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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.

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Title: Flying with Eagles
Author: Zar
Email: zarakan@hotmail.com
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.
ary:ary: Spine perving, pins and needles, stalking jungle cats...

Chapter 27

Australia.

He’s goio Auo Australia.

“Viggo…you’re…it sort of hurts,” a quiet plea breaks through my thoughts and I look down to see my beautiful god trying to smile at me.

I am such an ass. Don’t know what I thought I was doing, but I am crushing him against me, almost as if in an attempt to keep him by my side.

“When…when are you leaving?”

My question is whispered…I can barely find the strength to speak lest I break down in front of my prince, but he hears me anyway.

“Eric doesn’t know…but it’s probably going to be soon. Maybe two weeks?”

Two weeks? That’s no time at all! Fourteen days…I have fourteen days until heaven is going to be brutally snatched away from me.

“How…how long?”

He looks up at me now and I can see the tear tracks on his cheeks. His perfect porcelain cheeks. He can’t leave me. I can’t help holding him against me once again although this time, I am careful about squeezing too tightly. I haven’t forgotten about his injury.

“I don’t know…Eric hasn’t told me yet, but from filming in the past, it usually takes a few months to half a year depending on the film.”

A few months. I can’t even be parted from him for more than a day at a time, let alone months.

“You can’t go, Orlando…you can’t…you can’t leave me here.”

There is silence until a pained rasp of my name followed by a sob breaks the uncomfortable hush. He is as distressed as I am…and though I want to shout acreacream to release the pent-up feelings inside, I know I can’t. So instead, I soothingly rub my hand up and down his back, and guide his head to rest in the hollow of my neck.

Neither of us say anything, the silence is almost tangible, and I don’t know how to break it down.

I don’t know if I can.

~~~

I was ready to talk about his decision and had prepared myself with arguments against his leaving about an hour later, when I finally felt Orlando’s breag slg slow down, and his killer hold on me relaxed somewhat.

Good…he must be slightly calmer now. Maybe he’ll listen to reason and hear what I have to say about this. I’ve said this time and again, but I won’t give him up without a fight. He’s too important to me to even think about losing.

“Orlando?” I coo softly at him.

I don’t receive a reaction from himt evt even a shake of the head and in truth, it worries me so I try again a little louder.

“Orlando? Muffin? I g I gently nudge his head back a bit so I can look into his face, and when I do, it’s hard to hold back a laugh, but I manage to restrain myself to a soft chuckle and an affectionate kiss to his forehead instead.

My angel has been through so much mental and emotional turmoil today, he’s fallen asleep in my lap, his mouth in a pout even in slumber. He must have fallen into restless slumber while still crying because the tear tracks on his face are still damp, though they are smudged from being squashed against my neck. His lashes are so long…and I hadn’t realised how thick they were, though that’s partly because the tears have clumped them together. It makes me want to touch them, and flick the shiny droplets off, but I don’t want to risk waking him.

How odd of me not to have noticed, but I am still gently rubbing at his back and that is when I notice the texture of his shirt again. It’s the same soft warm-butter-silk shirt I had admired earlier. Now that he’s not paying me any attention, I cautiously slide my hand under his silky shirt and caress the even smoothkin kin of his back.

You know what I said before about his shirt being softer than anything I had ever known? I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong.

There is nothing on earth of this texture: supple and soft, taut and smooth…without even consciously realising it, I am running my hands along the top of his spine and feeling the little raised bumps of his vertebrae. The human skeleton has never been so sexy.

I had better stop before this gets out of hand – literally, and I use my mouth on other places I shouldn’t venture to, because I am very tempted. Especially since my beautiful god has started to make low purring sounds in the back of his throat and is wriggling into the pressure of my palm.

But how wrong is it that he’s knocked out asleep and the old man who was offering him comfort ends up perving on his spine? Maybe I am showiecroecromantic tendencies …since I don’t seem to mind that he’s out cold, although he is responding…and very nicely at that too.

STOP, Viggo. I have to stop. This isn’t right. I hate being honourable and moral and righteous, blah blah…but what choice do I have with a god?

“Orlando, muffin…you have to get up.”

Instead of the gentle stroking, I step it up a notch to an insistent rub of his shoulder.

“Orlando?”

Soon, he’s blinking bleary eyes at me and looking around in sleepy confusion. I could stare all day at the way his sweeping eyelashes are drifting open and shut to reveal his beautiful dark irises, but I won’t. Well, not now.

“Viggo?”

“Come on, muffin…you’re tired. You wanna go back home now?”

He closes his eyes and rests his head against my shoulder, refusing to answer me. So…what does that mean?

“Viggo…do you mind…” I almost didn’t hear him, he was speaking so quietly, but although he hesitated, he slowly carried on, “if…maybe I stayed here tonight?”

Thud. There goes my heart. He can’t be asking for…

No. I know he’s not ready to take the next step in this relationship. I planplanning on taking mini baby steps with him, and he suddenly wants to make a huge giant leap? Maybe it’s because he thinks he’s going to lose me if he goes to Australia…he’s so silly. I wonder what gave him that idea. Whatever it is, I can’t let him do this.

“Muffin, you know it’s too soon…”

He hastily sits up and winding my arms around his waist, takes my hands in his to thereby wrap himself in my embrace.

“No, no…I mean, just to sleep. I…don’t…I…downstairs…”

He’s mumbling, stumbling and fumbling, but somehow, his words make sense to me and I squeeze him reassuringly.

“Stay. Stay for as long as you want.”

He’s still shyly looking away from me, so I untangle my hand from his to tilt his head over to mine so I can place a kiss on the lower lip he’s nibbling worriedly on.

“Orlando, you can always tell me how you feel, and what you want. Don’t hide from me, I would never reject you. I promise you that.”

He squirms closer and nods. Damn him for being so adorable.

“Come on, I’ll put you to bed then.”

How I wish I could say that in a totally different context!

My Orlando looks reluctant to move from his cuddled up position in my lap, so I decide to try and play the valiant knight and stand up, hefting him with me.

Before we know it, I am standing upright with a curly-haired prince in my arms…except that I am wobbling rather precariously. I had totally forgotten that he had been a dead weight in my lap for the past hour or so and my legs are numb with pins and needles.

Crap, crap, CRAP, it stings! I try to shake them a bit to get feeling back into the toes, and Orlando clings onto me around my neck, laughing happily. At least one of us is pleased about our current situation. I am bordering more on mortified and embarrassed. And I had thought it would be so romantic to just sweep him into my arms and onto the bed. Damn real life and physical hindrances. The heroes in movies never face problems like these, it only the poor common folk who suffer pins and needles.

It still feels like a million ants are biting at my legs, but I can bear to put more weight on one leg, and so it’s not that hard to slowly walk over to the corridor of the bedrooms. Must keep cool no matter what.

Do you know how hard it is to keep your concentration and continue to put on stinging foot in front of the other when the world’s most perfect man is snuggled in your arms and nuzzling his nose into your hair while kissing your ear? It’s near impossible and I almost crashed into the wall because of him.

“Orlando! Don’t do that!”

All I get are giggles in return.

“I like it. I like that I can affect you with just a simple touch. Just me.”

“Just you,” I happily agree.

We’ve reached the bedroom and I try to push the door open with my foot, but it doesn’t budge.

“Muffin? Could you open the door for me?”

He better do it quickly, because I don’t know how much longer I can support his weight. Of course he’s slender and slim, but he’s tall and there are muscles to that frame though it’s not immediately obvious.

My god unravels one long arm from around my neck, bumping my nose in the process which makes him laugh, before turning the knob and letting us in.

Moving swiftly over to the bed, I lean over and let him roll out of my cuddle and onto the soft duvet. He’s smiling and looking around the room curiously, taking in his surroundings, until I switch on the light and he blinks quickly.

“Is this okay, Orlando?”

He’s nodding at me, then flopping facedown onto the bed. I wonder if he has any idea just how endearing he is? I am going to miss him so much if he really does leave. So much.

“Viggo?”

I look back at him and he’s g sus suspicious look on his face all of a sudden.

“What?”

“This isn’t your room, is it?”

“This is the guest bedroom.”

He’s quiet for a moment and heaves himself up into a sitting position before I can help him. I wonder how he realised that I didn’t spend any time in here. This would be the room reserved for Beanie if we carried on with the drunken Friday nights of our youth, but he has not yet had the chance to stay over.

“I don’t want to stay here,” my god snly nly declares, trying to stand up by himself without the help of his crutch which we had left out in the living room.

“Muffin?”

“I don’t want to be a guest here. I want to stay with you.”

He is resisting my help and waves my hands away from him.

“Orlando…”

But my prince doesn’t want to listen, instead shaking his head determinedly.

“I want to stay with you. This isn’t your room. It doesn’t smell of paint and easels…and the pillow smells…of hotel soap, not Viggo. I don’t want to sleep here alone.”

I don’t know what to say to this, so I can only stare at him helplessly. If he stays in my bedroom, wow, he’s demanding to sleep in the same bed from the sound of things…I won’t be able to resist him. Even now, with six inches between us, I find it hard to control myself. What am I going to do?

Orlando obviously senses my uncertainty and slowly but firmly limps way way over to the door, presumably to find my room. Maybehoulhould just let him take my bed, I can sleep in a chair for tonight.

I reach him just as he’s grabbing onto the door and leans against the doorjamb, breathing rather heavily although he’s trying to hide it. He’s so stubborn…I know I’ll always give in when he looks at me with those chocolate eyes.

With a great sigh, I heft him back up into my arms and lead the way to the bedroom right at the end of the corridor. This room has double doors which swing open, and these, I am able to kick open, although it takes two tries.

This time, Orlando is obviously delighted with the large king size bed and promptly snuggles under the covers with a huge grin. Pretending to be annoyed, I reach over and switch on the bedside table lamp, casting everything in a nice warm glow. He’s so beautiful in this dim light with shadows cast over his handsome face as he buries it into my pillow before giving a satisfied nod. What am I going to do with this crazy prince?

With my hand running through his curls and his face pressed against my side as I lull him into dreams, it’s not long before he’s asleep again. I should be grateful he didn’t demand I get into the same bed as him, but I find myself spellbound by the light playing on his peaceful features and I sit here quietly watching him at ease.

Of course, with good, comes evil. And my evil appeared mere minutes after my prince dropped off to sleep in the form of banging on the front door and incessant ringing of the bell. If whoever causing this racket wakes my prince, there is going to be hell to pay, this I swear.

Making sure the covers are tucked up comfortably around Orlando, I give him one last kiss on the forehead before going to answer the door.

Who else would it be, but Mr Leopard-man himself?

“Where is he?” are the first words from his mouth as I open the door a crack.

“Who are you looking for?”

I just like to egg him on. It’s fun getting on his nerves…perhaps even more fun that using the innocent act on Beanie.

“You know I am looking for Orlando.”

Without seeking my permission, the jungle cat has pushed the door open all the way and prowled into the living room, looking around with distaste. He spies the crutch leaning by the sofa, but there’s no god sitting there, and he whirls around to glare at me.

“He had better be in the kitchen, because if he’s in any of the bedrooms, I am going to quarter then skin then slice and dice you up, Mortensen.”

Who does he think he is? With a shrug, I wave my hand at the kitchen and watch as he storms to it. Let him do his worst – I don’t care what he does to me so long as he does not harm the one I love and I know he won’t hurt my god.

The god who is currently lying in my bed, in my room, in my apartment with a contented smile on his face.

Go on, you just try and take him to Australia, you scowling oversized cat. This eagle is ready to prepare for war if that is what it takes to protect and prevent his god from leaving.

TBC...
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Flying With Eagles