without giving the older man a chance to defend himself.
“Kids,” he mused, shutting the door to his van. He caught up to the others just in time to hear the end of Orlando’s suck-up kiss-ass speech to PJ.
“Well, it happens, Orlando, I’d just appreciate it if you see that it never happens, again.”
“Yessir. I don’t know what was wrong with my alarm,” he said, still twisting his bandana in his hands, winding it around his long fingers, absentmindedly. “I’m sure I set it, the damn thing just refused to go off. Like it was getting me back for all those times I threw it across the room, or something.” Peter chuckled, his dark eyes sparkling, his big belly jiggling up and down. The large man was like a cross between Santa Clause and an overgrown Hobbit, and Orlando was grateful for his cheerful demeanor and never ending patience. He could get the job done without being an up-tight prick like some of the other directors Orlando had heard stories about. He was doing such a great job with everything, and Orlando was relieved beyond all words his pointy ears hadn’t been chewed off by the man for being so late. What a guy. He definitely deserved an Oscar.

***
Filming that day went surprisingly well, considering its rocky start, no pun intended. The pain in Orlando’s foot had subsided to a mild throbbing by noon, and remained consistent till the final wrap of the day. He was amazed at how easy everything was; his lines were going smoothly, everyone was cooperating and working in perfect harmony with each other (sure, Viggo had tried to toss Kiran over the side of the mountain, but that was all in good fun,) and every little action was the work of perfection. He’d had some difficulty with his contact lenses, however, toward the end of the day. They were shooting the scene where they all mourn the death of Gandalf, and Orlando thought it appropriate for Legolas to have tears of confusion in his eyes, but every time his eyes teared up, one of his contacts would slip, almost to the point of falling out, and tears from the irritation would be streaming down his cheeks. This went on for about three or four takes till finally he could stand it no longer.
“My contact just does not wanna stay in, man, I can’t function with this thing sticking half-way out of my eye.” So Peter called “cut!” and ‘Lij and Billy immediately started bitching that the tears on their cheeks itched and if he could hurry it up please. The guys were totally professional, and Orlando knew they were capable of handling the situation without the slightest complaint. They were big boys, they could wait for their fellow actor to over come this small difficultly, small stuff like this happened all the time during film making, it just had to be met with patience and understanding. He knew they were just joking, but still…fucking Hobbits…
“I don’t have any control over it, guys, just chill, ok?” He said, not bothering to humour them with playful retorts. He was very serious about his work and wanted to remain as in character as possible without too many interruptions from the peanut gallery.
“Just take them out, Orlando,” said Peter. “I like what you were doing with the tears and everything, I agree with that totally but unfortunately its not working. There’s no light shining directly in your eyes, no one will be able to tell the difference.”
“’Kay…” Orlando did what he was told, glad to get the hateful things out. God, his eyes burned… “What should I do with them, then?” Before anyone could say another word, a man from the crowd of crewmembers whose name was unknown to Orlando came up and collected the lenses in his gloved hand.
“Don’t worry about it, this is just one pair. There’s plenty more where they came from,” he assured Orlando and giving him a quick wink before being swallowed up again by the crew.
Orlando shrugged, Peter told everyone to take their places, though it seemed no one but Orlando had moved an inch, and the camera commenced rolling, once more.
Not much longer after that, they were finished with the scene. “Alright guys, that’s it for today! Great work! I need everyone in up and ready to go bright and early, Monday morning,” Peter said with a meaningful glance in Orlando’s direction.
“Mae carnen, Ellon,” Viggo said, clapping Orlando on the back. “Very touching.”
Now he’s insulting me in Elvish? “Hannon le, mellon nîn,” he replied with a slightly resentful edge to his words, yet a small smile broke across his face even as he spoke them.
“So,” began Elijah, “I’ll pick you up at eight for a night on the town with me and the boys. Sound good, Orli?”
“You mean a night on the bar, don’t you ‘Lij?” asked Viggo. “Followed up with several hours of drunken nonsense and for the grand finale: you head in the toilet heaving your guts into the bowl! Sounds like utopia, boys,” he said in that mock enthusiastic tone he’d just about mastered in the time they’d all been together.
“So we can count you in, right Viggo?” Orlando asked, winking at the older man. The man returned the Elf’s wink and looked back at him with a smile that would melt even the hardest of hearts. Orli did his best not to blush.
“It’ll be a blast!” said Viggo, hitting the two younger men on the back so hard they nearly fell on their faces. Then, after they’d looked at each other as if to say, “that guy can be so weird, sometimes,” they followed him back to his van and tried to decide on which pub, club, or restaurant to visit, that evening.

***
That night everyone’s schedule was free, so the entire Fellowship decided to take advantage of the rare situation and go out for a bite to eat after filming. This time, they all ordered their own food, for they’d learned the hard way what happens when they let one person order for the entire party, namely John.
Orlando was quite content to be around the people who had been his family for the past several months. They were great to work with, but it was nice to just relax and hang out with these people, and no matter how often they were in one another’s company, they never grew weary of each other, only closer.
He talked happily with everyone, laughing and joking with them as he always did when they were together, but Viggo…the dream he’d had about the man kept coming back and slapping him in the face every time he tried to talk to him, and as the evening wore on, without work to distract him, he couldn’t even look his fellow actor in the eye without feeling his strong, hot hands on his back, his neck, his chest… And every smile from the older man’s lips left Orlando feeling severely uncomfortable. Conversation with Viggo was impossible. Alcohol was calling his name, offering sweet comfort…
However, he didn’t get entirely smashed, as did a certain Ring bearer who shall remain nameless for the time being, but it is true that a few drinks were had.
Viggo, as per usual was named as the designated driver for group #1, which consisted of himself, obviously, the Elf and the three Stooges Hobbits. Sean, more often than not, drove himself home (and the other Hobbits insane, when his father-like qualities kicked in.) Group #2 was made up of nearly all responsible drivers; that is the Wizard and the Dwarf were dubbed to be “too old for that kind of thing,” though Ian’s maturity level barely surpassed that of a hobbit’s, at times, but everyone loved him for his ability to preserve youth. Peter and John never got rat-arsed, either, but Sean Bean, well…he had a tendency to get a little tipsy, now and again, and so he carpooled with one of the older actors.
“Alrighty boys,” said Viggo, after hours of sitting at a long table seated for nine. “I think its time we call it a night.” He cast a pointed glance in the inebriated Hobbit’s direction and removed his jacket from the back of his chair. Elijah tried to follow Viggo’s lead but failed his attempt to stand and fell right back into his chair.
“Dammit ‘Lij…” muttered Dom, practically lifting the boy from his seat. He isn’t even of legal drinking age where he comes from, silly git, he thought.
“Awww lookit him drool, Dommie. He’s so cute when he’s pissed! Just like a baby!” cooed Billy from across the table as he watched one friend clutch the other drunkenly by the collar of his shirt.
“Ah’m not drooling, Billy, shuddup.”
“Steady on, ‘Lij, you’ll rip it!” He scowled and wrestled Elijah’s hand away from his shirt collar. Elijah only grinned as he looked up at his fellow Hobbit with glazed blue eyes.
“Carry me to th’car, Dommie boy?” Dominic could nearly taste the sap dripping from his friend’s slurred voice.
“Looks like I have no choice.”
“Oh, I’ll help ya, Dom,” offered Billy, walking around the table to where Dominic struggled to keep Elijah standing.
“I hope you boys won’t object to some assistance from the resident Elf,” said Orlando, that trademark smirk scrawling MISCHEIF in bright bold letters across his face as he rose to stand beside his friends.
“Ok, let’s get him out to the car,” said Viggo. “See everyone on Monday,” he said, raising his hand to the members of the Fellowship who still remained seated at the table.
And so, a chorus of good-bye’s and shame on you, Frodo’s following close behind, the four men made their way out the door, Viggo leading the parade with Dom, Billy, and Orlando bringing up the rear, Elijah spread-eagled between them. Viggo was mentally kicking himself for having not brought his camera, but it wasn’t like this wouldn’t happen again in a million years. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if it happened again the following weekend. These kids will learn their lesson, one day, he thought with a smile and glanced over his shoulder at the writhing drunkard and his carriers. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that observing them in their process of discovery wasn’t amusing. This, like every night out with the Fellowship, would be a night to remember.

***
Clunk clunk clunk…clunk clunk clunk…clunk clunk clunk…
“Jesus Christ, ‘Lij! Are you ok??” A wave of terror ran itself over Dom’s face as he ran down three flights of stair as fast as he could.
“Whoo!” said Elijah, who in a drunken misstep and fallen down the stairs. He slowly but surely got to his feet and brushed the imaginary dirt from his shoulders. “What a rush!” Even then his boyish face cracked into a huge lopsided grin.
“I let you go for one bloody second to get my key and you fall down the steps. Jesus, man…” Dominic was shaking his head in disbelief. The other two couldn’t believe their eyes, either.
“If you weren’t so good at acting and if that face weren’t so pretty I’d say you’d make a damn good living as a stuntman,” said Orlando, leaning against the railing and smiling at Elijah. The immortal words of Gandalf echoed between his ears, “Hobbits really are amazing creatures. You can learn all there is to know about them in a month, and yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you.”
“At a pinch,” he said aloud to himself. Billy and Dom were too busy trying to get Elijah back up the stairs and keep him there to notice the zoning Elf leaning on the railing at the bottom of the staircase.
“Don’t you think we should check his skull just incase there’s any cranial damage?” asked Dom, unlocking the door to his room.
“Nah,” replied Billy, patting his intoxicated friend on the back, causing the boy to wobble slightly. “I’m sure there’s no more damage done than there was when the poor cunt came screamin’ out of his mum.” Dom chuckled and nodded his head in agreement.
“Our Frodo can withstand anything, isn’t that right, friend?” Dom clapped Elijah hard on the back, nearly causing him to take a second spill, but just as he was about to hit the floor, he righted himself again with help from the doorknob and Billy’s belt buckle.
“Whoa, easy there, mate,” said Billy, straightening out his belt with one hand and steadying ‘Lij with the other. “I know I’m dead sexy but it wouldn’t be right, what with you drunk like this, and all.” Elijah just shook his head and grinned, dazedly up at his friend.
“G’night, lads,” Dom said as he disappeared into his hotel room. “Take care of ‘Lij, would you?”
“I swear by Elbereth to protect him,” said Orlando, who had by this time made his way back up the stairs to stand beside his friends. “You have my bow,” he said, turning to Elijah and putting his hand upon his shoulder, fighting back the laughter that threatened to overtake him.
“Man, I don’t want yer bow. Keep your stupid bow to yourself, I wannanother drink!”
“Shh, shut up, ‘Lij,” said Billy, looking at his watch. “Its already nearly two in the morning. These people will be asleep, by now and so should you.”
“I’ll take him,” said Orlando, taking Elijah by the arm and leading him down the hall to his room.
“Thanks Orli. See you in the morning,” Billy said, fishing out his own key from his jacket pocket.
“No problem.”
When they got to Elijah’s door a few short seconds later, the key was nowhere to be found. First Elijah searched his pockets to the best of his ability, then Orlando gave it a shot. A few odd glances were got from a middle-aged returning to his room from the vending machine, but they’d not been so lucky in their search for the key.
“Bloody hell, Elijah. You’re always losing your damn keys.” Elijah said nothing as he leaned his head against the door, which was, it seemed, going to remain shut for the remainder of the night.
Orlando sighed and began to run his fingers through his hair but stopped when he realised he’d barely two centimeters of it. The wound in his foot had begun to hurt, again, whenever weight was put on it. Those had been some strong meds Mary had given him. He’d have to hit her up for more on Monday, foot pain or not; he could really use some for his head after a hard day of shooting.
A gentle snore emitted from Elijah as he stood with his head resting against the door.
“Oi,” Orlando said, gently rubbing Elijah’s back. He knew what had to be done. He didn’t like it, but there was nothing for it.
“Hn?” Elijah looked confused beyond words, but then that was probably true. He was, after all, drunk.
“You’ll just have to stay in my room till we can get you a spare key, in the morning.”
And so Orlando led Elijah back down the other way to his suite and prayed that he wouldn’t be cleaning up the Hobbit’s vomit off the rug in the morning. If he pukes, by Valar I will drown him in it…

***
“Ahhh *shudder* Viggo…fuck me…” A smile creeps over his lips as the words reach his ears. A hand caresses his back between the shoulder blades. His sandpaper chin rubs against smooth flesh and words full of hot breath make their way inside him: “Yes…” A gasp. Penetration. “…but I’d rather make love to you.” Spinning. The room swirls. A blur of colour and sound as new heat is created. Born from the two figures in the light. A sigh, a moan…
“Oh God…fuck me…”

***
A pillow pulled Orlando from his dream with an abrupt whap in the face.
“Dude…” came a frustrated voice in the darkness, somewhere across the room. It didn’t sound like Viggo. Where was he? What happened? Where did he go?
“Viggo?” Orlando called out into the blackness. He felt numb and disoriented. What happened to the warm glow he’d felt only moments before? It was so cold here in the blackness. Someone had turned on the air conditioning.
“What the hell, Orli…” the voice continued, somewhere to Orlando’s left. “You’re making too much fucking noise.” Definitely not Viggo. “Gimme my fucking pillow back.”
Still confused, Orlando removed the pillow from his chest and tossed it in the general direction of the voice.
“Ow! Bastard…”
“Sorry…” He couldn’t see a thing. He didn’t like this, at all. “E—elijah?” That must be whom the voice belonged to.
“What!!!” Yep. Definitely ‘Lij.
“Nevermind,” Orlando muttered, pulling the covers up over his chin, recounting the events of that evening. Viggo had never been there. He’d gone back to his trailer. He and Elijah were the only ones there. It was all in his head. Then why do I still feel his hands on me…
Orlando sighed.
These dreams…these crazy, messed up, out-of-nowhere dreams were starting to take a hold on his daily life. That very evening he’d found it extremely difficult to hold a conversation with Viggo, and even more impossible to meet his gaze for fear that those intense blue eyes would swallow him whole, and then all would be lost. Oh well. At least I don’t have to get up early. At least I don’t have to face him…right away…

***
Viggo put the finishing touches on the painting he’d been working on for weeks. Yawning, he looked down at his wristwatch. After two, already? He raised his eyebrows and -plop!- dropped his paintbrush into the murky water held in the foam cup on the floor beside him. He hadn’t meant to stay up so late, but just as paint flew when Viggo held a brush in his hand, so did time.
“Dammit, I wanted to call Henry…” He’d told his son the previous day to be expecting a call from him on the morrow, but it just hadn’t worked out. He always got so caught up in his work once he’d started, and since he barely had any time to work on his painting of late, he was grateful for his present time off. But he hadn’t meant to take advantage of it, so. He resolved to give his son an extra large hunk of phone time, tomorrow. He had off, anyway; it wouldn’t be a problem.
Viggo leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He’d intended to give Orlando a call, as well. He was concerned about his young friend. He’d a mind to inquire how his foot was doing, but that wasn’t the half of it. Orlando had been acting rather strangely that day, particularly during dinner. It was almost as if he hadn’t wanted to talk to Viggo, and even seemed to be avoiding eye contact, and that just wasn’t right. He couldn’t think of anything he might have done to bring Orlando any kind of discomfort, nothing outside the usual teasing and joking around…he hoped it wasn’t anything serious.
Viggo was too tired to linger on the thought much longer, and it wasn’t doing him any good, emotionally, anyway. Worrying never helped anyone.
Yawning, he walked over to his kitchen sink and began to wash his hands, taking soap into them and scrubbing vigourously to rid them of the paint that stubbornly stuck to them. He watched dazedly as the soapy rainbow washed down the drain in a swirl pattern that only an artistic mind such as his could appreciate.
Painting had been good, that night, he thought to himself as he dried his hands on a paint-stained towel. He leaned back against the counter and looked at the finished piece with satisfaction and contentment. Good, indeed. He would sleep well tonight knowing the evening hadn’t been wasted, in the least. Though the issue of Orlando’s unusually distant attitude toward him that evening threatened to creep into his mind, he promised himself he wouldn’t lose sleep over it. He’d already lost enough to thoughts of his castmate. Thoughts and dreams. Viggo sometimes had difficulty separating the two, for he held little or no control over either. “You let your imagination run, Viggo,” he began to himself as he prepared for bed, “It will leave and never come back.” What good was an artist with no imagination? Thusly, he purged thoughts of Orlando and went to bed.

***
Orlando woke to the sound of music blaring through the speakers on the other side of the room. Mingled with the electronic twang was Elijah’s high-pitched whine as he made a vain attempt at singing along. “Dear God, what have I got myself into…” Orlando moaned as he covered his throbbing head with a pillow.
“In the neeeeext world waaar in a jackknifed juggeraut, I am born agaaaain.”
Orlando groaned from beneath the pillow. Here he was, lying in bed being subjected to Elijah’s annoyingly screechy voice as a boxing match commenced inside his head when the younger actor was the one who was supposed to be hung over. This guy is unreal… At least he had no objection to his taste in music.
“Oi! Pavarotti! Put a fuckin’ sock in it, will ya?!” A pillow to the face silenced Elijah. “What happened to the tradition of being an inch from death the morning after drinking yourself into oblivion?” Elijah shrugged, reluctantly turned down the music, and threw the pillow on the foot of Orli’s bed.
“I figured you’d been asleep long enough, and I was sick of being quiet.”
“You couldn’t have just left, or something?” Orlando asked, scrubbing his face with his hands.
“Aren’t we grouchy, this morning, Master Elf.”
Yeah, mate. You’re one to talk about being grouchy. How ‘bout that episode, last night? Orlando didn’t bother making the effort to voice his afterthought.
“What’s a matter? Not enough beauty sleep?”
“Sod off, ‘Lij.”
“Sod off, ‘Lij.” The younger man’s tone mocked that of his disgruntled friend’s. Elijah stuck his pink tongue between his lips. The gesture was met with Orlando’s scowl.
“This the thanks I get for taking you in for the night? I’m never fucking doing you a favour again.”
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard someone say that…”
“You could afford to buy yourself some gratitude.” Orli flung the blanket off of himself and brought his legs over the side of the bed so that his back was to Elijah.
“Aw, c’mon Orli,” Elijah whimpered in protest to the cold sight of Orlando’s bare back. Weaving his way around the piles of clothing randomly situated on the floor, he set his destination to the bed. “You know I appreciate you, man,” he pressed, hopping up behind Orlando and wrapping his arms around his shoulders.
Orlando rolled his eyes as he felt a warm cheek press itself against his shoulder blade, but he didn’t pull away or shove Elijah backwards.
“Burn me a copy of that, will you?” Orlando asked, reaching over to his nightstand and fished out a cigarette from the pack that sat there.
“Sure thing,” said Elijah, swinging a shiny silver lighter around Orli’s shoulder and ignited it.
“Thanks,” he said, dipping the cigarette into the leaping flame.
“No problem.”
And thus began Orlando Bloom’s day. The question of what to do with the rest of it hung in the smoky air.
Suddenly, a light bulb was switched on inside his sparsely-haired head.
“Why don’t you go throw yourself off a bridge,” Orlando asked rhetorically, turning to face Elijah.
“What??” Orlando had meant his words to be misunderstood. The sadist in him wanted to see the Elijah’s reaction.
“I mean…” he said with a smile, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “…do you feel like doing something slightly insane, today? I mean, other than blaring Radiohead at…” Orlando stole a quick glance at the clock on his nightstand, “…eight thirty in the morning?” God, Elijah really was un-fucking-believable. He’d still be sleeping if it weren’t for the little prick. “Don’t you think people might still be trying to sleep?” he asked, taking a long drag on his cigarette. He was answered with a slight shrug of Elijah’s shoulders. Such naïve nonchalance, Orlando thought to himself. But then, who was he to judge?
His mind was made up about how to spend the remainder of the day, or at least a good portion of it.
“You seem to be well enough to tolerate a bit of shaking up,” Orlando said, pulling on the pair of pants nearest him and fastening the belt that already hung from the loops.
“Huh?” With a final puff of smoke Elijah’s curiosity was satisfied.
“Let’s go bungee jumping.”

***

Viggo woke to no alarm, that morning, and was glad of it. He didn’t even bother to look through the doorway at the microwave clock. He only stretched, blinked at the sunlight streaming through his open window and smiled. How he loved not being nailed down to a tight schedule. How he savoured the simple things in life, such as the smell of the fresh air and the warmth of the sun that bathed him as he lay comfortably in his bed. His bed in which he could remain for the rest of the day if he so wished, but he didn’t, and he resolved to get up within the hour. He wanted to take some pictures of the lake a few miles down the road while the light was still good for it, and of course there was the belated phone call he’d promised to his son. He’d also a mind to take a shower, for some paint had conveniently glued itself to Viggo’s hair, and some still remained beneath his fingernails, but those things could wait. Viggo closed his eyes, spread his arms out, beside him and breathed deep. No rush, he thought to himself. Today, I move at no one’s pace but my own.

***
“Wasn’t that like the fucking greatest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life?!” Orlando’s beaming face was comparable to that of a small child’s on Christmas morning as he grabbed Elijah enthusiastically around the neck and rubbed his hair with his knuckles. Orlando lived life for the thrills, and this thrill had been pretty sizable. He loved the feeling of the air rushing in his ears, the sensation of falling, falling, floating skyward and then falling again was orgasmic to him. He was grinning like the idiot he probably was, but he didn’t care.
“It was pretty incredible,” said the younger man, struggling to get loose of Orli’s death grip. “I wasn’t sure about your back, at first, and I was gonna say something about it but you seem to be okay.”
“I’m a hundred times better than okay, man! Wanna do it again?”
“Fuck no!”

***
Henry had talked his father’s ear off for the better part of two hours and Viggo returned the favour with matching gusto. He was glad he’d finally been able to talk to his son and was now enjoying a long, hot shower, humming to himself throughout and not worrying about a damn thing…at least not until he started thinking about Orlando again. A bad note was struck in the back of Viggo’s mind whenever he recalled how the younger man had outright refused to look him in the eye the previous night at dinner. He strained his memory to seek out any other instances within the past few days in which Orlando had acted strangely. He remembered hanging out with him a few of the other guys, last week; playing poker, watching videos, that kind of stuff. He didn’t recall any unusual behaviour from Orlando when he thought about said events.
Wait a second…
Viggo shut the water off and stood straight and still for a few moments, not heeding the cold air that rushed in from the cracks between the curtain and walls, but thinking. The hug he’d given Orlando the day before…he’d given Orlando many an embrace, and the young man never hesitated to respond to the affection, or even be intimate with him, but that particular display of affection seemed somehow different, now that Viggo thought about it. Orlando had seemed tense, even to shrink in his arms as though the touch somehow brought him discomfort when in fact it was intended to do just the opposite. It wasn’t until the hobbits had closed in around them that the younger man had begun to relax.
“I don’t get it,” Viggo said, aloud, pulling back the shower curtain and stepping out onto the rug.
It was true, there was something about the little bloke, a certain charm, and Viggo was damned if he could resist it; there wasn’t a person he knew of that could. He supposed he was just another fish tangled in the net, so to speak, and Orlando was the oblivious fisherman. Or was he so oblivious to what he was capable of doing to a person with a single flash of those pearly whites, a single sparkle in those dark eyes? Viggo wasn’t so sure.
Whatever, he reminded himself that this rather adolescent attraction to Orlando was fruitless and would remain that way. Their relationship wasn’t entirely professional, no. What fun would that be? Everyone contributed their share of goofiness whenever they were together…some more than others, but still. They were just good friends and would remain so for as long as they knew each other. Everyone in the Fellowship was brotherly close. Just friends. Besides, even if he were to act on an impulse and unfurl his feelings in the younger man’s presence, what made him think that he’d get anything back? And, fuck all, what if he actually did? Viggo had been asking himself this for longer than he was truthfully comfortable with, but he kept his feelings well in check and remembered his place. Just friends. But then why was Orli acting so skittish around him, lately?
He didn’t see the use in playing detective, any more; trying to figure out the great mystery that was Orlando Bloom alone was no longer an option. He resolved to call him as soon as he was dressed.

***
Orlando still wasn’t over the rush of the dive he’d taken earlier that day when he returned to his hotel room. Elijah had left him, saying he was going over to Dom’s room to “call around to see if anyone had seen his hotel key lying around at the restaurant” (after his drunken departure.) Sean, no doubt, had picked it up for him and held it safely in his hand, all night, Orlando thought to himself. Elijah would be screwed if it weren’t for that guy. He really was Sam to him.
Pressing the play button on his stereo, Orlando began to undress for a much-needed shower, but the sound of his phone ringing kept his pants on. Figuring it was probably Elijah calling from down the hall to confirm his suspicion about the ever-reliable Sean Astin, he picked up the phone prepared to hear the Hobbit’s voice on the other end.
“Yep?”
“Hey, Orlando.”
The voice didn’t belong to Elijah.
“V-Viggo,” he managed to stammer out.
“Something the matter?” Orlando cringed at the obvious concern seeping from the voice on the other end.
“Um, no.” Orlando shook his head, even though he knew Viggo couldn’t see. “I just, em, I just woke up from a nap.”
“Oh, did I wake you? I’m sorry.” An unnecessary apology. Orlando had never cringed so much in the first few moments of a phone conversation in his life.
“No, don’t worry about it. Its about time I got my lazy ass up…its just that Elijah kept me up, last night.” God that sounded wrong. Correct it, you dumbass! “ He, uh…he couldn’t find his hotel key so I offered to let him stay over here.” Feeling suddenly cold, he took a towel from the rack and wrapped it around his gooseflesh-covered shoulders.
“Aw, how sweet. You really are a Southern Softie.” Orlando blushed, half from anger (he hated that damned nickname of Bean’s) and half out of flattery. Still, he managed a small chuckle.
“Yeah, he was too drunk to refuse.”
“I’d imagine few would have the heart to decline such an invitation, even sober.” Was Viggo hitting on him? Orlando swallowed hard and felt his cheeks flush, once more.

“I’m sorry Orli, I didn’t mean to sound like a pervy old man. I bet that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, shut up, you are a pervy old man. No use trying to deny it.” Sound of Viggo’s laughter. “So, ye old lech, you didn’t call just to hear the sound of my voice, did you?” Orlando secretly begged his friend to answer negatively. This was uncomfortable enough, as it was.
“No, I wanted to see how you were doing.”
How I’m doing…? Oh! Right, the foot. “Yeah, my foot’s just fine, now.”
“No, actually. Well, that’s good, but I wanted to ask…”
Wanted to ask what? What was it you wanted to ask me??
“You’ve been acting…kind of weird, lately. Particularily around me, or so it would seem. Now, this may very well be my…”
“Artistic imagination?” Orlando couldn’t stand to be strung along like this.
“Exactly. Correct me if I’m wrong, Orli, but is there something wrong? Something you’re not telling me for some reason?”
Fuck. Now he’s got me. Viggo had just shoved Orlando into a corner he had been trying his hardest to avoid.
Now what the hell was he supposed to do? Lie and dig himself a deeper hole or tell the truth and run the risk of being buried alive?
“There…there’s nothing wrong, Viggo. I’ve just been really short on sleep, is all.” Well, it was partially true…
“Right.” Viggo wasn’t buying it. “I’d appreciate honesty, Orlando.”
Does he have to say it like that? _Orlando_? He didn’t like hearing his full name from Viggo’s lips. Orli was friendlier, less severe.
Alright, so the easy way out had proved to be a dead end.
“Well…okay Viggo, don’t freak out on me…” Shit. He really didn’t want to do this.
“I’ll hear out anything you have to say with patience and understanding.” And he knew he would, for Viggo had already a pretty good idea of where his young friend was coming from, as well as where he was going, even if the kid didn’t, himself.
Man, was he persuasive when he put his mind to it. Downright impossible to lie to, he was. “Right. I’ve been having these really weird dreams. We’re not talking these fluffy clouds, pink bunnies and rainbow dreams either, man…” Better just give it to him like it was. “We’re talking…hardcore, sweaty…” God, would he be able to say this…?
“Go on, Orli, I’m listening.” With rapt attention.
“Yeah I bet you are, pervert.” Viggo’s laugh made him ease up, if only a tiny bit. “Okay…basically, I’ve been having these…rather moist, em, rapid eye movements…”
Oh spit it out, Orlando, or I’ll do it for you.
“We fucked. You and I. In my dream, I mean.” That word had never sounded so alien from his own mouth, before. Not even when he first spoke it at the tender age of six.
“Indeed?”
Viggo’s voice was too fucking calm. What the hell? “Yeah. Dreams, actually. Uh, plural.” He was hard pressed to keep his grip on the phone, his palms were sweating so badly. His face was so hot he was sure that if he stuck it in a bucket it would boil the water inside.
“And you’re uncomfortable with that, I take it?”
“Yes, I’m bloody well uncomfortable with it, Vig! Christ…” Just like Viggo. Omnipotent Viggo. So patient, so understanding, so calm. There’s one thing he doesn’t know, and I sure as fuck am not going to tell him…
“Hey, no problem, Orli. They’re just dreams, right?”
Fuck!
“Orlando?”
“Uh, yeah, Vig…I gotta go.”
“Orli, there’s no need to—“
“Cheers!” Click.
Orlando threw off the towel he’d been clutching to his chest and slammed the phone in its cradle. To imagine he’d felt cold just a few short moments ago!
“Well if that wasn’t fucking awkward than I don’t know what is,” he breathed, wiping the sweat from his brow and looking at the closed door to his left. Shower. Now.
A million thoughts poured into his swimming head as hot and liquid as the water raining down on him from the spout. Why did he have to be such a blundering idiot on the phone, like that? What was he worried about? People were always telling him what a gift he had for being open and honest, but why, then, did he feel the need to harness his feelings? Were they solely the children of his dreams, or had they been buried deep inside him for longer? Why couldn’t he just come out and tell Viggo? Why couldn’t he just admit it to himself?
Breathe, keep breathing. Don’t lose your nerve. The soft melody floated to his ears over the din of running water and somehow managed to calm him. Breathe, keep breathing…
“…I can’t do this alone,” he spoke aloud with the music. Such a beautiful song, he thought to himself as he laid his head back against the cool tiles and let the steady stream of warm water massage his chest. He’d fallen in love with it the first time Elijah had played it for him. “Not alone.” Deep breath. Close your eyes. Don’t think. Just breathe.
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Beautiful Moment