This is gonna be two posts long, tonight I'll post only the first part...
~*~
Purely. Eternally. Unconditionally.
It was all Peter’s fault.
After all he had been the one that had told Orlando to portray Legolas as though he was in love with Aragorn. He wanted to see loyalty in his eyes, he’d said, boundless devotion.
“Can’t they just be very good friends?” Orlando had asked, a nervous chuckle accompanying his words, giving expression to his uneasiness.
Peter had laughed, heartily, and had shaken his head. “They are good friends, Orlando. But I need Legolas to look like he would do anything, literally anything for Aragorn.”
“Even give up his immortality to be with him?” Orlando had asked, half joking, half serious.
“Well… that’s for you to decide,” Peter had answered mysteriously, his eyes twinkling from behind their glasses, and he had left him to his thoughts.
‘Alright, I can do this,’ Orlando had thought, rolling his head from side to side and stretching out his arms as though he was about to do a series of heavy physical exercises. ‘You are in love with Aragorn. Purely. Eternally. Unconditionally. You love him. You can’t breathe without him. You love him.’
He’d kept on repeating the words in his mind, trying with all his might to actually feel it, feel the flower of love for Aragorn blossoming in his heart. Except that it wasn’t really his heart, was it? It was that of Legolas. He was Legolas, an Elven prince who had selflessly bestowed all his love upon the rugged yet noble soon-to-be King of Gondor. Orlando had sighed, a tad frustrated. He could do this. He wasn’t an actor for nothing.
*
It turned out that, much to Orlando’s own regret, he couldn’t quite do it after all. Day after day he kept on muttering the words to himself, forcing himself to get a @#%$ grip and do what Peter had told him to do. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult to pretend to be in love with Aragorn? But, alas, it was harder than he’d thought. Hours he spent in character, even outside the shootings, searching his soul, Legolas’ soul, for something that could convince him that it all made sense. Because honestly, he thought bitterly to himself, it all seemed utterly pointless. Legolas was an Elf, an immortal, a pretty one at that, and he was most definitely not gay. And even if he were, he would never, never fall for someone as rough as Aragorn.
Orlando was glad that Peter hadn’t informed Viggo of any of this, because if the older man would have known, the teasing would probably never end. Besides, it gave Orlando the opportunity to study Viggo quietly, muttering the words over and over again until he drove himself crazy with this silliness. One day, however, things started to change. Viggo began to notice something.
It had been a rainy Tuesday night and the two of them were hanging out at Viggo’s place, sitting at the round wooden table situated in the middle of the kitchen. Orlando had silently been observing the older man who was reading the newspaper from two days ago, forcing himself to see Aragorn instead of Viggo. He’d kept on slipping in and out of character, one part of his brain telling him this was absolutely absurd while another part told him to just concentrate, to just allow himself to see through Legolas’ eyes. It hadn’t been so hard to pretend Viggo was Aragorn: after all, they were very much alike. Both loyal, both committed, both determined, and both, Orlando admitted half-heartedly, breathtaking in their beauty.
“What is it, Elfboy?” Viggo had suddenly asked, looking up from his paper with a characteristic grin on his face. “Finally starting to realize that Men aren’t so rough and boisterous after all?”
Purely. Eternally. Unconditionally.
And suddenly, Orlando had been hit by a revelation.
“I love you,” he’d whispered in a disbelieving voice, his eyes fixed on Viggo’s without actually seeing him, for his mind seemed to be a million miles away. “I… I mean, he loves you,” he had added, stammering, causing Viggo to raise his eyebrows questioningly.
“Legolas,” Orlando had explained. “Legolas loves you, loves Aragorn, can’t you see?”
He’d sounded as though he had just discovered something truly remarkable, and his eyes had shined strangely in the soft candlelight that dimly lit the place.
“Orlando, are you alright?” Viggo had asked, half amused, half concerned, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“Pete told me to portray Legolas as though he’s in love with y- with Aragorn. At first I found it completely ridiculous, but now… it seems like all the pieces are falling into place, you know?”
Viggo hadn’t answered, all he could do was just stare in amazement at his friend, who was wildly gesticulating to empower his slightly incoherent words.
“It makes so much sense, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” Orlando had continued, his voice sounding more excited and astonished with each word he’d let out.
“So what you’re saying is that Legolas is in love with Aragorn?” Viggo had asked tentatively, his voice colored with the tiniest hint of something that easily could have passed for hope. Yet it hadn’t been picked up by Orlando, not at all. The young man’s gaze had been fixed on Viggo, dreamily, intently, as though he saw something that was only visible for his eyes.
“Yes! With… with Aragorn,” Orlando had spoken softly, blinking once, twice, before he seemed to slip out of his reverie, eyes dark and incredulous. Orlando had felt as though he was seeing the man in front of him for the first time, as though all the beauty lying within him had finally shown itself, and he had been stunned by what he saw. Those steel-blue eyes, ever so softly glimmering in the candlelight, those somewhat parched yet full lips, slightly parted, showing those funny little teeth, that strong nose, the firm jaw: he was simply beautiful.
“With… you,” he’d whispered again, his voice sounding more incredulous than ever before, and before he knew what he was doing, he had closed the distance between them and descended his lips over Viggo’s.
Viggo couldn’t help falling, couldn’t help drowning in the kiss he had been craving for weeks. Orlando had felt so good, so soft, so perfect and tender, how could he possibly resist? But one tiny nagging part of his brain had told him that he should resist, that he shouldn’t be doing this. This was not the way it was supposed to happen.
And in one very clear moment he’d pushed Orlando away, looking into a pair of slightly hazed and confused eyes.
“What was that?” Viggo had asked, sounding shocked, running his hand through his hair.
“I… I’m sorry, I just-” Orlando had stammered, lowering his stare, his cheeks turning a bright pink.
“This is wrong… this is so wrong.”
Viggo had stood up abruptly, pacing the kitchen in quick long steps, his light blue eyes gazing into nothingness as he kept on running his hand through his hair, clearly not knowing what to say or do.
“But I… I love you, can’t you feel that? How could that be wrong?” Orlando had asked, his voice hardly audible.
“No, Orlando,” Viggo had said immediately, temporarily stopping his pacing to look at the young man sitting at his table. “You don’t love me. Didn’t you hear what you just told me? You’re in love with Aragorn, not with Viggo, not with me.”
Viggo had averted his eyes, rubbing his face with his hands. “God, this makes absolutely no sense,” he said to no one in particular. When he had gazed at the dark-haired man again, who was looking totally confused and devastated, his heart softened and he knelt down beside him, taking his calloused hands in his own.
“Look at me,” he had told him, caressing the younger man’s hands. “You’re far too much in character. I don’t know what Pete was trying to achieve with this, but I bet it wasn’t his intention for you to mistake your character’s feelings for your own. You’re taking this too far, Orlando. And as much…”
Viggo had briefly looked away before locking eyes with Orlando again, who was still having a stunned and shattered look on his face. “… as much as I’d like to accept what you’re offering me, I can’t. I won’t. I won’t be taking advantage of you, Orlando. Aragorn wouldn’t do that and I won’t either.”
“But… but I feel-” Orlando had protested weakly, hardly daring to look Viggo in the eye.
“What you feel is what Peter told you to let Legolas feel. This got nothing to do with you or me. You’re not Legolas, Orlando. I know you carry a part of him with you, but you’re not him. And you don’t love me.”
The last words were spoken with a hint of remorse, and Viggo had lowered his gaze again, not allowing himself to acknowledge the hurt that was tugging at his heart. He had been so close, so close to what he always believed was out of reach, and now he seemed to be further away than ever before.
“I’m sorry,” Orlando had murmured, his voice softer than ever, eyes still avoiding Viggo’s sky-blue gaze. “But I… I mean… do you honestly feel that you’ve just kissed Legolas? Wasn’t there the tiniest bit of Orlando?”
Viggo had ignored his question, instead reassuring him that it was okay, that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed – easy for you to say, Orlando had thought sulkily, you aren’t the one that’s showing the first signs of schizophrenia – and that he should think very carefully of what he was feeling.
Take your time, he’d smiled with that typical Viggo-smile, the one that could send half of the world population into orbit, you know where to find me. If you need me, that is.
Aww thank you all!! ^_^
~*~
The days that passed were the hardest Orlando had ever experienced. A mixture of guilt, shame, love and confusion kept on clouding his mind, and there was no way he could wipe the image of Viggo from his mind. Had it really been Legolas that had kissed the older man before? He didn’t know. He truly didn’t know. What he did know, however, was that he had enjoyed it, but then, maybe it was Legolas that had enjoyed it, and not him, not Orlando.
One day after the incident he had talked with Peter, had told him that he couldn’t do this, couldn’t pretend that Legolas loved Aragorn. Peter had shrugged, had understood – or had least acted as if he did – and had told him with a low chuckle that it probably had been a silly idea anyway. Besides, or so he’d explained later, Orlando’s eyes already held that devoted shimmer whenever he would glance at Aragorn, or Viggo for that matter. If he was sure he really hadn’t let Legolas fall in love with Aragorn somewhere along the lines?
Orlando, still terribly confused about the entire matter, had cursed him under his breath for asking him a question like this. No! he’d wanted to yell at the bespectacled, annoyingly patient director, I’m not sure about anything anymore, you hear me? But, being the ever-so-friendly person that he was, he had merely smiled, denying any assumptions the older man might have had.
It was tempting, very tempting, to blame Peter for the mess he had unknowingly created, to point his long and slender finger at the Hobbit-like director in accusation. Orlando had, however, realised later on that there was no point in putting the blame on someone else. If he hadn’t been so stupid to mix the real and fictional world, or whatever it was that had driven him to kiss Viggo, nothing would have happened. But, alas, leaping back in time was impossible, even for an Elf, so Orlando kept on pondering, kept on thinking and wondering and reliving the kiss again and again and again until he woke up every morning with the taste of Viggo on his lips.
The thing he was most embarrassed about, he mused to himself after yet another sleepless night, was that he had told Viggo that he loved him. What had possessed him to say anything like that? Completely out of the blue? Orlando could only conclude that he, indeed, had been far too much in character at that point, for he knew himself well enough to know that he would never declare his love to someone in this way. Legolas, on the other hand, probably would. Legolas probably would do anything to let the object of his deeply rooted affection know that he loved him. After all, he wasn’t a prissy Elf for nothing.
The fact that he knew now that Viggo didn’t merely see him as a friend, complicated matters. He had the most inconvenient feeling that he needed to sort everything out and do it quickly, for Viggo’s sake. The sandy-haired man wasn’t the type to anxiously sit next to his phone all day, waiting for the call that could clear things up, but Orlando knew that, deep in his heart, Viggo expected an explanation.
They hadn’t discussed the matter ever since, for which Orlando was infinitely grateful. And although he admittedly had feared it would happen, Viggo hadn’t treated him differently: he still was his utterly kind and humble self, totally oblivious to the massive attraction he possessed. Yes, Orlando couldn’t possibly deny it any longer: Viggo was an invisionment of beauty. From the endless swooning of the make-up girls, he knew that Aragorn was much better loved among the female species, but Orlando begged to differ. He liked Viggo just the way he was – all good-smelling, patient, artistic and a tad eccentric. Oh yes, he liked him. A lot.
Purely. Eternally. Unconditionally.
Two days later the phone rang, an annoying, piercing sound that interrupted Viggo in the middle of one of his paintings. Wiping off his paint-covered hands to a faded blue cloth, he grabbed the cordless phone and pressed a button.
“Yeah?” he said, sounding patient as ever, taking two steps backward to take a look at the canvas in front of him.
“Hi, it’s me,” a soft voice sounded, the voice belonging to the man that had been haunting his dreams for too long a time.
“Orlando! How are you?”
He sounded like a frigging teenager for heaven’s sake, Viggo realised, cringing when he heard the high-pitched sound of his own voice.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
So much for a regular heartbeat, Viggo thought before he couldn’t think anymore at all, believing he had died and gone straight to heaven.
“Oh, err… that’s err…” he spoke disjointedly, wondering when he’d lost the ability to speak. Probably when he had heard those wonderful words from the even more wonderful person’s mouth they came out of, he silently answered his own question. Yes, that must have been it.
“I’m serious, Vig,” Orlando interrupted him, and Viggo could only close his eyes in bliss. “I’ve done some thinking lately… - this must be the understatement of the year, Orlando grimaced – “…and I came to the conclusion that that kiss had nothing to do with Legolas and Aragorn. Legolas merely helped me see the beauty of you. Not of Aragorn but of you.”
Viggo swallowed. Blinked. Bit his lip. But nothing, literally nothing, could take away the overwhelming feeling of relief, combined with the tiniest hint of disbelief and, more important, a massive amount of love.
“I kissed you back there, Vig, and… well, I just…”
Viggo let Orlando fumble for words, not because he enjoyed the uneasiness of the other man but because he wanted, needed to hear what he was about to say, what he hoped he was about to say.
“God, could you open the front door?”
“What do you-” Viggo started, terribly confused by the words he had probably least expected to hear.
“Please, do it, it’s getting cold out here,” Orlando cut him off, and Viggo could almost see the smile that lingered in his eyes, could almost feel those sultry lips on his again.
In two seconds he reached his front door, flinging it open to reveal Orlando standing there outside, his cell-phone pressed to his ear, looking simply exquisite as his lips – those impossibly soft lips – turned upwards.
“Hi,” Viggo said, completely stupefied, wishing he could have come up with something better than that.
Orlando, however, simply smiled again and went inside, not giving Viggo the opportunity to talk – not that he would have been able to say anything like please kiss me now anyway –, for he immediately spoke again.
“What I wanted to say is…” he continued as though their hadn’t been a gap of multiple seconds in their conversation. “I’m in love with you. Purely. Eternally. Unconditionally.”
And when lips met lips again, Viggo knew that heaven couldn’t be any better than this.
~The End~