Entr'acte

by Nienor

Orli's only been back for a few days when filming resumes. Viggo spends the shoot with a bottle of water wrapped in his fist, and Orli spends it with a hard-on, trying not to watch him, trying not to listen to Sean snicker. Both tasks are harder than he might have expected.

They're on the soundstage, polishing the choreography for the battle of Mazarbul, and Viggo's Aragorn is one of those people you don't look away from easily, especially not when he tilts up a water bottle, beaded with condensation, and wraps his lips around it, his adam's apple moving as he swallows.

Orli swallows the hard knot of heat in his throat and turns around, not thinking about the cool water sliding down Viggo's throat, or hot piss sliding down his own skin; he wants to watch the gleam as Viggo shakes droplets of sweat off the ragged strings of his hair, but he's already in such a state that the wardrobe lady threw up her hands and left in ignominious defeat after her fifth jaded look at the line of his costume-specifically his breeches.

"Sneak into the bathroom and I'll take care of that for you," Sean rumbles, too loud, and Orli bares his teeth at him, fierce, aware of Viggo watching them from the corner of his eye. His fingers flex on his bowstring and his body tightens more; Legolas's reaction, that--Legolas wants Aragorn and Boromir, together or apart or however he can get them. On the top or on the bottom or in between them, or sharing one of them with the other, and Orlando groans, frustrated at the perversity of his mind for distracting him with a picture like that when he's already half-crazy with arousal.

Viggo licks the lip of the bottle, catching any stray drops. Orli shifts again, turning half away from him, fingers rubbing over the shiny carvings on his bow. "You need it," Sean persists, quieter. "A nice hot mouth would do wonders for your temperament, and a taste of your come would do wonders for mine."

Viggo is rising, walking towards them with a deceptively casual, yet predatory, stride. Orli tenses, not quite sure if Viggo is angry at him, but the laserlike stare of his eyes is all for Sean. His hand comes down on Sean's shoulder in what looks like a friendly clasp. "He's not interested."

"Oh? Look at his dick and tell me that again."

"That's for me," Viggo rolls the words around in his mouth with evident satisfaction, smiling, relaxed.

"All right, then. If you want it that way, then why don't you wander into the bathroom, and let me show you what I was going to do to him?" Mischief in Sean's smile; everyone will think they're sharing a joke. "I know you want me on my knees, sucking your cock. You can have it, you know. Any time you want it." His tongue slicks his lower lip suggestively.

"I'd rather join a monastery for life than come once on your tongue," Viggo says, very softly, smiling like it's the most pleasant conversation that he can ever remember having. "I'd rather let one of the stuntmen fist me, wearing the nazgul gauntlets, than have to look at you. You'll never have Orli, you bastard son of a whore." Orli shivers, delight shooting up his spine like lightning; Viggo trusts him. Viggo protects him. He belongs.

Sean stiffens, still smiling, but his eyes are angry. "We'll see about that," he hisses, and he's gone, hand resting on his sword hilts, and Orli feels the briefest pang of fear shiver at the back of his throat, metallic, but the delight is too heady, and he can't resist looking frankly at Viggo, letting the heat and joy singing through him shine in his eyes.

Viggo lifts the bottle and swallows again, deliberately, making a soft breathy sigh as he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Elijah's to wait two hours before he comes up when we've finish shooting," he tells Orli. "It'll be more than enough time for what I'm going to do to you." Another slow swig, fire in his eyes.

"What?" Orli knows, but he desperately wants to hear it from Viggo's own mouth.

Viggo glances around, as casual and as smooth as if it were natural, not a guarded gesture at all. "Piss all over you. Your face, your mouth. Your ass. Shove you face-down in it and fuck you raw." He takes another swig and Orli can't silence the whimper in his throat. "I have my cameras ready. I want you to see it, later. You should see what you look like swallowing piss straight out of my cock. See what you look like on your hands and knees sucking it off the floor. See what you look like rubbing it all over your skin like the little slut you are. See how fucking hot you look licking it off your fingers and drinking it out of the cup of your hands." He stretches, lazy and feline. "Now get back to work."

Orlando groans; sure enough, Peter's looking their way, impatient, ready to raise his megaphone and shout.

Viggo walks away, as smooth as you please, but Orli's so hard he has to hobble, the soft sueded leather of his costume chafing him miserably.

"Orli?" Peter's inquiry hovers between concern and annoyance.

"Leg cramp," he mutters. "Where's my mark?"

"Orli?" Peter's inquiry hovers between concern and annoyance.

"Leg cramp," he mutters. "Where's my mark?"

-finis-

Email comments to mailto:vivianedesblanc@gmail.com