Saturday. April 10. 2021


Lost Password?

Register now!
Main Menu
Featured Story
ArWen the Eternally Surprised
Author: Ria Time: 2007/11/22
Arwen encounters a strange monk and gains a little extra time.
Who's Online
7 user(s) are online (6 user(s) are browsing Fanfiction)

Members: 0
Guests: 7


Sharing Warmth
Submitter: Date: 2007/5/20 Views: 210 Rate: 3.50/2
Summary: Title: Sharing Warmth
Author: Michelle
Email: michelle [at]
Summary: Two strangers meet.
Series: Small Alterations (follows “Temptation”, which is posted offsite.)
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo, Orlando/Aragorn
Timeline: early 2000
Beta: Namarie
Genre: crossover, slash, romance, PWP
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Aragorn is Tolkien’s and Orlando and Viggo belong to themselves. Damn.
Author’s Note: After a year I finally came back to this universe. This will make more sense if you have read “Temptation”, because apart from the plotless smut, the frame consists of a continuous backstory.
Keywords: rps viggorli nc17 pwp

The Hours slid fast - as Hours will,
Clutched tight, by greedy hands -
So faces on two Decks, look back,
Bound to opposing lands -

(“Calvaries of Love” Emily Dickinson)


Orlando sat at the far wall of the gym, trying to look studious with the latest printout of script changes on his lap. It was not uncommon to hang out in the gym, to chat with people, make plans for the evening or watch the stunties beat the crap out of each other. But Orlando was here for other reasons. He was here to watch Viggo swordfight.

The older man fought an invisible opponent at the far end of the gym while Bob gave shouted instructions and pointers. It was a strange – yet decidedly sexy – hybrid swinging that sword around, since Viggo was half in his own, half in Aragorn’s clothes. He wore his own jeans and t-shirt, but over that Aragorn’s shaggy coat and dirty boots to get a feeling for how the garments would help or hinder his swings and parries. At the moment he used one of the practise swords, but Orlando knew that he would switch to the steel blade he carried around everywhere as soon as he had memorised the attack they were working on. Viggo was of the firm belief that the movie would look like a cheap fantasy flick if he used the rubber sword on screen. And Orlando had to agree: the fact that Viggo had to put strength and muscle into each of his moves showed on film and made his fights look frighteningly real.

It was what he loved about Viggo: his passion and commitment to things he felt were important. And yet Orlando had decided to watch from afar. He had fallen instantly for the older man, probably as soon as Viggo had stepped off the plane. And Orlando had fallen badly. He caught himself staring at Viggo’s hands when he scribbled notes on the margins of his script. He felt drawn to his smiling eyes and the crow’s feet that crinkled so charmingly when Viggo laughed. And he laughed often! Yes, Orlando had to admit, he was way past saving.

Orlando roused himself from his musings and concentrated on Viggo again. As predicted he switched to the steel blade, giving it a few experimental swings to adjust to the added weight of the weapon. He then began to repeat the attacks and parries Bob had shown him, putting force into each move. Orlando was mesmerized by the display. Those two had been at it for more than an hour now. Viggo’s hair was wet and kept clinging to his face and Orlando could clearly see the sweat running down his neck. And still Viggo repeated the moves time and again, relentless in his need to perfect what he perceived to be essential for Aragorn’s character. From Orlando’s point of view it looked like work, but it also looked effortless, measured, awe-inspiring. He imagined how the scene they were practising would look in the end: when Viggo was in-character and swinging that sword around he could look pretty menacing. Yes, even if there was no question that he was more than attracted to Viggo, there was no use in denying that Aragorn had his merits as well. As of late, it was hard to differentiate between the two. More often than not Viggo stayed in Aragorn’s mindframe throughout the workday. That blend of character was impossible to resist in Orlando’s opinion, so he had given up weeks ago. Instead, he tried to envision what it would be like with Viggo, with Aragorn even, because he just knew he would never work up the courage to actually approach the man.


Orlando sat as close to the small fire he had kindled as he dared. The nights were still freezing cold in March, and he dreaded sleeping under the stars once again. He was alone, cold and miserable, and not for the first time he thought he should just turn around and head home. However, he was too proud to turn tail like that. He would not go back just because of a little bad weather.

Still, he was not at all comfortable out here. He was a simple villager, not a woodsman, and the sounds of the forest in the dead of night were not at all reassuring. And what if he was attacked by wild beasts? He looked at the sword by his side and decided that it would probably not help him much. If any danger presented itself, he was done for, he admitted to himself, and felt strangely detached from the concept.

He sat for a long time, staring into the flames and pondering his fate. Being alone like this gave his mind too much time to think and the same old questions repeated themselves again and again. Questions to which he had found no answers yet.

He was saved from his musings by a sound disturbing the forest. Something or someone was moving through the woods, not far from his own camp. Alarmed, he looked at his fire, realizing that it would draw near whatever creature was lurking in the dark. But it was already too late to trample it out. It was more than likely that he had been spotted long ago.

Once again, he thought that he was no match for whoever roamed these woods, but at the same time he firmly gripped the sword that had been lying by his side. If he had to die here for his foolishness, at least he would go down fighting. He was no coward.

It did not take long for the other to make his presence known. Orlando was standing, the sword held out before him, when a man stepped into the little clearing, a horse following behind obediently. As soon as he spotted Orlando’s defensive pose he raised his hands in a show of surrender, proving that he was not about to attack.

Orlando was not fooled into believing that the stranger was intimidated by his raised weapon. The other had the hardened looks of one who spent a lot of time outside. There was a scabbard hitting against his thigh with every movement and a small bow was slung over his shoulder. He looked like a warrior and Orlando knew he would be dead in a mere moment if that stranger just set his mind to it. Instead, he still had his hands raised, offering peace.

“I saw your fire and was drawn to it. The night is cold and I hoped you would allow me to share its warmth.”

Orlando looked hard at the stranger as if he could pierce the other’s mind and see whether he was to be trusted. The man might still plan to rob or murder him in his sleep. But at the same time Orlando longed for company, someone to share this lonely night with. Maybe it was this simple reasoning that prompted him to take a considerable risk.

The stranger looked dangerous with his weapons and his dark and tattered clothing. But at the same time his face was open and his eyes friendly, he did not shy away from Orlando’s probing gaze. Maybe it would be his death, but Orlando decided to trust the other for now. He slowly lowered his sword, and then sat down again, putting another log on the fire. “You’re welcome to join me,” he invited.

The man gave his horse a pat to make it stay behind and then stepped closer. “My name is Strider. I am a ranger of the north.”

Strider, not something that inspired trust in Orlando, but he would not press the other for his real name now. “I’m Orlando,” he introduced himself. I’m a villager, I’m a runaway, I’m nobody really – he could have said any of those things, but he chose not to.

“Orlando,” Strider repeated the name as if it was a flavour he had never tasted before. “An unusual name, I have never heard it before.”

You’re one to talk, Strider. Orlando kept the thought to himself in the last possible moment, not daring to jest with one he had only met a minute ago. His thoughts must have been clearly visible on his face, though, because to his surprise, Strider began to laugh heartily. The sound startled Orlando and he realized how tense he had been up until now. But he had to admit that the good-natured mirth helped him to relax in stranger’s presence.

“You are right, of course,” Strider said, as if Orlando had actually spoken aloud. “There will be no more talk about either of our names.” Orlando readily nodded his consent.

With that out of the way, Strider put his bow up against a tree trunk. He made to sit next to Orlando, but then another thought occurred to him. “Are you hungry? I shot a rabbit just this afternoon. We could roast it over the fire.”

Orlando was far from telling Strider that he had lived off berries and roots for the last two days. Just thinking of roast rabbit made his mouth water. Before he could give a proper answer, his stomach decided to give a loud grumble and his cheeks turned red in embarrassment.

“I take that as a yes,” Strider said, unfazed. The twinkle was back in his eyes and he headed over to his horse, taking the rabbit down from where it was tethered to the saddle.

They did not talk much while Strider prepared the rabbit, each quietly measuring the other. Orlando observed as the ranger took a small knife from his scabbard and started to prepare the meat with practiced moves. Strider’s face was weathered and Orlando found it hard to determine his age. His eyes were grey and seemed very bright in the firelight. They turned serious as soon as Strider concentrated on his task, faraway even, but every time he looked up at Orlando, warmth and confidence would return to them. His hair was a little lighter than Orlando’s, hanging down to his shoulders in untidy tresses. It seemed he had travelled long and hard before coming upon Orlando’s camp, for his whole appearance was unkempt and weary. Orlando noticed the dirt under the other’s nails and the shadows under his eyes and concluded that maybe he was not the only one desperate for some companionship.

Strider finished his task and hung the rabbit over the fire to roast. While the silence between them had been comfortable as long as Strider had worked, it now turned heavy. They both sat silently, each gazing into the flames as if they would provide the answers to all their questions.

Time stretched endlessly with only the sounds of crackling flames between them until Orlando could not take it any more. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Where are you headed?”

Strider looked up, startled, as if he had already forgotten he was not alone. It took him a few moments to decide whether and how he should answer. “Home,” he shrugged.

Again silence started to stretch between them, but this time Strider seemed to notice it, too. He acknowledged Orlando’s attempt to start a conversation, noting that his answer had been cryptic and not at all forthcoming.

“That is to the north, west of the Misty Mountains,” he added.

“Is it far?” Orlando asked, always interested in everything that had to do with faraway lands.

“Very.” Aragorn smiled a little. “It will probably take me another three or four weeks to get there.”

“It must be exciting to see distant lands and different customs,” Orlando mused. “I have never seen anything else but my village.”

Strider raised one eyebrow in question and reached forward to turn the rabbit.

“Until now, that is,” Orlando admitted.

“What made you change your mind?”

What should Orlando answer to that question? The truth? Most certainly not. It was too personal, too intimate to share those things with a stranger. Maybe Strider would feel affronted.

The other man noticed Orlando’s indecision and tried to put him at ease. “I did not mean to pry. If you would rather not talk about it, I will not force you. But I have found that sometimes it is easier to confide in a stranger than in a friend.” He paused, searching for words, but gave up in the end. “In any case, I think the meat is done.”

And nothing more was spoken of it. Strider busied himself to divide the meat between them and then produced some half-decent bread from his pack, which he graciously shared with Orlando. The younger man meanwhile was thankful that the topic had been dropped.

They ate heartily. Earlier in the evening Orlando had resigned himself to the fact that he would not eat anything substantial for quite some time now that his provisions had nearly run out. That a stranger had courtesy enough to share his own game with Orlando was something that surprised him.

Strider had sprinkled the meat with some greenery taken from the depths of his packs. The herbs gave the rabbit a delicious taste and Orlando took one bite after another, savouring the unexpected delicacy. He grinned at Strider, his lips greasy, and Strider grinned back without stopping to chew.

Easy conversation developed while they ate. Strider shared how he had caught the rabbit, probably exaggerating a bit to make it sound more adventurous. Orlando admired the ranger’s beautiful horse, asking all sorts of questions. His family had never been wealthy enough to own a horse. All they had was a bony donkey. During his childhood he would ride that donkey back from the fields, imagining it to be a mighty charger. The story amused Strider and he told anecdotes from his own childhood, so that Orlando would not have to be the only one feeling embarrassed about his childhood endeavours.

The fire burned merrily as the storytelling went on and even though the evening turned late neither of them was ready to sleep yet. It seemed each was thankful for the company and none wanted to end the reprieve from their lonely travels quite yet.

Strider had been throwing Orlando’s sword glances since he had arrived, but he waited for a lull in their conversation to finally address the matter of the weapon.

“That is a fine sword you have there, Orlando.” Orlando had to admit that the sword was quite beautiful, certainly a more striking weapon than the one Strider carried. But Strider would be able to wield his sword, while Orlando... would not.

“It’s my father’s.” He decided to reveal a little more information. Maybe, just maybe Strider had been right in his assumption that sometimes it was easier to talk to a stranger than to a friend. “It always hung over the mantelpiece.”

Strider nodded. “I imagine it did. That is not a weapon one would use to fight.” He gave Orlando a measuring look.

“Why not? It is a sword. I sharpened it.”

“Well, yes. But I have seen its like before. It has a more... ornamental nature. Usually it is given to a Gondorian soldier for exceptional service. It is the highest compliment the Steward can pay one of his subjects. So it would be held in high regard. That usually ensures that it is not used, but displayed in a place of honour.”

How could he have not known any of this? As long as he could remember, the sword had been in his father’s possession, but never had there been talk about how he had come by it. Could it be that he had earned the sword by faithful service? Orlando thought of his father and tried to imagine him as a soldier. He failed; he could see nothing more than the farmer and strict parent.

“You did not know any of this?” Strider’s question roused him from his thoughts and he shook his head mutely.

“How did you?” he asked in return.

“I served in Gondor. For a time.” Envisioning Strider as a soldier was easy enough. His moves were economical as if he had repeated them year after year. From the weapons he had seen on him, Orlando concluded that he was an experienced fighter. And suddenly, he was not sure where the feeling had come from, he envied the man his life. True, it might have been full of hardships, but at least he had not spent his years at home, tilling fields and feedings cows.

“I wish I could see the White City,” Orlando said with a faraway look.

“Are you headed there?”

The question caught Orlando unawares. Where was he headed? He had not even thought about it.

“I’m not headed anywhere.”

“What are you doing out here, then?” And again they were at the point where Orlando could either move ahead and confide in the ranger or he could refuse the opportunity and keep his mouth shut. Strider had offered to lend an ear and something in Orlando told him that it would not be used against him. Something told him that Strider could be trusted.

“Are you married, Strider?” Orlando asked, wanting to test the waters. He could not truly imagine the man as a husband, but on the other hand even rangers married and had children.

Something flitted across Strider’s face, but it was gone so fast that Orlando had no time to put a name to it. “No,” Strider answered his question with an indifferent voice.

“Me neither,” Orlando provided. “Though my father wishes it were otherwise.”

Strider nodded, acknowledging that they had entered new territory and that Orlando had finally found the trust he needed to tell his story.

“I’m his only child and he wishes I would marry and father children. He wants the farm to stay in the family.” There was a frustrated tone to Orlando’s voice now and he threw a stick at the fire with a little more force than was necessary.

“But you do not want the same?” Strider clarified.

Orlando snorted. “He presented his choice for a wife to me, a girl from the next village. Pretty thing, I deem.” He shrugged.

Strider seemed to mull over what Orlando had said so far, coming to his own conclusions. “You do not want to marry her?” he asked. And then, after a short pause, “Or you do not want to marry?”

Orlando looked up sharply at Strider’s words. He looked into the other’s eyes, trying to find the deeper meaning of the man’s words. Maybe he had misunderstood; maybe the question truly was as innocent as it sounded. However, when he threatened to drown in Strider’s perceptive gaze, his serious eyes, he found understanding and encouragement there.

“I don’t want to marry.” Orlando thought he had only found the strength to answer because of the reassurance he found in Strider’s eyes.

“Marriage is not for everyone,” Strider said seriously. Orlando added under his breath, “Women are not for everyone,” and instantly felt his cheeks turn red. He hoped Strider had neither heard his words nor seen his flushed face, but unfortunately he was wrong on both accounts. The ranger seemed to have very sharp hearing.

“Very true.” He looked at Orlando long and hard, which only caused his flush to deepen. “There is no shame in that, Orlando.”

He could not believe his ears. Could it be? Could it be that this man would not accuse him, not lecture him, not call him an abomination? Strider would not detest him for the fact that he found no interest in women? It was hard to accept. He had only shared this information with one other person and he had thrown him out of the house. “You’re not my son,” he had called out, his face contorted with fury, anger and shame. Orlando had packed a few things, had grabbed the sword just to spite his father one last time. And then he had left.

“Listen to you heart.” Strider’s voice roused him from his dark recollections. “It will hardly lead you wrong.” And to give his words more incentive, Strider did something extraordinary. He took Orlando’s hand and held it tightly in his own.

Orlando was shocked into silence. It was such an intimate gesture and yet it was given freely by one he had only met a few hours earlier. Orlando could feel the rough texture of the other’s skin, the warmth he seemed to infuse him with, and felt comforted. All tension left his body now that his confession had taken a great burden off his soul. For the first time in his adult life he felt free. Free and accepted, no strings attached.

Strider seemed to notice the change in Orlando as well, because he turned to the younger man and smiled. Orlando’s hand still rested comfortably in Strider’s larger one, but with a thrill he noticed that the other let his thumb stroke Orlando’s palm. It was a tentative touch, shy even, a vanguard testing Orlando’s reaction. He took a deep breath and decided to simply enjoy the feeling, the tingle that snaked through his body.

Strider appeared pleased with the effect he had on Orlando and became bolder. “When I came upon your camp I asked to share your fire’s warmth. Would you let me share your warmth as well?”

Orlando drew in a sharp breath. And another, and another. Leaving his home had meant running from his problems. But here, in the midst of nowhere, it seemed that a stranger was willing to fulfil his most secret desire. Strider looked at him, apprehension and anticipation in equal measure on his features and Orlando felt unable to refuse the man’s request. He would finally learn what a lover’s touch felt like. Right here and right now.

Orlando nodded his consent, not trusting his voice to be steady. Strider did not waste any time, but sat closer – within easy touching distance. He leaned into Orlando and for a moment he could see Strider’s clear eyes, two bright spots in the dark. He wanted to hold the other’s gaze, drown in those eyes. He tried, tried hard, but his body betrayed him and without his notice his eyes fluttered closed. Strider’s lips were on his own, careful at first, giving Orlando time to adjust. Even though Strider had appeared weathered and hardened, his lips were soft and his breath hot on Orlando’s skin. The ranger’s tongue snaked out, wetting Orlando’s lips, tracing their contours, gently licking the corners and involuntarily, Orlando’s breath quickened. Never had he felt thus, so connected, wanted, desired. He meant to exhale, but instead a low moan left his mouth. His lips parted slightly and as if Strider had only waited for this opportunity, he let his tongue dip in, exploring this unknown territory.

Nothing could have prepared Orlando for the feelings flooding his body. Warm restlessness took hold of him and he yearned for something more, something he had no name for yet. Tentatively, he let his own tongue meet with Strider’s and soon they found a rhythm that made Orlando’s nerves sing. It was pleasurable, Strider’s soft lips and the sweet intrusion of his tongue. But all too soon, at least in Orlando’s mind, the kiss ended and he was left panting and wanting more.

Strider’s face was only inches from his own and his eyes had turned three shades darker. “This was your first kiss,” he stated, not making it a question. His tone was far from mocking and it eased Orlando’s mind that he would not be laughed at for his inexperience. He did not confirm Strider’s statement since there was no need. Instead he held his position, so close to the other, and waited what else this night would bring.

Strider was not idle for long. He leaned into Orlando once again, his lips seeking Orlando’s mouth and this time he knew what to expect. With each touch, each beat of his heart he became bolder and soon met Strider’s tongue stroke for stroke. He felt the ranger’s breath quicken, his exhales cooling the heated skin of his face.

Strider’s kiss left him breathless. The sensation made him sway, but Strider’s hands were quick to steady him, embracing all of him in his strong arms. He held him, not slacking in his kiss, but then his hands seemed to acquire a life of their own. Orlando felt them rub his back, his arms. Strider’s hands were on his thighs, his hips, his ass, the back of his head. They were everywhere at once, restless. And even if there were three layers of clothing between his skin and Strider’s touch, it felt as if a torch was held against his flesh wherever Strider caressed him. It was a welcome fire though, setting him aflame without hurting him and he craved for more of Strider’s expert touches.

The ranger appeared to have read his mind, because his hands sneaked under Orlando’s clothing. He felt a button rip apart when Strider could not find a way in, but neither of them stopped in their caresses and when finally Strider’s hand was on Orlando’s naked flesh – nothing between them any more – the younger man desperately pressed into the touch.

Strider was not satisfied though. “I want to see you – your skin, so young and flawless.” He did not wait for permission from Orlando, but worked his clothes off of him, until he sat naked and exposed. The chill of the night tried to work its way into his body, but Strider prevented that. He attacked Orlando anew, his hands roaming seemingly everywhere and Orlando was unable to deal with all the new sensations that flooded his body. He heard sounds, needy and unguarded, and only slowly did he realize that he himself was making them. Moans, hisses, laboured breaths all left him in quick succession. He tried to keep them in, but Strider noticed the change at once and doubled his efforts to draw sounds of pleasure from Orlando.

That the ranger was set on bringing Orlando pleasure alerted the younger man to the fact that he done nothing so far to reciprocate the feeling. He was a quivering mass in Strider’s hands, unable to form coherent thought. But Strider was giving him a gift, a gift so unexpected and beautiful that he wanted to give something in return. That alone gave him the strength to lift his hands and shyly, with inexperienced touches, explore Strider’s body.

The ranger was still fully clothed, but Orlando was determined to do something about it. With little grace, but the best of intentions, he did what Strider had done before. With fumbling fingers he tried to remove the other man’s clothes and probably would have never succeeded, had not Strider been more than willing to help him in his task. Orlando could see that the other’s grey eyes had turned dark, black pools of passion that reflected the firelight like precious stones. Their breaths misted between them, the only reminder that the night was cold, and when Orlando saw Strider’s exposed chest it was slick with sweat. It seemed the other was not unaffected either by their exploring touches.

The firelight was kind, veiling large parts of Strider’s skin in shadow, but Orlando’s eyes were sharp and he saw the scars marring much of his naked skin. It looked as if a twisted artist had drawn a map on the other’s flesh and had used arrow and sword, fire and pain to leave his mark. Orlando gulped, his vivid imagination providing stories behind the scars and he chided himself for envying the ranger his life. A naive thought it had been, he realized now. For he would wish this pain on no one, certainly not on the one who had gifted him with nothing but understanding and gentle touches so far.

“So many scars, so much pain.” He could not keep the words from tumbling out, subconsciously wishing Strider would ease his mind with lies. Only now did he realize that he had stilled, trapped by the display and looking up into Strider’s face he could see the other’s indecision. Insecurity even, something that looked alien on the ranger’s face. Surprised, he realized that Strider feared he would not find him appealing. The man did not know that his hesitation had been born out of sympathy rather than repulsion and he wished to put Strider at ease.

His hand, that had fallen into his lap, reached out tentatively and his fingers touched the ridges of a prominent scar on Strider’s chest. It ran from his shoulder down to his ribcage and mesmerized, Orlando’s finger followed its path, feeling the bumps, the welts and finally the goosebumps that started to appear on Strider’s skin. Strider was sitting still as if awaiting Orlando’s next move, but when he realized that Orlando was not deterred a visible shudder went through his body and his own hands once again took up their exploration. Nothing more was spoken of it.

At some point they found themselves on the ground, tumbling down in a mess of hands and feet and tangled tongues, but once again Strider took the lead and pressed his body flush against Orlando’s. He gasped when he felt the ranger’s prominent arousal against his thigh, but his passion was greater that his fear of the unknown and he lifted his hips in invitation, proving that he was just as aroused.

“Ssh, slow down. The night is still young,” Strider soothed in a low voice. It was then that Orlando learned that not only a mouth could be kissed. Strider’s soft lips suckled on the sensitive skin of his throat. His mouth closed over Orlando’s nipples, first one then the other, and worried the buds until Orlando feared he would go mad with unresolved passion. His arousal was demanding attention and once again reading the signs in his partner right, Strider left his task and moved down, placing kisses here and there until finally his lips closed around Orlando’s arousal. In his surprise he bucked his hips to get as much of this warm wet heat as he could, but Strider held him down with firm hands, licking and sucking and leaving Orlando floating steadily towards completion. He had touched himself before, of course, but nothing had felt this perfect, this arousing, and it did not take many swirls of Strider’s tongue until Orlando found his release, lying spent and boneless afterwards.

When reality started to make its way into the haze of his mind, Orlando noticed that Strider was far from done and when the ranger’s fingers explored parts of him that made him blush, he was too relaxed and mellow to help or hinder the man. The caresses felt strange at first and it took a while until Orlando adjusted to this new feeling. However, Strider never rushed his effort and took his time to stroke and explore until Orlando’s breaths again came in quick succession and his cock stirred.

Strider’s face hovered above his own after the man had once again placed himself above Orlando, rubbing his arousal against Orlando’s slowly reawakening one. “So eager,” Strider chuckled, but the chuckle ended abruptly in a gasp when the ranger experimentally pushed into Orlando, his length evoking all sorts of different emotions in Orlando.

He had not been prepared for the sudden intrusion and tensed involuntarily, but Strider held himself in check and stroked Orlando’s thigh to calm him. “Relax. I promise you will like it.” So far, Strider had not led him wrong and it was easy for Orlando to trust the other once more. He relaxed visibly and when Strider rocked into him, again and again claiming more of Orlando with each thrust, he found that his trust had not been misplaced.

It was bliss, to be connected in such a fashion. To feel Strider move within him, touch his innermost self, set his own passion aflame once again. Orlando started to move in time with Strider’s strokes, let his hands roam the other’s back and sought Strider’s mouth. They were one, a connection more intimate was impossible and Orlando saw stars when Strider touched something within him that caused his hips to rock off the ground.

None of them spoke. Only their laboured breaths and the sounds of skin against skin filled the little clearing, but even so a deeper understanding passed between them. And when Orlando came for a second time, drawing Strider with him, he realized that his heartache had led him to this place, this man and that he could never regret what had happened here.

They came to rest close to each other, drawing the clothes and blankets over them while they still touched. Strider’s eyes were veiled now, hiding what he was thinking, but still he sought the other’s mouth and Orlando fell asleep to the feeling of Strider’s lips on his own.

The next day dawned bright and the air was fresh and crisp at this early hour. Orlando awoke with a start, missing the body heat of the man he had spent the night with. He realized that he was alone and a quick scan of his surroundings told him that both Strider and the horse were gone. The fire had burned low to glowing embers and Orlando’s ire rose. Strider had woken something in him that had lain slumbering for so long. He felt so full of new emotions that he feared he would burst if he could not talk about this experience – or better, repeat it. And now the one who had awoken his slumbering passion was gone without a word of goodbye.

But when he fully rose, he found that Strider had left the rest of the meat for him together with some bread and two apples. He had gone on, a lone wanderer in this vast land, leaving many things between them unsaid. But he had parted with Orlando’s well-being in mind, and somehow that eased Orlando’s heartache.

Orlando spent another day in the clearing, unable to part with the place. But when the next day dawned, he could no longer ignore that his provisions were running out and that he needed to come upon civilization soon. He never returned home, and instead turned his steps south. The White City would provide a home for him, he was sure. And maybe, sometime in the future, Strider would find his way back there as well...

Orlando never lost the hope that the ranger would one day step back into his life, but it would be many years until they met again. It was after the enemy had nearly destroyed Minas Tirith and the citizens laboured to clean away dirt and stone when word came that the king would ride through the city. People were lining up on the streets, curious to see who would come to claim the throne in this time of need and of course Orlando was amongst the onlookers, trying to catch a glimpse of the king and his entourage. He had heard that rangers were riding with the king, that indeed they were the king’s kin and hope flared to life that maybe Strider would be among the riders or that one of the rangers would know him and could tell him news.

Shouts and cheers alerted him that the group of riders was nearing his place and he strained his neck to catch a glimpse. At first, Orlando did not even realize what he was seeing. His night with Strider had been long ago and maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. So when he saw Strider riding at the head of the column, his mind simply refused to make the connection.

The crowd cheered and laughed, calling the king’s name and throwing flowers and Orlando saw Strider nod and smile and wave at the people. Strider’s eyes fell on him, their grey as piercing as it had been those many years ago, and he saw recognition dawn.

The next thing he knew was Strider’s hands clasping his, his face near his own, calling him.

“Orlando! I never thought I would see you again!” And again he called, “Orlando?”

“My king?” Orlando forced out, still too surprised for a more elaborate response.



“Orlando! Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Mhm?” The amused voice had pulled him from his musings and a furious blush settled on his face when he noticed who had tried to get his attention.

“Viggo?” Just his luck that Viggo would come up to him when he was caught in one of his daydreams. Time to save face.

“Sorry, was working on my script,” he tried and Viggo looked down on the script in his lap and chuckled heartily.

“Nice doodles.”

Orlando blushed even more. Dammit, why did all the embarrassing situations always have to happen to him?

It seemed quite some time had passed. The gym was all but empty. Viggo had showered and changed. His hair was still wet and he smelled of water and soap. His eyes twinkled in amusement and the corners of his mouth showed a decidedly upward tilt. It was not the ‘I’m-all-kinds-of-crazy’ smile Viggo wore from time to time, but rather the ‘I’m-amused-by-things-nobody-else-will-find-funny’ smile, so there was no reason to be overly alarmed. Yet.

“Anyway,” Viggo took up his one-sided conversation once more, “I was wondering whether you’d like to come down to the pub tonight. Sean is depressed and set on getting drunk as fuck. And since he’ll force one beer after the other on me I’d be grateful if you could tag along and tell me when to stop,” he winked.

Watching Sean and Viggo getting drunk? They could do that without him, but he would be damned if he refused an invitation from Viggo.

Orlando gulped. “Umm, sure. Why not.” It seemed he was not able to speak in complete sentences at the moment. But how could he when his script printout was the only thing keeping Viggo from seeing the prominent bulge in his jeans?

“I’ll pick you up at 9, elf boy!” Viggo called and left, thankfully.

So, another night in close proximity to Viggo and in the end Orlando would go home alone and wank in the shower.

But maybe today would be the day he’d finally work up the courage to approach Viggo. One had the right to dream, after all!

- The End
(May, 2007)

The comments are owned by the poster. We aren't responsible for their content.

Powered by XOOPS 2.0 © 2001-2003. Tolkien created The Lord of the Rings. This website is an hommage and has no intention of earning money with these stories. Please see stories for additional disclaimers. Design by, modified by Michelle.