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Flying With Eagles	By : Zar Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 10191 -:- 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
- 15
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Title: Flying with Eagles
Author: Zar
Email: squishypiglet@hotmail.co.uk
LJ: http://www.livejournal.com/users/squishypiglet/
Warnings: This is slash. Don't like it? Don't read it!
Pairings: Viggorli with special guest Eric Bana.
Disclaimer: This is not true, despite all my wishes.
Summary: A Garden of Lavender and Oranges

Chapter 15

My beautiful god and I have been together now for a total of four blissful days. But he hasn’t been back in my flat ever since that fateful night we shared our first kiss, and we’ve only seen each other once more since then.

Why?

It’s not that I didn’t want him in my flat. Far from it. But there was one little problem…Ryan was still living with me.

I was still unsure of how our friendship would be affected if I kicked him out, so…he still stayed in my guest room. I couldn’t find it in my heart to tell Orlando that my “good friend” was still living with me, so I just…didn’t say anything at all.

You’re not lying if you don’t say anything, though to be honest, Orlando hasn’t mentioned him at all. It’s painful to think he’s avoiding the subject of Ryan in case I reveal to him what he doesn’t want to know. None of this can be any easier on him than me.

There is light at the end of the tunnel however, and it’s not an incoming train…well, not in the end. Today was the day Ryan finally got packed up and left. Sounds easy, ri It It wasn’t. There was a lot of fighting and pleading for understanding (on my part) but I think he what he really needs is time to cool off.

“I really don’t know what games you’re playing with me, Viggo!”

No words were going to make this any better, so I just sat quietly on the guest bed watching him throw clothes into his carry bag.

“I am not some toy you can call up and have a quick roll in the hay with!”

This time, I couldn’t resist a little mumble under my breath to soothe my own temper against these “evil acts” of mine.

“You’re the one who called me…”

But as my luck would have it, he heard me and that’s when he really blew up.

“What’s with all the mixed signals, Viggo?? One second, you’re all over me in restaurants and giving hand jobs on sofas…then the next thing I know, you’ve been ignoring me and now…you’re kicking me out!”

“Look,” I try to sound as calm as I can, but it’s hard when he’s glaring at me with fists clenched, “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen…and I am not kicking you out.”

“I am sure this was all an “accident”…and no matter what you say, you still want me out, don’t you?”

“No, I am not! You can take all the time you want! Take another week if you feel like it!”

I didn’t want him to take another week, but…that seemed like the right thing to say.

It wasn’t.

“Right, I take another week here with you. Let you play your mind games on me a little more. And then I get kicked out. Thanks, Viggo, but I’d rather just get out now.”

He picked up his bags and was gone.

Oddly enough, despite losing an old friend…I feel relieved and free.

~~~

My perfect prince is sitting beside me again on the sofa and we’re sharing a glass of dessert wine. He’s just finishing the chocolate ice cream I bought for him earlier. oundounds stupid, but I can’t stop staring at him.

He’s pulled up one leg onto the couch so he’s facing me, but both his hands are wrapped greedily around the ice cream cup. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone enjoy ice cream the way he does. The little pink tongue swipes out quickly to catch a stray chocolate chip on his lip. Does he know how positively enchanting it is?

Chocolate chocolate chip has never been this sexy. Despite the grace and poise I have seen displayed by my god these last two weeks, it does not seem to stretch as far as his ice cream eating. There is ice cream all around his mouth and he’s even got a little swipe of it on his nose. I wonder why I didn’t say anything as I watched the chocolate drip down the cup to his finger…then ogle, completely captivated as he absentmindedly rubbed at his nose.

The only thought going through my mind is how sweet the ice cream must taste now…and how fortunate he is, that the chocolate perfectly compliments his dark features. God forbid he eat strawberry ice cream and have it smeared on his cheek…no, come to think of it, he’d look good smeared in strawberry. Maybe mango. No, yellow would set off that dark hair perfectly. Mint chip? The green can’t look good against his chocolate eyes – who am I kidding? He’d look good in any flavour.

“You’re watching me again, Viggo! Don’t watch me eat…it makes me self-conscious.”

He turns away from me then, still guarding his ice cream as if I might steal it from him.

“I like watching you.”

Orlando looks to the side before licking his lips again.

“I never know how to reply when you say things like that to me.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date where a girl has so bluntly admitted something like that to me before, and I burst out laughing, to his surprise.

“Great, you sit there staring, making me feel awkward, then laugh at me. I wonder if I am only here for your amusement.”

“No, you’re here so I can do this.”

I pull the ice cream glass away from him and unexpectedly, he lets me have it. I cradle his head in my hand and carefully lick at the chocolate spot on his nose, then watch as he wrinkles it adorably.

“I thought you were going to kiss me!”

Never heard a dec declare that before, either. Men are so much easier to understand, they just say what they think or feel. I think I’ll stick to dating men from now on. Correction: I’ll stick to dating one specific god from now on.

“I was. But then there was a bit of chocolate on your nose…”

He’s squinting downwards now, trying to see the smear before the scrutinised nose is twitched again.

“Is it still there? Did you get it all?”

“Nope…it’s moved now…”

“Where?”

I answer him by licking gently at his lips and the suddenly present pout.

“Don’t lick me! I want you to kiss me!”

How could I deny him, my chocolate covered god?

~~~

We were breathing heavily, leaning against each other…and both covered in chocolate ice cream. I was all sticky, thanks to the chocolate on his face, which transferred to his hands, then my face, then my hands and his hair…I am going to always keep a supply in my fridge. Thank you for a great time, Mr Haagen Dazs.

Leaning back, I was sporting a rather…embarrassing bulge and tried shifting to hide it. I am glad I showered earlier – I wouldn’t want to be smelly when sleeping with a god for the first time. Not that it made a difference when we both smelt like chocolate now anyway. Just as I was about to gently suggest we take it into the bedroom, Orlando cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

“I smell something again…”

I think we’ve had this conversation before. Serious déjà vu.

“Orlando, we’ve had this talk before…remember your comment about sniffing like a dog?”

He flushes, but unlike the last time, doesn’t give up.

“Can you really not smell it?”

Now this time, I have no idea what he’s on about. I’ve removed all the cushion covers and had them washed. There’s no trace left of the “Ryan Handjob Incident” – I made sure of that before he came over.

“Is it…the same smell as last time?” I try cautiously.

He sniffs a little, then nods.

Okay. I don’t know what to do, so what better than distraction?

“Maybe you’re imagining it…”

I run a hand through his curls (passing by Johnson whom I spend an extra second caressing), and press a quick kiss to his lips. He doesn’t look convinced, but he’s not suspiciously smelling around anymore, so that must be good. I pass the crutch propped onto the coffeetable side to him and help him up, keeping an arm close to him and kissing his hair.

Thaems ems to work and he relaxes into me. I use this chance to try and lead him towards the bedroom. As we’re in the corridor, I am suddenly interrupted by a hand firmly pushing my chest.

“Viggo. Wait. We need to have a talk first – “

Before he can even finish his sentence, he’s shaking his head.

“I am not imagining it. It’s stronger here.”

We’re right beside the guest room Ryan stayed in. I swear, if he masturbated in here or did whatever it was he did, it had nothing to do with innocent Viggo!

I can’t even begin to put together an explanation before he’s pulled away from me and pushed upon the door to my studio.

What is he doing going into there?

I follow and almost stumble right into him. My god has walked into the room but just stopped inside and seems shocked by the painting I finally managed to finish this morning.

It’s the one that has been disturbing my every thought, not letting me rest or paint anything else until this was done. The one with the swirling yellow dresses and locks of brown hair. Looking at it from someone else’s point of view, I realise how it could be differently interpreted. There is a riot of yellows in the middle of the canvas, with sweeping brown swirling across it – there is a strong sensation of movement and twirling. Surrounding all of that is a myriad of purples, greens and oranges, a strange combination, I realise, but they fitted, the oddly mismatched hues.

“The paint…”

Orlando was muttering and I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“What did you say, Orlando?”

I reach for him, but he shifts away from me and walks cautiously over to the easel, a hand stretched out as if to touch.

“I smelt the paint.”

Okay…what’s so weird about that? I only finished it this morning, the paint was still drying. Come to think of it, my apartment does smell strongly of oil paints, but I’ve lived with that scent for so long, my nose is no longer sensitive to it and I barely notice it.

I almost missed what Orlando said next as I watched him carefully graze the painting with his fingertips.

“The girls. You’ve captured the spirits of the dancing girls perfectly.”

How on earth did he recognise what I was painting? It’s too abstract for anyone to know what I had in my mind as I splashed on the colours.

“Orlando? How do you know they’re dancing girls?”

He seems to remember I am there, and turns around and answers in a dazed voice,

“I see these girls wearing yellow…dancing and laughing in a garden filled with lavender and oranges.”

A garden of lavender and oranges? Is that what they were?

“Where, Orlando? Where did you see them?”

“Where? I see them in my mind…whenever I play the piano.”

TBC...
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Flying With Eagles