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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
- 3
- 4
First day of vacation. Peter had granted them two whole weeks to relax and do as they pleased. Two weeks to just sit back and chill. Two weeks. How should the first night of vacation be spent…? Celebrating with the boys! Any other way would have seemed somehow blasphemous.
“Please, Viggo! You _have_ to come with us. It won’t be any fun without you.”
“Quit whining. I’m not sure an old man like me would fit in at such a hot spot,” Viggo said, selecting a shirt from his closet and looking in the mirror on the door. It brought out his eyes, but he wasn’t sure it was right for the occasion.
“Bollocks, Vig. You fit in my hot spot, just fine,” Orli said with a wink. Viggo’s glance shifted from his own reflection to that of his lover’s.
“You naughty little tart,” he said, putting the blue silk shirt back in the closet and selected a red one. Orlando came up behind Viggo and laced his arms around the older man’s waist.
“Whatcha gonna do? Wash my mouth out with soap, eh gramps?” he teased, biting Viggo between the shoulder blades and giving his waist a squeeze.
Viggo’s head jerked back at the unexpected love bite, nearly hitting Orlando in the nose. “Cut it out. I just don’t think I’d be very comfortable in the place you’re trying to drag me to.”
“Not in that, you wouldn’t,” he said, taking the blue shirt from Viggo by the hanger and putting it back in the closet. Viggo knew he was right. What he wore mattered, at least somewhat. He envied Orlando’s ability to wear anything anywhere and feel comfortable in it, no matter what. “I think this suits you, better,” he said, taking out a black silk shirt and handing it to Viggo. “And wear the first two buttons un-done. It’s really quite sexy to show a bit of chest,” he said, reaching around and curling his fingers around the hair that grew there.
“Picking out my clothes for me, now are you? Christ, Orli, we’ve only been together for what…three weeks?”
“And four days.”
“I suppose next you’ll be wanting to set a date for the wedding?” Orlando gave him a look and Viggo laughed. “Okay, fine. I’ll wear the damn shirt.”
“And those tight jeans you wore, last week.”
“Any requests as far as underwear goes?” Viggo joked as he laid the shirt on the bed for later. Orlando shook his head.
“Just so long as it’s considerably easy to get off,” he said, smacking Viggo’s bottom and all but skipping into the bathroom. “Ima take a shower now,” he called.
“That sounds like an invitation,” replied Viggo, slipping his beater of his head.
“And you sound like a pervert!” Viggo laughed and walked into the bathroom. Maybe he would wash out that foul mouth of Orlando’s with soap, after all, or at least put it to better use.

***
Orlando felt light-headed and off-balance. It usually wasn’t like this when they made love, but then they usually did it closer to the ground, and he didn’t have to worry about keeping his footing. Both the physical and emotional elements of the experience always hit him pretty hard, but this time it was something more than that, something unnatural and not entirely comfortable. He was dizzy, so dizzy…
His breath shone in foggy puffs against the tiles as he stood pressed against the shower wall with Viggo behind him, licking the drops of water from his back as he moved himself slowly in and out of Orlando. Their moans reverberated off the tiles, muffled by the constant spray of hot water raining down on them from the spout.
It no longer hurt to have Viggo inside of him. He’d grown quite used to it in the time since their first night together. It wasn’t pain he felt as he stood there, his bare feet slipping on the wet tiles, his toes curling to get a better grip. He couldn’t really say what it was that he felt, other than that he would fall, but he wouldn’t, so long as Viggo remained fused to his backside. As long as he…
Before Orlando had realised it they’d both spent themselves. He was too numb to feel the tender kisses Viggo planted on his shoulders, his neck, his back. They felt no different than the warm drops of water splashing onto his skin. He stood frozen to the wall, his entire body weak and feeling as though it was not made of muscle and bone but marmalade. He was too numb to feel the hot spray of water on his back as Viggo stepped back from him, but Orlando immediately closed the gap, though the action was not intentional.
“You okay?” Viggo asked, having caught the limp body in his arms. Orlando shut his eyes against the spray on his face and nodded.
“Yeah…I just feel…weird.” Viggo guided Orli slowly up and returned him to his position against the wall and made certain he was steady on his feet.
“You sure you should be going out dancing? You look pale. And you’ve been kinda…”
“What?”
“…withdrawn…not all here. You look at the walls as if they’re spinning.” He kissed his cheek and held him tight, a precious treasure in his arms.
That’s because they are spinning, he thought but dared not speak it aloud.
“You’re just a really fantastic lover, Vig, what can I say? I’m going out, tonight. And you’re coming with me.” As Orlando smiled Viggo knew he’d tasted the bitter sweetness of defeat.

***

Walking through the nightclub with Viggo at his side was like showing off a brand new trophy. Orlando couldn’t stop beaming like an idiot, he was so proud that he’d succeeded in dragging Viggo along on this nighttime adventure. He couldn’t wait to find the boys to show them.
The music pulsed in his ears and he immediately began to feel himself move to the rhythm. The smoke in the air immediately closed about him like some thick noxious fog though it, he being accustomed to it, normally didn’t bother him. He told himself he’d get used to it as the evening went on. He’d drown the pain in his head with a few drinks. Once he got started, once he got moving, everything would be fine. And he had Viggo with him. Things would be more than fine.
Spotting the boys already getting their groove on across the room on the dance floor, Orlando gave his lover’s hand a quick squeeze and disappeared into the writhing mesh of bodies to join them.
Viggo felt naked and alone as soon as Orlando left his side. This definitely was not his scene, but he could play along, if only for Orlando’s sake.
Doing his best to imitate the younger, smaller man, he wove a path through the crowd as gracefully as possible to catch up to his wild stallion of a boyfriend.

***

Viggo felt more comfortable once he’d gotten to a table. It was situated in the corner, just as he liked it. From the corner he could see everything there was to see, and the sense of awareness gave him a feeling of security.
Orli was fire on the dance floor. Viggo had never seen anyone move like he did, though all around men and women shared similar dance steps. The steps were polished with gold by Orlando’s feet, his legs, his hips… It made him want to get the boy home and show him a few of his own moves, and Orlando knew this. He was having the time of his life. He’d went with Viggo on nature hikes, to art galleries, to poetry readings, all of which was enjoyable enough, but this was his thing, and he was doing it like there was no tomorrow.
The music got faster, his face got hotter, his limbs were quicker. It was almost as good as sex, he told himself. Almost as good as bungee jumping. Almost as good as…
And then everything became hazy. The bodies around him seemed to move slower, yet his own body seemed to move faster.
Hey man, slow down. Slow down…
The numbness returned, beginning first at the base of his neck and spreading itself over his body like a coat of ice. He couldn’t feel anything, and yet he continued to dance. Dance dance dance. Keep moving.
Idiot, slow down…
His eyelids fluttered, the music became deep and distorted, the room became dark, so dark. He hadn’t drunk that much, had he? Had someone drugged his drink? Why was the room spinning, why were the colours swirling, why was the floor rising to greet him?
Down down down he fell till he felt the thud of his skull against the floor, littered with spilled drinks and cigarette butts. He wouldn’t remember how everyone around him had stopped everything to look down at him as he lay, unmoving, like a broken doll on the dance floor. He wouldn’t remember the concerned looks on the Hobbit’s faces as they pushed through the crowd to get to where he lay. He wouldn’t remember how Viggo had picked him up, ever so gently as though he weighed no more than a feather and carried him against his chest out to the car. He wouldn’t remember the ride home in the dark, being carried into Viggo’s trailer or the phone calls wrought with worry that they received once inside. He would remember nothing but the pain and the darkness. He wasn’t entirely unconscious, as Viggo had managed to wring a few words from him in the car. He was merely asleep, and the only thing that would wake him was the passage of time. The only thing Viggo could do was keep an eye on him, keep him comfortable and be there for him when he came to.

***
Orlando awoke with the worst headache in the history of hangovers. If he hadn’t known any better he would have sworn an army of Uruks had mauled him.
There was naught but the faint, flickering glow of a few candles to interrupt the surrounding darkness, but their light was not enough to inform Orlando of his location. He was too weak to begin panicking. His head told him he should find out where he was but his body was unable to respond. He was tied to what he knew to be a bed by invisible restraints, mainly comprised of pain and dizziness; stronger and more potent chains than any metal known to man. At least the bed was comfortable, and something about it seemed vaguely familiar. Orlando let what little comfort that familiarity offered take hold of him and tried to relax, but he couldn’t. He was in pain. Every bit of him ached and protested even the tiniest bit of movement he made. Even breathing hurt. But he couldn’t just lie there. He would have liked to, but there were several things preventing him from doing so, one more prominent than the others; he was thirsty. His mouth felt as though it had been filled with cotton, his tongue, a dead, weight resting heavily on the bottom of it. His throat was scratchy and dry and he felt the urge to cough with every shaky breath that was taken from the dry air around him. His lips were cracked and parched. He had to get something to drink.
Without thinking too much about the consequences, he sat up a bit faster than he should have. The dark room spun about him for a few moments while his head screamed at him for being so careless. Once the vertigo had dwindled and a lesson had been learned, he slowly turned his body and willed his heavy legs over the side of the bed. Then, making sure his feet were planted firmly on the floor, he stood up and waited a few moments before taking the first step toward the door.
His eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the room, and he could tell that the distance from the bed to the door was minimal. Using the wall as his support when need be, he made his way out the door, down the short hallway and to the kitchen, which, like the bedroom, also seemed somewhat familiar.
His brain told him that, judging by the general layout of the place, he was in a trailer, for all trailers looked more or less the same. However, his brain did not tell him whose it was, nor did it seem to matter. The only thing that mattered was his hand upon the refrigerator door.
His eyes shut instinctively against the bright light emanating from the fridge. He opened them again, slowly, letting his pupils adjust to this tremendous amount of light compared to what they were used to. It seemed like an eternity before he could actually focus on specific items on the shelves. The only thing he could find to drink was wine, milk and diet Coke. He’d had enough alcohol to last a lifetime, and he didn’t do dairy, though he didn’t much like the alternative, either. He hated diet soda, but he was so parched he would have rid the bottle of its contents even if it was wharg piss. It would have to do. He knew he wouldn’t be able to reach up into the cupboards to find a glass for himself, and the sink seemed miles away, so he did the next best thing.
The bottle of soda seemed so heavy in his hands, but the cold felt good against his hot palms. He slowly unscrewed the cap and lifted the bottle to his dry lips. The stuff tasted terrible, and he fancied he could feel each little bubble as it explored the inside of his mouth and made the long journey down his raw throat, but still, the soda was blissfully cold and wet, and his mouth no longer felt like it had been forced open and blow-dried.
Just as he was about to lift the bottle a second time to wash away the stubborn phlegm that lingered at the back of his throat, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He left the bottle on the counter before the pain forced him to his knees and he doubled over, one hand clutching his quivering abdomen, the other gripping the fridge door with white knuckles.
The panic, the vomit…
Orlando barely heard Viggo say his name as the contents of his stomach spilled all over the floor before him.
The panic, the vomit…
Another violent spasm shook him and forced the remainder of digested food and drink past his lips. Had Orlando’s eyes not been clamped shut he would have seen that Viggo already had wads of paper towel in his hand, ready to tackle the mess.
He couldn’t move, save the involuntary waves rippling through his body, causing him to shake miserably. He remained bent at the waist, his head bowed, fearful of his tyrannical stomach’s next actions. He kept his teary eyes closed against the disgusting sight before him.
He barely felt the light touch on his shoulder as Viggo gently guided him upward, out of his hunched-over position, but trying to straighten the tightened muscles in Orli’s stomach was like trying to straighten out a paper made of un-bendable metal.
“I leave you alone for two seconds and you puke all over my refrigerator.” Viggo’s voice was gentle and he was smiling, but Orlando didn’t take notice. He scarcely heard anything, at all.
“Shit, Vig…” He was started at the alien voice coming out of his lips. The pain in his throat was unbearable, and yet he continued. “I’d apologise if it would make any difference.”
“You’re would-be apology is accepted.” Viggo’s eyes were warm and kind but Orli couldn’t bring himself to meet them. He was too humiliated.
Viggo crouched beside Orlando and began to mop up the vomit. This was too much.
“No, Viggo. Viggo, I’ll do it,” he said, making a blind grab for the paper towel and receiving only air. He couldn’t see anything but colour and light, his eyes were filled with hot tears and he was shaking so violently. He was terrified that at any moment he’d give into heaving all over the already soiled floor, though there was nothing left to disgorge but stomach acid. Dry heaves. What fun. There was no way he could clean up his mess.
Accepting defeat, he closed his eyes and sighed. “I didn’t even know this was your place…it didn’t register till you came in and told me I’d retched all over _your_ ice box…”
“Its ok, Orli.” Viggo gently rubbed his back, trying to offer an ounce of comfort but instead making Orlando feel all the more ashamed.
“I didn’t even know it wasn’t my trailer…I didn’t even wonder why the fuck diet soda would be in my fucking fridge…” Before he could get another word out, his stomach convulsed again and he prepared for the worst but nothing came out.
The next minute he was being carried to the toilet in Viggo’s strong arms.
“Just in case,” he said, lifting the lid to the toilet and kissing the top of Orlando’s head. “I’ll be right back.”
The moment Viggo’s back was turned, bitter, yellow liquid spilled forth from Orlando’s mouth and sullied the clean water in the bowl. The acid burned the back of his throat and made him cough.
“Fuck.”
He wished he could just die. Just drown, right there, with his face down in the vile mixture of toilet water and stomach acid. No such luck.

***
Orlando couldn’t seem to lay still. His flesh crawled, his muscles wouldn’t relax and his nerves were positively shot. He couldn’t keep himself from writhing between the sheets as he laid in Viggo’s bed, the older man not far away, sitting in a chair and writing.
“I wish you’d just let me die in my own trailer.”
“You’re mentally unstable so I’ll forgive for saying that,” he said, continuing to scribble in his notebook.
“Seriously, Viggo,” Orlando’s hoarse voice sounded whiny but neither of them cared. “This can’t be just your regular old hangover…” His legs had gotten tangled in the blanket. He couldn’t find his right foot. “I mean, I’ve had hangovers…I am the bleeding king of hangovers…”
“I think you and Elijah might be tied.” Did everything have to be a contest with the Hobbit? Still, the remark was funny, and Orli would have smiled, but such an action would have required the use of too many muscles, and his body was already experiencing a system overload. “I don’t think it’s a mere hangover, though. You’re sick. You’ve got some sort of virus and the alcohol was the pin being pulled from the grenade. Those meds I gave you should kick in within the hour. If they don’t let me know and I’ll give you more.”
“This…this is the worst kind of pain. If I could move…if I could uncurl from this horrid fetal position, first I’d toss off these blankets…” he was still struggling to untangle his foot while maintaining the deep curve in his spine, “…I’d grab the nearest sharp object and off myself.” Orli immediately regretted ever allowing his mouth to form those words when he saw the look on Viggo’s face.
The older man put down his pen and notebook and walked over to the bed. Why did Orlando have to talk like that, the little bastard. He was aware of the pain he was going through, but he didn’t have to say things like that. Watching him suffer like a pathetic insect half-squashed into the ground was bad enough.
Pulling the covers off Orlando, he climbed onto the bed and laid himself next to the trembling ball of flesh that was Orli.
“I’m sorry Vig…” He found it impossible to meet his lover’s gaze for the second time, that night. “I’m really sorry, it just…” Shit. He could feel the lump rising in his throat before he was ready to admit tears were welling up in his eyes. “It hurts. It really. Fucking. Hurts.”
The only way to preserve what little dignity was left was to put his hands over his face as sobs choked him. “Don’t watch me…please, Viggo…” He wished it were possible to die of humiliation.
Viggo didn’t watch him. He took him into his arms and cradled him against his chest, planting soft, loving kisses on his head, cheek, ear, neck, shoulder. He paid no attention to the growing dampness on his chest where Orlando’s tears soaked his shirt, or to the younger man’s fingernails digging into his back. None of it mattered.
“Calm down, baby,” he whispered into Orli’s ear, rubbing his shoulder and back to try and get him to succumb. “It’s only making it worse. Shhh…”
“Viggo…” Orlando’s voice was muffled against Viggo’s chest and he sniffled. Viggo pulled away, slightly to give him air and room to speak. “I love you. Seriously.” Viggo’s smile was huge as he leaned in to kiss him but Orlando stopped him. “But don’t kiss me, for the love of God. I taste as terrible as I look.” Viggo chuckled and planted a tender kiss on his forehead, instead.
“I love you, too.” Orlando smiled despite the pain he felt and let the sweetness of those words fill his ears.
“I love it when you call me baby. From anyone else it tends to sound trashy…” Viggo nodded his head in understanding. “…but from you it sounds so comforting and warm. Not just a pet name from some horny old bastard to a whore. Anything but trashy. I love it.” He tried to relax and to return his breathing to normal but he was so scrunched up…
“I’m gonna pass out.” His breathing was very rapid and Viggo could feel his fluttering heart against his own body.
“Straighten out,” he said, placing a hand on Orlando’s thigh.
“I can’t…”
“Just chill. Take it slow.” Viggo applied a small amount of pressure on Orli’s leg, coaxing it away from his chest. A few moments later, Orlando’s body was a horizontal line, parallel to Viggo’s. “Roll over on your back. You’ll breathe easier.” Orlando did as he was told, though not without some effort.
This new position allowed his muscles to relax more fully and within minutes his respiratory and heart rate were back to normal…but they wouldn’t stay that way, for long.
Viggo kissed the sweat from Orlando’s neck and face, his tongue coming past his lips for a taste, now and then. Orlando found this calming and closed his eyes, enjoying the sweet sensation of Viggo’s mouth on his sensitive flesh.
A hand was laid lightly on Orlando’s stomach, its thumb gently caressing the flesh just below the navel. Fingers brushed lightly over the small hairs on his stomach, causing Orli to shiver with pleasure. This was nice. So relaxing…
He gasped as Viggo’s hand made the plunge below the elastic waistband of his boxer shorts and went right for the gold.
“Viggo…what are you doing?”
“Trying to distract you from the pain,” he replied between kisses and licks. “Trying to relieve some tension.”
“Well, it’s working.” A moan pushed itself against the wall’s of Orli’s throat as the hand began to stroke down the length of his member with nimble fingers. “Fuck, is it working.” Viggo had found and laid claim to the one part of his anatomy that wasn’t harbouring pain.
Orlando’s hips moved skyward of their own accord and Orlando hissed in pain. That had not been good for his back.
Viggo gently pushed down till Orlando’s buttocks made contact with the bed, once more. “Just relax,” he said, gently squeezing the swollen organ in his hand. “I’ll take care of it.”
Viggo was true to his word. Orlando moved as little as possible but could not help but allow his fists to clench, his legs to lock or his mouth to open wide in a silent scream at the moment of release. His death wish was no more.

***
“Ninety seven point nine.” Viggo removed the beeping thermometer from Orlando’s pursed lips and turned it off.
“Ninety seven point nine??” he replied in the loudest voice his sore throat would allow. “Is that not below normal?” Viggo nodded and wiped the end of the thermometer off with a wet washcloth. “Then why the fuck am I sweating like mad?” It was true. Little beads of perspiration collected on his brow, moistened his palms and fused his shirt to his back even as they spoke.
“I guess its cause you’re just so damn hot,” Viggo said with a wry grin illuminated by the afternoon sun streaming in through the window. “Sit up and I‘ll help you take your shirt off since you’re obviously too sexy for it.”
“Is this for my benefit or for yours?” Orlando asked, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position and wincing.
Viggo answered only with another of his ice-melting smiles as he began lifting the younger man’s shirt.
“Oh, that feels so much better,” he nearly moaned, delivering himself back down into the soft pillow of velvet and silk bedclothes. He could feel a thousand cool breezes reach every inch of his exposed skin as soon as the shirt had been removed, even though there were none. To double his ecstasy, Viggo had left to get a cool cloth for Orlando’s head, and returned before the young man had even realised he’d done so.
Orlando fancied he could hear a sound like that of hot coals hissing after a bucket of water had been poured over them as the wet cloth bestowed its cool kiss upon his smouldering forehead.
I’d die without you, he thought, not exactly sure if he’d expressed this thought aloud, or not. He was in another world. Nothing of the room itself could be acknowledged, only the senses he perceived. Cool cloth. Soft fabric. Kind voice. It was like he was floating in some sort of numbing liquid, neither cold nor hot. He was neither sleeping nor awake. He couldn’t feel the specific twinges of pain as he could, earlier. He knew his back was killing him. He knew every step to the jig going on in his stomach. He knew his head was pounding with all the force of a raging hurricane. He knew his throat was tight and sore, and swallowing even the tiniest amount of snotty saliva was like downing a sheet of sandpaper, but all these elements of pain had blended together in this numbing liquid, and within it, his overworked body was finally able to get some rest.

***
Viggo couldn’t help but smile lovingly as he watched Orlando sleep, clinging to his hand as if to let go would bring about the end of the world. God, he loved him. It was amazing the amount of affection he felt for him, surpassed only by the love he felt for his own son, but that was a different kind of love.
He knew right then that Orlando was worth ten times the trouble he’d gone through for him, and would certainly go through again, in a heartbeat, if ever necessary.
It was Orlando’s heart he listened to, now, leaning over him and laying his head gently upon his chest, which rose and fell in a steady, unbroken rhythm. Such a change in pace from a few short hours ago when he’d been unable to stay still, he’d practically been gasping for air and his heart had no doubt been racing so fast that its owner thought it likely to explode within his chest, poor guy. But no sign of trauma or stress showed itself in Orli’s countenance, relaxed body or calm heartbeat. After so much pain, he was finally at peace.

***

Orlando was happy that the first thing he laid eyes on when he awoke was the beautiful face of Viggo Mortensen. He was even happier that the first thing he felt was a light kiss on his lips from him.
“How are you feeling?” Orlando stretched and was overjoyed at the lack of pain in his back as he did so. There was barely any pain left in his body, at all.
“A hell of a lot better than last night,” he said. His throat was still rather sore, though.
“Excellent.”
“What time is it?” Viggo looked down at his watch.
“Three thirty.” It was dark outside.
“What day is it?”
“Thursday.”
“Jesus…I wasted a hell of a lot of you time. Why did you not wake me?”
“You know how a pond looks, say, in the dead of night, and the moon is shining on its surface that’s so incredibly smooth that you think it would be a crime punishable by death to throw in a pebble and disturb such peace…that’s what I thought when I watched you.” Orlando chuckled. Ever the poet, Viggo was.
“I agree, Vig; I wouldn’t much like stones being thrown at me.”
“I couldn’t bring myself to put a ripple in such placid waters…”
“I wouldn’t mind having a ripple put in me…especially if it was you who threw the stone.” Viggo smiled.
“Ever think about writing poetry?” Orlando shook his head and snuggled against Viggo’s warm chest.
“Why write poetry when you are poetry?” Orlando looked up at Viggo with a wink and a grin.
“Smart ass.” Even though Viggo knew better than anyone that he spoke the truth.
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Beautiful Moment