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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: squishypiglet@hotmail.co.uk
LJ: 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: Of gods and coffee…

Chapter 3

Waking up in jeans stiff with cum is not the way I usually like to greet the new day. Add to that, I had a crick in my neck from the unorthodox position of sleeping on the carpet. I must have been really tired from the moving. Just looking around at the mounds of boxes around me, I am thinking, screw it. It was a tough day yesterday, and today, I am going to take it easy – Viggo style. Coffee and painting. That’s it.

The shower was easy until I discovered that I didn’t know where my clothes were. They weren’t in the boxes labelled “clothes”, which in fact reveal my art supplies. I really question Henry’s sense of humour sometimes. Fine, if that’s the way it is, I’ll go naked. Doesn’t bother me. But I need my caffeine.

I spend over ten minutes digging around in all of the different crates before finally locating the coffee from the box entitled “bath towels” - I am going to kill that Henry, son or not! Got the instant coffee mix…kettle plugged in (little red light on!)… all that’s left is to wait around for the water to boil. I thought I would play it cool in my new kitchen with all its sleek marble and decided to artistically sit up on the counter to wait. Bad move.

Two lessons to be learnt here.

1. Marble is freezing no matter how hot it is outside.

2. Naked butts don’t like ANYTHING freezing near them.

I had to get ice to placate the soreness of my head when I jumped back up and hit it on the low hanging light fixture…thing. It’s just not my day.

~~~

I eventually gave up on the coffee idea. Despite appearances and the many stereotypes about artists, I can not stand my coffee black. I need the milk and the sugar. Need it. So you can imagine my expression when the water was finally boiled, and I had measured in the amount of coffee mix only to find…an empty fridge. Off to the nearest café or coffee shop it is. I need that caffeine.

Now, to find my stupid clothes. Which I discovered in the crate claiming to contain cutlery. Now why didn’t I search there first?

I wanted to just get the stupid coffee then stumble back to my nest (it’ll be a while before I can call it my ‘home’), so I can at long last put to paper the image of the dancing girls in yellow that has been haunting me since the day I heard the elusive piece.

Luckily for me, I didn’t have to go far. I walked along the river until I came to the huge white monstrosity of a bridge that connected to the other side of the river and it was there that I found what I was looking for. There was a little café with a handwritten signboard out on the pavement. Looked like the place fe, ae, and I couldn’t resist snorting at the bright red letters pronouncing: “Some Like It Hot!”

The interior is well-worn and furnished with wood, a plump waitress bustling around although the place was far from full. I stroll in and hesitantly seat myself at a table with a good view of the water. For some reason, I enjoy watching the murky water, even if it there weren’t waves or seagulls to vary the landscape. It stayed the same…familiar in an odd way.

It was while I was sitting there staring at nothing that I felt eyes on me, and I automatically turned to face my observer. There are no words to describe the vision before me. The emotions evoked in me before even a word had been exchanged. He had the same colouring as the greek god aka the leopard from yesterday, but…there is something different about him.

This man doesn’t carry himself as a god, as a superior or out-of-reach being. Leopard was…distant at best. He was tall and lean but graceful, but you would never think to approach him. But this man from today…the way his eyes crinkled as he smiled…the way it lit up his whole face… There is something that invites touch. He is…touchable. Yes, I would like to touch him. Touch this young man, yes, this god who graces us mere commoners with his presence. He is perfection as I have ever known it…and he is still looking in my direction and smiling.

Okay…what do I do now?? Smile back? It’s been years sin’ve ’ve played this flirting game. Smile back it is, I suppose. Well…I have been blatantly staring at him for the last minute without blinking, so having some kind of reaction right now would be great. He is grinning openly and laughs, perhaps at my expression then waves an enthusiastic hello. Again, my right hand moves with a will of its own and before I realise what I am doing, I am tentatively waving back at him.

He is repressing a smile, but then his attention is no longer on me as he stands up to greet a figure who has just entered the café and headed in this direction. I think I shall now combust from mortification. Great job, Vig. Wave at a gorgeous stranger who wasn’t even looking at you. He probably thinks you were hitting on him, the way you were making googly eyes at him without moving.

The pair are now kissing each other hello on the cheek. I wish he were kissing me instead, but hey, this is life. I catch a glimpse of the other man’s face as they sit dowain.ain. Lo and behold, I guess the young god really doesn’t mingle with mere commoners, as his companion is none other than Mr Greek-God-Bana himself.

Still flushing with embarrassment, I watch as the young god subtly gestures in my direction and says something quietly to the older man which causes them both to laugh. Can’t watch this anymore. I am leaving. I get up with as much dignity I can muster and walk out with my head held high.

It is only until I am speed-walking on the bridge back to ‘Paradise’ that I realise I had entirely forgotten about my coffee. Between the unattainable god and the mysterious nameless pianist, I feel as if I am as far from paradise as I could ever be.

TBC...

Poor Viggo! For some reason, he's just too much fun to torture. I am trying to update this daily, and I hope you're enjoying this!
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Flying With Eagles