Posted: May 2004
Title: Viggo and Orli Hold Hands
Author: Tracy7307
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Genre: RPS
Characters: Viggo/ Orli
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not know or own these men (but wouldn't it be nice if I did), I make no money from this. Fiction, people.
Warnings: M/M pairing; if this makes you uncomfortable, run away! This story is told from the point of view of a ring. You've been warned.
Beta: Hazel (Spooky) Thanks, love :)
Summary: Orlando's ring has a story to tell.
Author's Note: Dedicated to Evil Elf, eruanne, and Vimmie. You know why, my dears.

*****

Me and Orli- The Early Days

Orlando has always been one to take risks. We've done more together than I have time to tell you about. That's why I'm so glad he chose me first. There have been others since, other rings, other jewelry, but let me say, I was his first, and one he shall never forget. I only started out as a piece of silver, a simple band. Not too long after they molded me (which hurt) and polished me up (which tickled) I was shipped off in a box with hundreds of others who looked just like me, if not all different sizes. I sat, every day, in my little slot in a felt case, peering up at random men who came to look at me at the Camden market. Some would pull me from my slot, pushing me onto their sweaty, dirty fingers before examining me and putting me back. "GOOD! GET TAE FUCK YOU BLOODY EEJIT!" I'd shout after them. (Sometimes I fancy myself Scottish, hah!) Then, one day, strolling up to my case like a Coke advert, came Orlando.

I watched as his long, slim frame leaned slightly against the countertop. "Holy shite!" I shouted, rubbing myself against the felt in order to gain full gleam. I tried my best to shine for him, his chocolate eyes raking across the rack. And when his gaze settled on me, I thought I'd melt back to my liquid state right then and there. He bit his lower lip (as he often did when mulling something over, I would come to find out), and put his fingers on me, sliding me slowly out, and jamming me, rather unceremoniously, on his right ring finger. As hard as I could, I squeezed that ring finger, hugging it tightly but not too tight. " Hm," he said closelipped and looked up at my vendor. "How much?" he asked, displaying me on his hand. "Four pounds," the vendor said. "Two," Orlando retorted. Ah, the man was so sexy when he bargained! "Three," the vendor replied. "Done," Orlando grinned and handed the man three quid. I gave his finger a warm hug, and smiled inwardly as we boarded the bus and headed towards home.

The Vow

We had spent so many nights clubbing, and acting- he even kept me on during dress rehearsals, and I felt special, knowing he cared about me that much. We passed evenings together in the London clubs, where he let me explore the fleshy hips of many a beautiful woman. During those Guildhall days, Orlando scared the shit out of me. Not to say he didn't keep continuing to scare the shit out of me, however, he did it to the point where I feared for his life. There was one day when I thought I'd be lost forever- the day when he decided to scale his friend's drainpipe. As he grabbed onto it I flew into a panic, trying my hardest to wiggle free from his finger so he'd stop and come pick me up, but his fingers were bending too much and I couldn't manage. You know his fate- he fell, and he fell long and hard. I hugged his finger as tight as I could while he lay there, trying to give as much comfort as a silver ring can.

Those were some dark days, in the hospital. Orlando fell into a state of melancholy. Doctors told him he may not walk again. I sat on a table nearby and tried to be as pretty as I could for him, tried my hardest to cheer him up. He was in so much pain and they continued to drug him. One night he sobbed silently, tears staining his cheeks. He spent what felt like an eternity on his back. I watched helplessly as his mind wandered into places of self doubt and fear. And I vowed to see the day when he would be happy. I would let myself be melted back down and recast as a fork if I could see him happy again.

Minute by minute, hour by hour, and day by day, Orlando started to improve. He regained use of his legs, and before long he was up and running around again. He slid me back on his finger and oh the joy! I felt like singing Beethoven's Ninth, bells are ringing, hearts are singing! To adorn him once again as he made his triumphant return to the world was like riding a roller coaster and letting go of the handlebars. Every day we lived to the fullest, and the day came, that wonderful day, when Peter Jackson plucked my hero straight from Guildhall and whisked us off to New Zealand.

Orlando stressed a lot right before we left. Of course he was overjoyed at this lovely opportunity, but he spent hours twisting me around his finger in solitude, biting his lip, wondering to himself if he was right for this role, if he could truly handle this, and despaired over how much he'd miss his family, his friends, his dog. I'd gleam up at him, trying to encourage him, wishing I could say, "Orlando! You're a bloody brilliant actor, now get out there and show them what I see every day!" He carried this nervousness with him to the airport, all the way up to the bureau de change, until a feisty little Scot approached us and asked timidly, "Aren't you an Elf?" and with a warm embrace, his entire demeanor changed. Orlando relaxed back into his normal carefree, spastic self and I relaxed contentedly around his finger.

Don't Worry, Be Happy! Enter: Viggo

In New Zealand, Orlando continued with his ridiculous daredevil antics. Always full of nervous energy, he spent a long while caressing me with his thumb right before he threw himself off of every imaginable thing: bridges, cliffs, airplanes. I've felt every kind of pulse from this man. It throbs contentedly when he's out having pints with his mates, it's like a jackhammer right before he bungee jumps, and it's strong and forceful when he transforms himself into Legolas (right before the costumer reminds him that he still has his ring on.) But there is absolutely nothing, not any kind of pulse I've felt from him, that compares to what I felt from him the day he met Viggo Mortensen.

Maybe other's didn't see it. Of course they didn't, because they didn't know Orlando- but I knew him like the back of his hand. The moment he extended his hand to Viggo, I knew. "Orlando Bloom." "Viggo Mortensen." Viggo pressed his palm to Orlando's, wrapping his fingers around Orlando's olive hand. And he gave a slight squeeze, pressing me into Viggo's palm. A squeeze that made Orlando's body tingle, quite literally, with electricity. Viggo with his calloused artist's hands pressing against me, with his scarred thin lipped grin, with his striking azure eyes and with his clipped American accent. Viggo with his intense gaze and his artist's eye. Viggo who, at that moment, captivated my Orlando, and would change him forever. It's very possible that I was the conduit of some sublime magnetism between the two, because Orlando stood for the longest time, stunned, idiot.

That night, my hero placed me on his nightstand, and proceeded to wear a hole in the carpet, pacing back and forth. He mumbled, "Oh yes. Viggo. I'm Orlando. Yes, I am from England. Oh, you've noticed my accent. I'm straight from acting school. Now let me giggle in front of you like some sodding idiot." He relived the whole introduction to himself, until finally his steps halted and he turned abruptly towards me. He looked down at me, frustration and confusion knitting his eyebrows together. "Tell me what to do, old friend. Please," he sighed at me. He stepped closer to me, and picked me up. At that moment, I communicated with him the best I knew how. Deflecting the sunlight, I shined it to his mouth. And I reflected his mouth back to him in my curve. The corners of his mouth had turned upwards into a grin, and with all my might, I reflected that grin back to him. "Are you telling me that I'm happy?" I flashed the sunlight again at his mouth. "This is right then? I'm not doing anything wrong by carrying on about a man?" If it comes from inside you, my lovely Orlando, it can't be wrong. And the grin turned into a full blown smile. "Ta," he laughed to me, and pressed his lips to my cool metal.

One Ring to Touch Them All

This is the part where I receive abuse from Orli's other articles of clothing. They get tossed aside. I get to do the fun part ; the touching. Hugging tightly to Orlando's finger, I took part in his greatest dare of all; touching Viggo. Every time he saw Viggo the dares got bigger and bigger. They passed time together at pubs, in the C Bago, at Viggo's house, at Orli's, at the other blokes' places, they took the piss out of each other, they laughed, and joked. And when they would finish laughing, Viggo's gaze would linger for just a few seconds longer on my hero than was normal. When Orlando clamped his hand on Viggo's shoulder, the fleeting moment of rough contact I was used to turned into a gentle squeeze, pressing me into the t shirt covering Viggo's skin. Suddenly a rash of casual touches broke out, and I found myself caressing Viggo's back, sliding along his neck, sometimes toying with his Aragorn wig before the costume bird yelled at Orli to take me off.

Orli grew distant at passing references to hot women in the clubs. "Hey! Check out her tits! Jesus!" Elijah would yell at him, while Orli ran his thumb over me and bit his lip. "Yeah, real hot," he replied halfheartedly, but if Elijah was following his gaze, he'd have seen that it landed on Viggo. Vig sat alone up at the bar, clearly disenchanted with his surroundings. Orlando and I got up and joined him. "Having fun?" Orli asked, running me across Viggo's shoulder. "Is it that obvious?" Viggo shouted back with an embarrassed grin. "Yes, it is, mate. Come on, let's go have a few beers at mine."

They sat next to each other on Orli's couch. His pulse knocked against me so hard I thought I'd fall off then and there. Viggo was complaining about kissing Liv, how it just seemed to not be gelling right considering how old their love was. Orlando snorted and joked, "Well maybe if you knew how to snog properly, old man, you wouldn't be having this problem." The wetas chirped outside. Orli tapped me against his beer bottle. A nervous breath trapped itself in Orlando's lungs. Without warning, Viggo turned and grabbed Orlando, held his face between his hands, hovered his lips right above my hero's, pressing him back into the couch, and asked, "Is this good enough for you, prissy elf?" smiling smugly before taking his lips in a breathtaking kiss. Orli replied with a high moan.

I don't feel the need to go into great detail about what happened that night, but I will say this. Viggo wanted Orlando. Orlando wanted Viggo. With every ounce of his being. That first touch of Orlando's skin to Viggo's as more than a friend, so subtle and exquisite- Viggo placed Orlando's palm against the side of his face, clasping his own hand over Orli's. Viggo's skin tingled under me, warm and welcoming. I absorbed the heat and longed for more. Orli shoved me into Viggo's hair, and I was nestled into his soft brown locks, burying myself as much as I could.

And Viggo's body. Orlando's first shy, tentative explorations of Viggo were taken painstakingly slow. He ran me across bare shoulders, bare neck, stomach, thighs, and flesh. Never before had Orlando ran me across another man's body in lust. And never before had touching a body felt so good for me. The curve of a woman's breast was no match for the sharp angle of Viggo's jaw, and the roundness of her hips held nothing to the stretch of skin over muscle in Viggo's body. I felt all of him that night, soft flesh, hot flesh, cool flesh, wet flesh, hard flesh. I wouldn't care if Orli never touched another person ever again.

The next morning, we woke up with Orlando's hand draped over Viggo's chest, and I felt the slow expansions and contractions of his sleeping chest underneath me. Small tears rolled off Orlando's cheek onto Viggo's shoulder. He wiped me across his moist cheek, trying to hide them. "Hey," Viggo said groggily, "hey what's with the tears? Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry- " Viggo grabbed Orli's hand and held me between his hands. "Jesus Vig, no. This is rather difficult for me to say, so I'd better out and say it. I've never been so happy in my entire life." Viggo grinned and pressed me to his lips, kissing me and blessing each of Orlando's fingers with that kiss as well. "Me too, Orli. Me too."

And I soared that day; because once again, my hero was happy.

When Touches Are Not Enough

Orlando and I spent our nights at Viggo's. We helped Viggo clean up his house, we washed Viggo's back in the shower, we cooked for Viggo, he cooked for my hero, he wrote poems about Orli when he thought Orli wasn't looking, he photographed Orli, he spent hours and hours kissing us, and Orlando returning all those kisses. I helped with the whole caressing part. The days flew by quickly and we spent them in blissful reverie.

But Orlando started to touch him on the set more, in the pubs more, in front of people. I thought of it as an extension of the touches we gave him in private- but in public, the touches were shrugged off or casually ignored. Orlando started biting his lip more. He held back his touches as one might hold in a sneeze. Surely that couldn't have been healthy. Orli's hand spent more time against his pursed lips than they did on Viggo. The tension was eating away at my poor hero. I felt it too, I longed to run my silver curve over Viggo's skin in front of all their friends and colleagues just like we did at home. Orlando brushed off invitations to go surfing, spent more time balled up on his couch, and feigned smiles on the set. It was unbearable for me to see him receding back into that dark place he had acquainted himself with after the accident.

I could feel it happening in Orli's body; his happiness was drying up. It festered, it crusted, it sagged, and finally the time came when it was ready to explode. After a night out with the boys when Viggo abruptly brushed me off his thigh, we returned back to the house with him. Viggo took Orli's hand in his and lowered his mouth to my hero's. He was met by a sharp turn of Orlando's head. And a long pause.

"What the fuck is wrong, Orlando? You've been a cold bastard lately," Viggo said bitingly to Orlando's cheek. "Funny you should mention it," Orlando retorted, "I was thinking the same about you." Shit, shit oh shit, I was having a bloody panic attack. Before me flashed all the moments we had shared with Viggo- sleeping in on lazy Sundays, kisses over cups of coffee, rented videos in darkened living rooms where no one was watching the TV. Viggo placed his hand on Orli's cheek and slowly turned his face towards his. "What is it?" he whispered, locking Orlando's chocolate eyes with his blue ones.

Orlando bit his lip, and with furrowed eyebrows, answered, "I want you to touch me in front of them, Viggo. Like you do when we're alone." Viggo stood- his eyes searched the wall, searched the floor, searched the sofa, searched the cracks and crevices, looking anywhere and everywhere for a response. Orlando sniffed in the silence. I hugged his finger and held on tightly. Viggo finally coughed up his two syllable response: "I can't."

"Well. I can't either," Orlando breathed his answer. And turned, and walked for the door. Viggo didn't shout after him, didn't grab his arm or cry or beg. Orlando wasn't about to turn around, either. Oh bugger both of them, stubborn bastards. I supposed it was all up to me. After all, us rings are mighty powerful wee things. If Orlando's happiness lie in the balance, I'd do anything required of me. I slid, wiggled, and shimmied, hoping Orlando wouldn't feel me. It worked. I slid easily off his finger which was damp with nervous sweat.

I landed with a plop on the ugly green shag carpet. Orlando slammed the door shut. Oh bugger. I should've thought about this part. How would Viggo find me down here?

Viggo and I Come To An Understanding

Vrrooom. Vrrooooom . Vrroom . Viggo's Hoover advanced toward and retracted from me along his horrid green rug. Bloody hell. Looks like I was ready to meet my end in a Wellington dumpster. If I could have sighed, I would have. Wait! He turned it off! HURRAH! Yes, that's right Viggo, I'm down here! I glint some light up into his eyes. Ah finally he squinted down and notices me. Looked at me funny. Picked me up, running me between his fingers which are covered in yesterday's yellow and red paints. Fondled me, ooo now that was nice. He sat on the sofa with me on his index finger, looking at me, sighing, thinking, meditating.

He passed the rest of the day with me. For a while he sat with me on the couch, lightly rubbing his thumb over me. He placed me on the kitchen table while he made dinner, only to turn around and glance at me every few minutes, like he didn't know what to make of me. At the end of the day, I ended up on his index finger as he lay in bed. He curled up in the fetal position and pressed me into his fist, holding me against his mouth.

I understand, Viggo, really. It had only been a few days. I missed him too.

The next morning found me in Viggo's limp grasp on the bed. Viggo had slept in- not to blame him, actually, because he really hadn't slept last night. He jammed me halfway on his index finger and ran for the door.

On the set, everyone stood in a circle around PJ as he began his animated description of what they were about to film. Viggo twiddled me nervously around his finger- I tried to hold on tight. There. He spotted Orlando- my hero looked stunning that day in his full Legolas costume, blue contacts breathing a fierce light in his eyes. Slowly, oh so slowly, step by step, Viggo and I made our way closer to Orli. The moment he sensed us moving towards him, Orlando's body tensed up.

Finally, we were shoulder to shoulder with him. Viggo leaned his weight against Orli's body. Orlando kept his eyes stoically on PJ, jaw tightening. Cocking his head slightly to the left, Viggo whispered three words, "I've missed you," softly into Orli's ear. He made no response. Viggo pushed me off his left pointer finger with this thumb and middle finger, and held me between his fingertips. This was it, I could feel it happening. No detachment from this moment at all, I reminded myself.

Brushing the back of his artist's hand to the back of Orli's smooth olive hand, slowly and with increasing pressure, Viggo watched as Orlando's eyes widened a bit in surprise. His knuckles slid over Orlando's, the bumps running over and in between each other. My hero focused a bit harder on PJ. Viggo lowered his hand, holding me under the tips of Orli's fingers. I waited with great anticipation as Viggo slid me languidly over Orlando's index finger, circling me around his fingertip before pulling me off. He then pulled me up onto the tip of Orlando's middle finger, and I stroked that finger updown, updown, updown, to his first knuckle, in a nearly obscene gesture. Orli's pulse knocked nervously against my smooth inside.

I felt my hero's heartbeat all the way down to his fingertips, his nervous energy vibrating through him. Surprising that no one else picked up on it, as Viggo was not only having me dance with Orlando's fingers, but Viggo's fingers danced with them as well. The pads of Vig's fingertips caressed Orlando's fingertips, stroked gently in between them, skin sliding on skin. Finally he poised me against my usual home, Orlando's right ring finger. "I found this at home," Viggo whispered against the soft shell of my hero's ear, "I thought I'd give it back."

"Ta," he breathed to Viggo, his fingers flexing into Viggo's touch. Swiftly, Viggo's fingers laced between Orlando's, lodging me back to my rightful home. As they stood, hand in hand, Viggo said, "Come home, Orlando." Orlando swallowed past the knot in his throat, Adam's apple bobbing. His mouth opened to reply, but no words came out. He squeezed Viggo's hand, and nodded his silent approval.

That's when they noticed. Sean Bean only smirked. Dom and Billy started giggling like sodding schoolgirls. "I KNEW IT!" one of them shouted. "What?" Elijah asked, oblivious. Dom pointed his head in the direction of me, laced between Viggo and Orli's joined hands. "Dude! Orlando! Viggo is holding your hand!" Dom smacked Elijah across the back of his head.

"I know," Orlando replied, then cast a sidelong glance at Viggo, squeezing me between their locked fingers. "I know." And in the long run, Viggo got it. I would stop at nothing to see my hero happy, and Viggo felt the same way. I hugged Orlando's finger tight. So did Viggo.

*****

THE END

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