Title: Even Angels Fall: To Crash, To Burn Author: Jo Rating: NC17 Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen Summary: When fame is overwhelming, even angels fall. Warnings: this one isn't going to be pretty...there's going to be language, violence, drug/alcohol abuse, and angst up the wazoo. If that ain't your thing, hit the delete button now Author's Notes: Inspired by "Let Her Cry" by Hootie & The Blowfish, lyrics have been tweaked here. MAJOR thanks to Wendy for emotional support, beta work, and research on this thing. Takes place roughly 1-2 years in the future. For Wendy for her 'inspiration' in matters of dialogue and nosebleeds and for Carnaline for the vision of angelic demons Disclaimers: They're not mine, I don't own them, this didn't happen...well, it could have, but they didn't tell me about it...any resemblance to real life events is strictly coincidental and no implications should be drawn because this is a work of FICTION "Leave him alone, Sean!" I could hear the frantic note in Lij's voice before Ian got me inside the door. Pulling away from him, I moved to the dining room. At some point while we were outside, the majority of the partiers had wisely chosen to leave. They'd be back. They always were. Like me -- like everyone else who met him -- they were drawn to Orlando like a moth to a flame. You couldn't meet him and be befriended by him without letting him absorb you and overwhelm you with his zest for life. "Get out of my way, Elijah," Sean growled and then I was standing in the dining room. Sean with his back to me. Orlando standing halfway across the room, watching him and still laughing, water dripping from his pants, tracking down his face and chest in glistening trails. And Lij -- sweet little Elijah -- standing between them, eyes wide but refusing to move. "No," Lij said quietly. Bless him. I honestly thought he was one of the few people who could say that to Sean and get away with it. Sean advanced, one step, hands clenched at his sides. Quiet noise behind me as Ian joined us. "Elijah, I'm warning you...." "Oh, for...Lijah," Orlando said, still laughing. "Move out of the old man's way." "Orlando," Lij said, turning to look at the graceful child-man behind him. Orlando held up a hand and then shrugged. "I don't want you to get hurt," Orlando said. Words meant for Lij as his eyes rested on Sean. "Sean and I...well," another casual shrug. "He thinks he has something to settle with me." "No," Sean said, moving forward as Lij stepped out of the way. "I'm going to give you the ass whipping that Viggo should have months ago." "And once more we come full circle," Orlando said, folding his arms across his chest, hips thrust out slightly. "It always comes back to Viggo with you, doesn't it, Sean?" I started to step forward, wanting to stop them, but Ian grabbed my arm. A slow shake of his head. Warning me not to interfere. So I watched. "Orlando, shut up," Sean said as he stopped in front of him. "Make me," Orlando said. He dropped his arms and stood up straight. "Or does it bother you if everyone finds out how you've been lusting after my boyfriend for years? We're all friends here." "Orlando." Another growl. Sean's body was perfectly still, not a single muscle moving. "Or has it just been lusting? I don't think it has," Orlando said. That ugly note was back in his voice. Part of me realized that it wasn't Orlando talking. It was something else, something dark and gritty and ugly...and altogether frightening. "Don't start that again," Sean snapped. Orlando just smirked. "Am I hitting a little too close to home, old chap? How long have you been fucking Viggo?" "Orlando, stop it," I said, pulling from Ian's grasp. I heard my name but ignored it. Focused on Orlando, wanting to get him out of Sean's reach before he said the wrong thing. "How long, Viggo?" Orlando's voice but Sean's words, pulling me back to minutes earlier in the backyard. "How long have you been fucking Sean behind my back?" "Orlando, I'm not --" "Tell me!" He screamed. Those dark eyes -- the same eyes that I had lost myself in a million times -- sparked with fury and spots of color bloomed high on his cheeks. He stepped towards me, jerking away and glaring when Sean reached for him. "Don't fucking touch me!" "Shut up, or I swear to God, Orlando, I will beat your scrawny little ass," Sean snarled. "Fuck you," Orlando spat and then those eyes were back on me. "Answer me, Viggo. How long?" "Orlando, this --" "Tell me!" In front of me now, standing just mere inches away. His fury, so overwhelming and intense and confusing. Where did it come from? I couldn't.... God, help me, he was beautiful like that. "Orlando, we're not --" "Is he better than me?" He asked suddenly, that gorgeous, dangerous anger still there. "What?" Confused, I stared at him. Surely he wasn't asking me what I thought he was asking. "Is he better than me, Viggo? Does he scream your name when he comes? Does he scratch your back and writhe beneath you when you fuck him?" He bounced on the balls of his feet. Tiny little bounces like he always did when he had too much energy bottled up inside. "Tell me, love, is he as good at sucking you off as I am? Does he swallow? Tell me, damn you!" "Orlando, I'm not fucking Sean!" Tears. I knew I was crying but I couldn't stop myself as the salty drops trickled down my face. "I swear, I haven't touched anyone but you since that first night in New Zealand! I love you! Please...." "Don't," Sean said quietly, trying to pull me away. "Don't give the little bastard the pleasure of seeing you beg." "Get your hands off him!" Orlando's hands, grabbing at Sean's shirt, pulling at him. Sean turned, his anger clear on his face. Everything was a blur, moving too fast for me to comprehend. Yelling from somewhere -- Lij and Billy, I thought. And Dom -- or was it Astin? -- swearing up a storm. "Damn it, Orlando," Sean yelled, still trying to pull me away. "How long have you been fucking him, Sean?" Orlando screamed, shrugging off the hands that reached for him. "Answer me!" I needed to say something. Anything. But I couldn't. All I could do was cry and let them pull me in different directions. Everyone was yelling and swearing. So loud. Louder than the music had been earlier. I could hear it all echoing in my head, voices and words overlapping each other until I thought I would go insane. When did I become this weak? "Stop it!" I screamed, knowing they wouldn't hear me and even if they did they wouldn't listen. More yelling. Then an odd sound in the midst of all the madness. An open hand connecting with a soft, warm cheek. Ian. Ian slapped Orlando. One of those full-armed slaps like you see in the movies. Only it wasn't faked. Time crawled and everything seemed to move in super slow motion. Wide hobbit eyes staring in shock, Sean with his mouth open, and Orlando.... Orlando caught off guard by the move, off balance, spinning in a partial circle, the imprint of Ian's hand a bright red on his beautiful face. No time to catch his balance. Spinning, stumbling, arms flailing. Even then he was graceful in an odd way. Falling. I tried to grab him but Sean held my arm. His hip slammed into the corner of the table. He would have a mark from that. His hand caught a chair, halting his fall. Silence. "I think you've said quite enough, Orlando," Ian said. So regal sounding, even in the chaos. One trembling hand reached up to touch his cheek as he stared at Ian. Those dark lashes lowered once, then twice, moving slowly. His eyes shimmered. Orlando practically worshipped Ian. And Ian had slapped him. He looked at me and he paled, that flawless olive skin turning ashen. Then a tear slipped free. Another one followed quickly. "Viggo," he said in a broken whisper. His hand made a feeble gesture. Then he whirled and practically ran from the room. "Let him go," Sean said, trying to hold me. I knew that going after him was probably a bad idea. I couldn't stop myself. Orlando had only cried a handful of times in the entire three years that we had been together. And each of those times I had held him close, cuddling him in my arms and comforting him, kissing away his tears until he smiled. To do less this time would be to deny who I was and what he meant to me. So I pulled away from Sean, ignored Ian and our dear hobbits, and followed Orlando. I found him at the foot of the stairs, huddled in on himself, leaning against the wall. Silent sobs shook his slender frame. One arm wrapped tightly around his legs while the other curled over his head. He jumped when I knelt beside him and touched his shoulder. "Orlando," I murmured, letting my fingers sift through his hair. Without speaking he flung himself into my arms, overbalancing me so I was forced to sit on the floor. His arms wrapped tightly around my neck and he pressed his face against my chest. I pulled him into my lap, holding him, rubbing his back, speaking soft nonsense words. His whole body trembled as he cried, his breath coming in those loud, gulping sobs that little children make when they've cried too hard. A shaft of light split the floor to my right. Sean in the hallway behind me. I knew he was there but I never turned to look at him. Couldn't, not with Orlando in my arms like that. Minutes passed and then the light was gone. And Orlando continued to cry. More minutes passed with us sitting like that before his tears stopped. Even longer before he could speak. His breath broken up by little hitching gasps, tiny shudders wracking him as he shifted in my lap, getting comfortable. Soft sniffles. My clothes were wet from his tears and his wet pants, but I didn't care. None of that mattered. "I'm sorry, Viggo," he whispered, his words ending in a soft moan. Long fingers clutching my shirt, his head resting on my shoulder. The warm spicy Orlando-scent combined with chlorine filled my nostrils. "Shhh, it's okay, angel," I said softly, kissing the top of his head. Wet, silky strands beneath my lips as he shifted again. "You just scared us all badly when you jumped off the roof." "What I said in there --" "I know," I said, tilting his face up to mine and brushing my thumb across his lower lip. "I know." I kissed him softly. He sniffled quietly, resting his head on my shoulder again, lacing our fingers together. Silence. I could sit for hours with him like that. Just the two of us in the dark. "I sh--" "Hush, Orlando," I whispered. "I should have stopped Sean. He was just scared, that's all. You could have died out there and it shook us up pretty badly." His head moved, denying my words. I just held him tighter. "I'm not mad at you, angel. I love you." "I know," he said with another soft sniffle. "I love you, Viggo. And I'm so, so sorry. For everything." I kissed him again. Urged him to his feet, supporting him when he swayed. Up the stairs. He went willingly, silently, his energy sapped from the dive off the roof and the resulting fight. Into our bedroom. Those wet pants clinging to his legs as I peeled them off. He stood silently as I toweled him dry, rubbing his skin until he fairly glowed. Then into bed, pulling the blankets up and tucking them under his chin. I sat beside him as he curled on his side, his hand warm in mine. His eyes were heavy and he blinked slowly. Finally those coal black lashes swept down, fanning across his cheekbones, and he slept. I remained where I was a while longer. They were still downstairs. I knew that. Waiting for me. Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, I placed his hand on the blanket and turned. Pulling the door closed behind me, I went back downstairs to face the jury of my friends and peers. + + + The dining room was dark when I passed it. Quiet voices drifted out of the living room so I let my feet lead me to the doorway. Hesitating there, just watching silently. Ian and Sean stood on the other side of the room, by the bay window that overlooked the ocean. Neither turned as I slipped into the room and sank into a chair. The corner was dark, the only light coming from the lamp near them. Sean gestured and said something, the ice in his glass of Absolut clinking softly. Ian shook his head slowly as he took a sip from his glass. Chivas unless I was mistaken. There was just something amusingly ironic about two British men in my living room in California drinking Russian and Scottish alcohol. Only in America. The hobbits were gone. Most likely sent home by Ian. I couldn't complain. It would be easier without them underfoot. Bad enough that I had to face Sean and Ian after everything that had happened. The clock over my head chimed softly, four times, and I wondered where the time had gone. It didn't seem like it should be that late. I rubbed the back of my neck and wondered just how long I had sat upstairs with Orlando. Suddenly I was tired. Physically and emotionally, I was exhausted. I must have made some noise then because they looked at me. "How is he?" Ian asked, moving to sit on the couch. His blue eyes, so knowing, watched me closely. Sean watched me, too, but I tried to ignore him. "He's sleeping," I said quietly. I waved my hand vaguely. "It was all just.... He had a little too much to drink and it --" "Damn it, Viggo," Sean said. The explosion of words caused me to flinch. Ian looked at him reprovingly but Sean wouldn't be swayed. "He had more than alcohol tonight and you know it!" Sigh because I couldn't do anything else. Not really. It was all just too much. The accusations, the anger, the fighting, Orlando's tears. Fuck. His tears. I looked up at Sean. "I wasn't with him the entire night, Sean," I said quietly. "I don't know what he had except bourbon. I could taste that when he kissed me." Oh yes, almost an afterthought. "And the clove cigarettes. But --" "Would you listen to yourself?" Sean said. A bang as he slammed his glass down on the mantle over the fireplace. I thought I jumped but wasn't sure. So tired. "Sean, please," Ian murmured. His glass made a tiny clink as he set it on the coaster. "We agreed that this wasn't the way to handle this." "No," Sean snapped. "You agreed. I personally think they both need some sense knocked into them." "And what will that help?" Ian asked calmly. Those blue eyes, so penetrating, were turned on Sean. "Orlando will still be taking whatever it is he's taking and Viggo will still be looking the other way." I loved how my friends could discuss me as if I wasn't even there. Didn't matter that I was sitting less than two feet from Ian and Sean was looming over us. I rubbed a hand across my face, shoving my hair back. "Look," I said, pulling their attention back to me. "Orlando will be fine in the morning. He just parties a little too hard at times, that's all. He's young." "Viggo, he's twenty-seven years old," Ian said, taking another sip of his Scotch. "He's old enough to take responsibility for his actions, especially when they affect the people around him." "Orlando being alive affects the people around him," I pointed out. A tiny little half smile from Ian. Sean just cursed, picking up his glass and swallowing the entire contents in one gulp. "Yes, but --" "Viggo, he's doing a lot more than just drinking too much and you know it," Sean said. Ian frowned at the interruption but kept silent. "Billy said he took acid tonight and Lij confirmed it when they left. That's why he was up on the damn roof saying he could fly!" "Sean, please," I said, another vague gesture. "Orlando's asleep and I don't want him woke up." "Good God, man!" Sean spun to face me, his eyes wide with disbelief. "He took acid earlier and almost killed himself and all you can think about is that he might get woken up? I don't fucking believe this!" "What do you want me to do?" I snapped. Couldn't help it. The whole night had been too much to handle. Orlando diving off the roof had scared me badly and it was only by sheer willpower that I wasn't shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. The fight in the dining room hadn't helped matters and I could feel my nerves were stretched to the point of breaking. "Viggo, we don't want to fight with you," Ian said. I just looked at him. "Would you prefer slapping me across the room? It worked so well with Orlando," I said without thinking. Ian frowned but before he could reply, Sean was in front of me, his hand twisting in my shirt and hauling me to my feet. "Open your eyes, damn it," he said. "We're trying to help you!" I looked at him, not speaking. What did he want me to say? I couldn't even think straight. All I wanted was to go back upstairs and curl myself around Orlando and sleep for three days. But I didn't have that luxury. "Sean," Ian said, a faint hint of command in his voice. Sean, muttering something under his breath, released my shirt and let me drop back into my chair. "As I was saying, Viggo, we don't want to fight. I know you might not believe it at the moment, but it's true. We care about the both of you." Another sigh. I looked at Ian, too tired to argue, too tired to try to think. Sean stalked across the room to stare out the window again. I watched him for a moment, noting the rigid set of his back and shoulders. Jumped a little when Ian touched my arm. "Orlando needs help, Viggo," he said softly. "Serious, professional help." A blank stare. It was all I could muster. Sean had turned back to watch us, silent over by the window. I could feel his eyes on me. My wonderful command of the English language -- fluent in three others as well, to many people's surprise -- had deserted me and I couldn't think of anything to say. Not one single damn thing. And so it goes. "Orlando just drinks a little too much sometimes," I said finally and ignored Sean's quiet growl. "I'd hardly call that a need for professional help." "Viggo, listen to yourself. Really listen. Hear what you're saying." Pity in Ian's eyes. In Sean's as well if I dared to look at him. I didn't. "Sean has told you that both Billy and Elijah confirmed that Orlando took acid tonight. He could have died when he leaped off the roof." "And then there's the way he acted last night," Sean said, moving to join us once more. I still wouldn't look at him. Couldn't stand to see the pity in his eyes as well. "He was drinking last night, too," I said. Remembered Orlando's fist crashing into Vince's jaw, the way he had turned and accused me of the same thing he had accused me of in the dining room. Sean cursed viciously, but quietly, and Ian just watched him. "Are you sure," Ian said after a moment, "That he was just drinking?" I looked at him. Positive I had a stupid expression on my face. Several minutes passed as I tried to force my brain to comprehend what he had said. Sean stood beside my chair, hands shoved in his pockets. Hovering. "Elijah said that he thought Orlando might have taken something last night during the party," Ian said. "He didn't know what." "I would have known if Orlando was on drugs last night," I said. Another growl from Sean. He didn't believe me. I didn't care. Startled when he dropped to kneel in front me, his knees between me feet. "How would you have known, Viggo? You can't even admit to yourself right now that he was on drugs earlier," Sean said quietly. He should have been angry. I could handle angry. Pity would destroy the last vestiges of control that I had managed to hang on to. Love would do it even quicker. "Alright," I said very quietly, pressing back into my seat. "Maybe he took something earlier. But he doesn't have a problem." "He does have a problem," Ian said. "You're not helping him by denying it or making excuses or lying for him. You're hurting him worse than he's hurting himself." "I love him," I whispered, my hands limp as Sean took them in his. "Viggo, listen to me," he said in a gentle voice. "Orlando has a serious problem and he needs help. You can't keep cleaning up his messes...you've got to stop letting him treat you like this. You don't deserve it and you don't need to put up with it. Orlando is an adult and he's got to grow up." I smiled then. A sad, wistful smile. They hadn't been around Orlando like I had. Didn't know him the way I knew him. Orlando was an adult. He proved that to me every day. But he was also an innocent. To be quite honest, I believed that, regardless of what he did with his body, he was one of the last great innocents in the world. And, in sharing that innocence with me, he had made me a better person. So I thought. "I don't deserve him, Sean," I said after several minutes. "I have never deserved him. But I love him." "Viggo, if you love him, you've got to get him some help," Ian said, lightly touching my arm. "Or let him go," Sean said almost too softly to be heard. "You don't understand, Sean," I said quietly, freeing my hands and standing. "Sometimes...sometimes when you love somebody...really love them, so much it hurts even...you take the good with the bad. You put up with behavior that maybe you don't exactly agree with...but you do it willingly, because to do otherwise would be to shatter your own heart." Sean looked up at me from where he still knelt on the floor. Ian sat on the couch, all but forgotten as he watched us closely, a thoughtful look on his face. "I know," Sean said finally. Almost a whisper but not quite. Those green eyes never wavered from mine. "God help me...I know." Too much. His almost admission was too much to handle on top of everything else that night. I just looked at him and then walked out. I wasn't strong enough to do anything else. I knew they'd let themselves out and lock the door behind them. Knew I'd see them both in a few days in New York. But that was tomorrow. All I wanted was in bed asleep. So I joined him, silently stripping off my clothes in the dark and crawling under the covers. Smiling softly when he automatically turned into my warmth, his head nestling in the curve of my shoulder, an arm curling around my waist, one leg insinuating itself between mine. His warm breath on my skin as he nuzzled me before dropping back into his dreams. A soft kiss to his hair, a hand gliding down his back to pull him closer. Sleep crept up on me and claimed me while I laid there thinking. + + + The sounds of summer in California drifted through the open windows. It was peaceful, warm, the sun shining brightly outside. I stood at the French doors, looking out at the sun sparkling off the water in the pool, debating on whether I wanted to stay inside and paint or go outside and enjoy the beauty of nature. It wasn't an easy decision. There was a painting in the studio that I'd been working on for several days and I really wanted to finish it. Painting was relaxing. I could lose myself for hours in the slide of oil on canvas, the whispered hush of the brush as it moved. It was even more relaxing on the days Orlando joined me in there to work on some new demented piece of sculpture that his brain had thought up. Of course, there were many times that we both wound up naked and covered in either paint or wet clay. I smiled at the memories. I could hear Orlando moving around upstairs, his music blasting as he did whatever it was he was doing up there. I glanced towards the stairs, wondering if I could convince him to join me in the pool. He loved the water. Took to it like a baby otter, playing and splashing and generally being a happy little nuisance. Silence except for the music. A gentle breeze through the windchimes he had bought me in New Zealand settled the argument for me. The day was too nice to spend inside. "Orlando," I called, moving up the stairs to the bedroom, shutting off the stereo as I passed it. "I'm getting in the pool. Join me?" "In a few minutes, love," he said, his voice muffled through the closed bathroom door. I shrugged and stripped off my clothes, slipping into a pair of old, ratty shorts that I kept specifically for swimming. Looking around, I realized I needed a towel. It was either get one before I went outside or trust Orlando to remember them...in which case we'd both end up dripping water all over the new carpet. Silence broken by my knuckles rapping on the door. Soft rustling from inside. What in the world was he doing in there? Masturbating? "Angel?" "Just a sec," he said, sounding tense. "I just need to get some towels," I said, pushing open the door. Frozen. Looking at him. Orlando was startled. He jerked and the mirror in his hands fell to the floor, exploding in a shower of glittering shards. Wide eyes stared at me. "Oh, shit," he mumbled. "No, don't move. You'll cut your feet," I said, glad I'd slid my sandals on. He sat there on the closed toilet seat watching me with those gorgeous eyes, his face pale, his hands trembling a little. I grabbed a towel and squatted by his feet, carefully brushing the glass into a pile. White powder everywhere, mixed with the glass. He must have spilled a box of baby powder before I came in. Must have. Couldn't look around to see the box of powder that wasn't there. It was there. Had to be there. "Viggo, I --" "Shhh, angel," I said quietly, focused on cleaning up the broken glass before he cut himself. The thought of those bare feet sliced and bloody.... Couldn't think of it. Ignore all the powder. It's nothing. Just -- I awoke with a start. Just barely light outside. The heater made a soft hiss as it kicked on, flooding the room with warmth. For a few seconds, I struggled to remember who I was. Then it flooded back to me. Turned my head to look even though I didn't need to. Orlando was still there, still asleep, his warm body curled against my side, his breath wafting over my skin in soft, even puffs. I sighed and closed my eyes. Relieved. Unbelievably relieved to find him there. My arms tightened around him as he shifted against me. Minutes passed. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The clock by the bed seemed intent on driving me crazy. More minutes passed. Another sigh. I knew I wouldn't be going back to sleep. So I slipped from the body, forcing myself to pull away from Orlando's warmth when all I wanted was to kiss him awake and make love to him slowly. He needed to sleep more than I needed physical reassurance. So I dragged on a pair of old, faded jeans that were covered with paint spatters. Ran a hand through my tangled hair and debated putting on a shirt. My house. Fuck it. The shirt stayed on the floor. Orlando mumbled and rolled over, his eyes blinking sleepily at me. "Time's it?" His soft voice, husky with sleep, almost made me cave in. I remembered other mornings when I had woken early and couldn't sleep, instead waking him with slow kisses as I rocked against him. Not once had he ever pulled away. Always, always he had came awake with a smile, his body moving with mine before his eyes opened. "Too early, angel," I whispered, bending to kiss him tenderly. "Mmm," he murmured with a smile. His eyes closed and he rolled to his side, burying his face in my pillow. "Breakfast?" I laughed softly. Typical Orlando. "Pancakes if you'd like," I said, brushing his hair back and kissing his ear. "Blueberry ones." "Yum," he mumbled into the pillow, his mouth curved into a smile. "Should jus' cover y'self with syrup though. Be easier." I laughed again and ruffled his hair, kissing him one last time before straightening. "Go back to sleep," I said softly. "I'll come get you when breakfast is ready." I could hear his breathing even out before I reached the door. Humming to myself, I ambled down the stairs, shivering slightly as my bare feet hit the tile floor of the kitchen. Fix myself some coffee and enjoy the early morning for a little while before I started breakfast. Orlando needed the sleep. Later, I could make the pancakes and take them upstairs to him. Maybe with some fresh orange juice. It had been a long time since we had shared breakfast in bed. After last night, I thought we could both use it. Stopped two steps into the kitchen. Something wrong there. What.... Coffee. I smelled coffee. Someone broke in. No, wait. Burglars wouldn't make coffee. Maybe I was still dreaming. Wouldn't be the first time. "Good morning." I whirled around at the soft voice behind me. Stumbled slightly before I caught myself. Those green eyes watching me calmly. Steadily. His hand calm as he lifted the cup to his mouth, steam curling up from its dark surface as he took a drink. "Sean," I said, my hand resting on the countertop to steady myself. He slowly set the cup back on the table before answering me. "You were expecting Ian, maybe?" Those eyes watched me as I turned my head, looking away from him. Quiet sound as he shifted in his seat in the little corner booth of the breakfast nook. "There's coffee there. Thought you might need it after last night." I nodded. Still wouldn't look at him directly. Didn't want to see the pity in his eyes. Or the disgust. He didn't understand Orlando like I did. Didn't understand how fragile and high strung my tragically beautiful baby boy was. He was silent as I poured a cup of coffee and blew on it before taking a sip. Standing there, holding the cup. Out of things to do that would keep me from having to face him. Hesitated. He didn't say anything, just sat there calmly watching me and drinking his coffee. "You decided to sleep over?" Okay, that was brilliant. If I could do nothing else, I could state the obvious. Of course he had slept over. Why else would he have been in my kitchen at.... Quick glance at the clock on the stove. 6:30 in the morning. Lovely. I hated waking up that early. The rest of the day always sucked beyond belief. But at least Orlando was still asleep. I decided to let him sleep at least another hour if not longer before waking him. "I thought it might be a good idea," Sean said with a small shrug. His snug t-shirt stretched over his shoulders, wrinkling and unwrinkling as he moved. "Ah." I could already tell that it was going to be one of those mornings. My body was awake but my brain was still seemingly asleep. I absently wondered how long it would take it to catch up with the rest of me. "I didn't think it was smart for me to drive back to the hotel after having a few drinks," he said quietly. "And...." Waited several minutes for him to finish his sentence. When he didn't, taking another sip of coffee instead, I looked at him. "And?" Another shrug. "And I was worried about you after last night." "Sean," I said quietly. Tiredly. I didn't want to have this conversation. Sank into the booth across from him. "I'm fine." "Liar," he said with a soft laugh before growing serious again. "You look tired, Viggo." "I am tired. I didn't get much sleep last night," I pointed out, dropping my eyes to my coffee. "None of us got much sleep last night," he said. "Thanks to your demon spawn lover." "Sean," I said. A bit angrier than I should have. His hand lifted in a placating gesture. "Relax, I'm not going to knock him across the room," he said. "Even though he needs it." "Lay off him, Sean," I said. "He's been a little strung out lately, that's all. You know how hard it was for him to adjust to all the fame and hype after the first movie. It's not going to be any better this time." "That's no excuse," he said, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. "The rest of us had just as much of all that to deal with, but none of us started taking drugs and jumping off roofs and just being complete bloody little bastards to the ones we love." "Sean, please." Tired again. So tired. Getting so old. "Don't start th--" "Viggo, you've got to face the facts." He was angry again but controlling it better than he did last night. Maybe because Orlando was still upstairs asleep. "He's got a serious problem and he needs help. Letting him abuse you like he is isn't doing either one of you any good." Looked down at my coffee again. Anger in his eyes. And something else. Too early for all that. Soft click as the heater turned on again. The warm air felt nice as it swirled around my bare feet. The amulet around my neck swung gently, clicking against the tabletop as I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the wooden surface and raking a hand through my hair. "Viggo, if you won't get him help, then for God's sake, man, stop letting him do this to you," Sean said, reaching across the table and grabbing my wrist. I just looked at him. "I'm serious. He's got to grow up and you've got to stop cleaning up after him. You deserve so much more than that." "We had this discussion last night." I made no effort to free my arm. Just sat there looking at him. Watching the expressions flit through his eyes, shying away from the ones I didn't want to see. "And everything I said then is still true now," Sean said, his thumb lightly rubbing across the inside of my wrist. I wondered if he was aware he was doing it. "You've got to stop letting him treat you like he does." "You don't know him like I do," I said quietly, shifting on the bench and pulling one foot up. The leather of the seat was warm where my leg had been. Rest my foot there, free arm draped over my knee, looking at him calmly. "I know him well enough to know he's not the same Orlando that I first met in New Zealand. He's a little shit now," he said. More anger there. I sighed. "Sean, he --" "Damn it, Viggo!" He said, releasing my arm with a little shove. "Why can't you see what he's doing to you? The little bastard's got you wrapped around his finger and you're oblivious to it all! You're my best friend." His voice was gentler, quieter, his eyes concerned as he studied my face. "I care about you. I don't want to see him hurt you any more than he's already done." Another sigh. I raked my fingers through my hair and then dropped my hands to the table. Blue paint under my fingernails. Surprised I missed that before. My hands shook slightly so I laced my fingers together, clenching them tightly. Why was he doing this? Why now? "Sean, I want you to listen to me," I said softly, my eyes still on my hands. "I have lived with Orlando for three years. I have loved him for three years. I know him better than you or Ian or Lij or anyone. Do you think I don't know he has faults?" "Viggo --" Held up my hand. Looked at him. Smiled faintly when his mouth closed. "Just listen, alright? Orlando is my lover. But more importantly he's my best friend aside from you. He's my entire life now. I love him. I'm in love with him. I will always be in love with him. He's a part of me now and, for better or worse, that's not going to change. I can't...I won't stop loving him just because he's going through a rough time right now. That's not love, Sean, and you know it. I can't love him when he's in a good mood and then stop loving him when he has a bad day, it j--" "He's having a lot of bad days, I think," Sean snapped. "And I don't call taking acid and jumping off the roof a bad day. That's fucked up, Viggo!" A quiet sound from the doorway. As one, both Sean and I looked, me with relief, him with an expression that could only be described as frustrated at best. Orlando stood there watching us with sleepy eyes. His hair -- that wonderfully silky, dark hair that I could spend hours brushing or running my fingers through -- stood out in all different directions. Sometimes it was hard to tell if Orlando had brushed his hair that day or not. It was so adorable. Looking at him there -- his hair all tousled, his eyes heavy with sleep, a blanket wrapped around his body, bare feet peeking out from beneath it and curling away from the cold tile -- I felt such an overwhelming rush of love for him that I had to close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing. It hurt that much. "Mornin', angel," I said quietly. The room brightened when he smiled at me. I held out my hand and ignored the dark look Sean gave me. So graceful as he walked to me and took my hand, letting me pull him down into the booth beside me. Sean glowered, but he did it silently. "Good morning," Orlando murmured, rubbing his eyes and nestling against my side. So warm. I loved the way his body felt against mine, the way it fit so nicely when we sat like that. Deliberately, I curled an arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. "Did we wake you?" "No." He shook his head slightly. "You weren't there so I --" "You look like shit, Orlando," Sean said. Orlando's head dropped and I didn't have to see his face to know that tears filled his eyes. "Damn it, Sean --" "No, love, it's okay," Orlando said very softly. He lifted his head and looked at Sean. Sometimes I hated being right. Those beautiful, dark eyes glistened with tears and dark circles marred the delicate skin beneath them. His chin tilted at a defiant angle, he gazed at Sean steadily as his fingers gripped my thigh beneath the table. Sean just looked at him without speaking, his face expressionless. "Orlando," I said, then grew quiet when he patted my leg and smiled faintly. "I know I don't look my best, Sean," he said in that soft, richly accented voice. "It's because I...I haven't been sleeping very well lately as Viggo can tell you. And I haven't been feeling very well. I think --" "Maybe you'd feel better and be able to sleep if you'd lay off the drugs and booze," Sean said. All the cards out on the table, just like that. Orlando's face paled considerably and his eyes grew even bigger if that were possible. He sat there silently, looking at Sean. His lower lip trembled slightly and it took all my restraint to keep from leaping over the table and belting Sean. A tiny quiver and then he tightened his lips. His hand was icy when I covered it with mine. Those long fingers twisted and turned, finally lacing with mine and clutching tightly. Through it all, his eyes never left Sean. "Well," he said. Never raised his voice when he was hurting. But I could tell. "That's a...a rather blunt way of...of starting the morning." "How long, Orlando?" Sean asked, watching him intently. I wanted to speak, but Orlando's hand tightened on mine. "How long what?" So much dignity and elegance. So, so painfully beautiful. "How long have you been taking drugs?" "Stop it, Sean," I said. Too much emotion. Too much everything for this conversation. Too early. "Just leave him alone." "Stop babying him, Viggo," Sean said. "He's an adult, make him act like it!" "Please," Orlando said. Softly. Wounded sounding. His face so calm as he spoke, his eyes looking so much older than they should. "Don't fight. I don't want to be the cause of you two fighting." Sean opened his mouth to say something and apparently thought better of it when I glared at him. Slowly, calmly, Orlando stood up, holding the blanket tightly around his slender body. Such a sad look on his face. "Mi corazón es tuyo," I whispered as I kissed his fingers before releasing his hand. He smiled and touched my cheek. "I know. And mine is yours," he said. His smile faded when he looked at Sean. "About last night. I...I acted badly and said some things I shouldn't have and I...I'm sorry, Sean. It won't happen again." Never losing his dignity, he turned and left the kitchen. I could hear his soft footsteps as he climbed the stairs and walked over our heads to the bedroom. Didn't look away from Sean until it was once more silent upstairs. He just stared into his cup of now cold coffee, an almost painful mix of emotions on his face. And so the day was shot all to hell before it ever started. And to think that there were still the London and New York premieres left. Joy. This was going to be a long fucking week. + + + It was dark when I returned home and all the lights in the house were off. Double checked my watch, but it was still too early for Orlando to be in bed. Figuring he must have went off somewhere with the hobbits, I let myself in and dropped my keys on the small table in the foyer. Wonderful. After the truly awful morning, I hadn't been looking forward to spending the evening by myself. Though, with the way things had been lately, it probably wasn't such a bad idea. Ouch. Didn't realize the corner of that table was so close. Guess I could look forward to a bruise on my shin for the next week or so. My day had sucked to put it bluntly. First the argument with Sean and then all the appointments with agents and press people and the gallery. Didn't think I'd attend the opening of my next exhibit. Instead, I thought I might put myself and Orlando on a plane and fly somewhere warm and sunny. Somewhere that didn't require us to wear a lot of clothing. Banging my shin on a table that hadn't moved in over two years didn't help to improve matters. And Orlando, apparently, wasn't home. Fuck. I sighed and paused for a moment to fully get my bearings. Smile as I remembered how Orlando had been when I left this morning. All soft and warm and loving, kissing me sweetly before drifting back off to sleep under the blankets. Another sigh when I remembered the early flight we had the next morning in order to make the New York premiere. "Don't, please." That soft voice halted my hand as I reached for a light switch. Glad it's dark to hide the smile that lit up my face at hearing him. Soft rustling sounds across the room. If I tried, I could just make out his silhouette in the gloom. "What's wrong?" Trying to keep my voice light. He didn't usually sit in the dark like that. A quiet laugh sent a thrill of joy through me. That was my Orlando. That laugh belonged to the beautifully angelic creature who had become so much a part of my life. "Nothing's wrong, love." Tiny jump at his closeness, his voice sounding as if he was right beside me. Warm fingers found my hand in the dark. How did he move so quietly? Sometimes I thought the spirit of Legolas had taken over his body. "Then why are we in the dark?" "You'll see." Amusement in his voice. I didn't mind. It felt too good to have him there with me like that. I figured he must be up to something -- hopefully nothing that involved leaping off the roof -- and let him lead me into the dining room. Once there, we were no longer in the dark. He released my hand and moved across the room to stand by the table. Watching me. Those dark, dark eyes sparkling, a little anxious as they studied me. I stared in amazement. Sitting in the center of the table was a lit candlabra. Spread around it was an array of food that smelled absolutely heavenly. Slowly, my eyes taking everything in, I walked closer. He was definitely nervous. I could tell by the tiny movements he made as he shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other. Explained how he was able to move so quietly in the living room. "Orlando, what," I gestured vaguely at the table. "What's all this?" "This is dinner," he said. Loved that shy note in his voice. "Grilled salmon, wild rice, steamed broccoli, and salad. And there's a bottle of...." Tiny pause as he swallowed, his hands twisting together. "Wine in the fridge. It's been chilling since you left. And um, there's flan for dessert. I thought...I thought we could have dinner together like we used to so I...I made it and --" Silenced his words the best way possible. I kissed him. So wonderful when he melted against me, his arms going around my neck, his lips parting beneath mine as he kissed me back. The wonder in his eyes when we broke apart, the moist fullness of his lips, the rosy flush of his skin in the candlelight. I would have completely forgotten about dinner if he hadn't stepped back and smiled. "Sit," he said softly, still smiling. "I'll go get the wine." Only then did I notice him. It seemed he had made an all out effort. Other than the bare feet anyway. Those long legs were encased in freshly washed denim and his shirt was surprisingly subdued. A deep red, the cuffs draped over the backs of his hands and the top few buttons were unbuttoned, allowing tantalizing glimpses of his smooth chest. His hair was tousled, still damp from the shower, and that wonderful, wonderful spicy Orlando-scent clung to him, filling the air around me. And then he was back, still smiling, those beautiful dimples firmly in place. Hesitation before pouring the wine. Quiet, so unlike him, as he seated himself across from me. I was enthralled by the way the tiny flames shimmered off his porcelain skin. Captivated by the way his mouth moved when he chewed. Dinner was wonderful, a combination of the excellent food -- something he continually surprised me with -- and his company. He was more like himself than he had been in months. Almost as if he was easier in his own skin. Almost. Every so often, I'd catch a fleeting, haunted look in his eyes as he lifted his glass to his lips. The same glass that he refilled only once and then sipped for the rest of the evening. "Don't," he said halfway through dessert, reaching across to touch the back of my hand. I looked at him, slightly confused. "Don't what?" "Don't brood. Not tonight." Such a soft voice. A touch of begging in those words. "I'm sorry, angel," I said and smiled at him, happy beyond belief when he smiled back. "I'm doing it again, aren't I? He nodded. "Don't think tonight, love. Please. Let's just...." A graceful shrug and he slid from his chair, moving around to kneel beside my chair, his hand on mine, those dark eyes looking up at me beseechingly. "For tonight, let's just be." Such a simple request. One I had no wish to deny because it was what I wanted more than anything else in the world. If Sean could see him like he was then, at that exact moment, he would understand. He'd know how it was so easy for me to fall in love with this charming sprite. He would see the shining perfection that I had known from the beginning was there under the slightly rough, hyper puppy exterior. If Sean could just see Orlando, he'd love him as much as I did. I smiled softly and cupped his jaw in my hand. "For you, amado*, anything," I said. So much love when he turned his face to nuzzle my hand. "You know you have only to ask." He nodded, catching my wrist in his hands and kissing my palm, my fingers, his eyes meeting mine. Candlelight sparkling in those midnight pools. A flash of pink as his tongue swept across his bottom lip. His scent filling my nostrils, making me lightheaded as he leaned closer, his mouth touching the corner of mine. "I love you," he whispered and then stood before I could reply. Smiling as he pulled me out of my chair. His hand so warm in mine as he led me from the dining room, his bare feet whispering across the carpet. So graceful as he backed up the stairs, pulling me with him, his eyes locked to mine. Slight confusion as he left me at the bedroom door, touching my lips lightly with his fingers before vanishing into the darkness. Scant minutes passed and he was back, taking my hands in his and drawing me forward. I stepped into our bedroom and blinked. It seemed he had been busy. The room was clean. He had even managed to find someplace to hide all the stray pieces of paper that I scribbled on when nothing else was handy. There was a lit candle on every flat surface. But the bed...the bed stunned me. Black satin sheets covered with white rose petals. I looked at him and only then realized that he had shed his shirt. Standing there, his hands deep in his pockets, he was once more nervous, his eyes moving from the bed to me and back again. This was the Orlando I had fallen in love with. Shy, a litle unsure of himself, nervous, and so achingly, painfully beautiful that it hurt to look at him sometimes. "I thought that, well...I've been pretty rotten lately," he said softly, looking at the floor as his toes scuffed across the carpet. "And this morning...Sean was right. I...I have been a shit to you and said some really nasty things and --" "I love you," I said softly. Just that. No need for any other words. His face lit up and he smiled. "I love you, too," he replied just as softly, still smiling. Overwhelmed by emotions as he stood there watching me. My feet moved and then I was in front of him, drawing him into my arms and kissing him, his warm, supple body molding itself against mine. I had no memory of him undressing me or of him shedding his jeans. I only knew that we were in bed together, touching and stroking, rose petals clinging to our skin. I could have drowned in his scent -- warm and male, spicy and a little musky, almost earthy, and all Orlando. His skin, under my mouth, tasted of rich cream and cinnamon. I explored every inch of his body, licking and biting, touching, kissing, relishing the warm, raw silk texture of his skin. The way his body moved beneath me, the tiny sounds he made, the way his hands clutched my shoulders and tangled in my hair. Just his aliveness was the most potent aphrodisiac in the world as far as I was concerned. Orlando never did anything half-heartedly, and making love was no exception. For him, it was an all body, full contact sport. A touch of vanilla added to his scent. That smile again. I could drown in that smile. His tongue, dueling with mine, teasing as he licked my throat, my collarbone, my shoulder. His hands on my back as he urged me on, those long, long legs wrapped around my waist. Those sounds -- tiny little gasps and sighs, drawn out moans, soft cries -- so erotic. Our bodies moved together, muscles tightening and relaxing. The feel of his body as I smoothly entered him almost more than I could stand. The slick glide of each thrust. Touching him, tasting him, feeling his mouth and hands on me in return. Nothing turned me on more than watching his face when we made love. The way his eyes widened and then slowly closed with each new sensation. The gentle curve of his lips as they parted to release those small, lovely sounds. Tiny creases in his forehead as his brow furrowed, glistening with crystalline droplets of sweat. The sharp little staccato "ah" sound he made as he approached his release. And the painfully blissful expression when he reached the pinnacle, his body tightening around me so we plunged over the edge almost in tandem. Afterwards, we laid there drifting in the pleasant afterglow, limbs tangled together and rose petals stuck all over us. He snuggled deep into my arms and kissed my jaw. The scent of sex was heavy in the air, but through it all I could smell Orlando's unique fragrance. He mumbled sleepily and pressed his face tightly to the side of my neck. "What?" A soft kiss to his temple, my fingers drifting up to touch his hair. "Love you, Viggo," he murmured, voice barely audible. "Forever and ever. Even if you are an old man." I laughed and tilted his sleepy, grinning face up for a kiss. "I love you, too, little one." continue... * amado - beloved