Author(s): clex_monkie89 and tsukinofaerii
Rating: PG-13 for sexual overtones
Archive: fellow_shippers and viggorli
Disclaimer: Not real, wish it happened.
Notes: The gramar mistake is on purpose. Also this was written over a few days of boredom after seeing The Trilogy and the WB special.
Viggo, fresh from filming and still dressed as Aragorn, spoke with the careful deliberation of someone looking forward to getting shit-faced pissed as soon as the microphone was removed from his face. The reporter, a pretty young thing in too-high heels and a too-short skirt, was busily looking intrested in his latest artistic achievement while trying to flash cleavage. Viggo, the world's most rugged femmeboy, was steadfastly ignoring everything except her eyebrows, which were probably painted on in any case. Just behind the camera's view, Orli rolled his eyes and straightened his green bandana so it covered his pointy ears more comfortably.
The bimbo reporter angled her legs for a better view. "So, Mr. Mortensen — may I call you Viggo?"
As if she didn't hear him — or wasn't paying attention, which was more likely — she smiled a thousand dollar smile. "Viggo, what's your favorite controversial medium? Are you one of those artists who use," a suggestive smile, "bodily fluids to make a statement?" More leg.
Orli held back a snicker and moved on camera, flashing his own smile and taking a place right beside Viggo's shoulder on the log. He tried to look like he was supposed to be there, and to ignore the "Glares of Mount Doom" that the reporter was throwing at him.
The beleaguered actor actually brightened just a little. "Yes, actually." He didn't even notice the elf's presence, being too busy fending off the husband-hungry idiot.
"My favorite is blood."
The floozy went a little pale, but rallied bravely. "I understand you like photography as well."
"Well, yes, but nothing very advanced. These days I mostly take picture of the cast."
Moving carefully, so as not to warn his target with sudden movement, Orli reached out and rubbed Viggo's shoulder. No repsonse. He frowned. Viggo kept talking.
"Mainly I take shots in the Make Up Trailer and on-set, but I get one or two gems from other places..."
Still moving slowly, Orlando reached out and petted his friend's hair, reminded vaguely of a puppy he'd known as a child. Once again, Viggo didn't even batt an eye. The reporter looked like she wanted to rip the elf's balls off — apparently the rumors about his sexuality had reached her. Even better.
He patted "the King's" head, somehow not surprised when Viggo kept rambling about angles and lenses. A nudge on the shoulder received the same lack of response, as did a small push. It was time to get serious.
Looking directly at the camera, Orli gave the camera-lens an award-winning smile, straight off the script as Legolas's "smug bastard" look. Turning back to the artist, he very deliberately darted his hand out and cupped Viggo's crotch, giving it a good squeeze before letting go and jumping out of range of retalaition. The reporter's bleached hair stood on end — the hissing must have been audible to the trailers.
Viggo's grey-blue eyes widened in shock as wobbled and started to fall backwards, but in a girlie-manlyishly way. His arms flailed as he tried to save his balance. Orli, seeing the coming disaster in a frighteningly familariar way, hooked an arm over his shoulders and hauled him upright.
"Ahem," Viggo coughed, straightening himself and recovering quickly. "Thank you."
The woman sat up straighter. If looks could kill, Orlando would have been very much alive. While being skinned, cooked, gutted and gang-banged by rabid bunny rabbits. A switch visibly flipped in her brain, as very suddenly, to her, Orli was Not There. So Not There, in fact, that there was a screaming void in his place. "Where were we?"
"You were asking about whether I use live models or not," Viggo filled in casually.
There was a pause. Everyone waited for someone else to comment.
"Well? Do you?" the bimbo finally asked.
"Of course not. Only certain people model for me."
Her teeth were grinding. Orli could clearly see them. Yet another plan blossomed under his bandana.
The reporter kept trying, the poor womnan. "Why only certain people?"
"Well, for one, it's hard to find a person that fits the right image, or that can put up with my schedule..."
"Who fits your image?"
Tanned skin caught the fading sunlight as Viggo smiled. "Well, Orlando does occasionally. It started when..."
While Viggo explained how Orlando had ended up passed-out drunk while Viggo was in one of his "artistic" moods with an extra roll of duct tape at hand, Orli eased out of his chair and slid into his lap. Perching sideways while Viggo's hands naturally moved to rest in his lap, still speaking. Beaming for the camera, the elf settled himself comfortably with an arm over Viggo's shoulder.
"It was the most inebriated I'd ever seen him at the time, so I had Dominic and William pin his limbs to the wall..."
While Orli had never quite seen that shade of sunset-red in a human, it wasn't quite enough.
"Elijah's work with the tape was a masterpiece of its own, but Sean claimed that he wasn't guarding the door for nothing, so I had to break out the charcoal and start drawing before he came too..."
On Viggo's lap, Orli moved in for the deepest kiss he'd delivered to a cast-member on-camera yet. At the last moment, Viggo — who was sill determindly oblivious — tilted his weight just a half an ounce in the other direction. Orlando's amazing elven grace came into play as they both rolled backwards off the log and farther down the hill behind them, legs tangling and wig flying. Their journey ended in a sharp splash as the lake broke their fall.
When they finally managed to stop laughing, both received a stern scolding from Nancy in Make Up, who let them know that they should have known better than to let Orli near a reporter.
Later on, Viggo bought Orli a drink in thanks. They then re-enacted the scene for the enlightenment of the hobbits using a barstool and the bar.
The bar tender had the same reation as Nancy, but with more liquor.