Chapter Text
Title: The First Time...The Last Time
Pairing: ViggoMortensen/Orlando Bloom
The first time I saw you it was like a bolt of lightning down my spine. There you were all long limbed grace, melted chocolate eyes, cheekbones that could draw blood and of course that ridiculous Mohawk that now makes you cringe.
You were smiling and laughing with a group of young men I quickly learned was 'the Hobbits 'n' Orli'. I couldn't stop staring, I felt like a teenager with a sudden and embarrassing crush. I honestly tried to be subtle, I tried not to stare, but I'm old enough not to be ashamed of failure. I failed. Quite spectacularly actually, I think the only one who didn't notice was you, or perhaps you were playing hard to get. I never did get around to asking.
The first time I kissed you there was lightning again. It shot down my spine in a way it never used to when you kissed me. And you did kiss me, the way you kissed everyone...even Sir Ian who I knew you were secretly terrified of, your kisses and your flirtations were always shared equally. I remember the night you earned the eternal respect of the Hobbits by chatting up Queen Cate and winning a kiss on the cheek. But you never seemed to notice the way I sought you out, wanted to be near you, went to those clubs you love on the weekends and drank with the Hobbits while you writhed and bounced on the dancefloor. All just to spend time with you.
Around the time I started to think that I was a deluded, perverted, sad old man you asked me to drive you home. You weren't well but didn't want to ruin the Hobbits night out, you said. You didn't say much else in the car, which worried me, uncomfortable silence doesn't suit you. You fiddled with the bracelets on your wrist and stared out the window. When I pulled into your driveway you barely noticed and then with a burst as sudden as summer thunder you turned on me.
"Jesus Vig are you ever going to make your move?" God, the sweetest words I've ever heard! So I made my move. I kissed you. The way I'd been wanting to for the last lifetime or two. And it was as spectacular as I'd been fantasizing it would be. When I finally let you breathe again you gave me that smile, the one I've come to know as your 'take me to bed' smile. Sexy and shy and wanting, the one that became our smile...my smile. What choice did I have? I'd wanted you for so long and now it seemed you wanted me too.
I don't usually indulge in one night stands, especially not with people I work with. Not that that's what I wanted it be...I was in love with you even then although I was still hiding it from myself. The next morning I made us coffee in your unfamiliar kitchen and wondered how to broach the subject, but you did it for me. You couldn't believe that a man like me was interested in you, you said. I knew that feeling. And it was probably the worst thing you could say but you thought you were in love with me. I swear to God my heart stopped at that moment. I didn't say it than and you hid your disappointment well but as I said, I didn't know. But I did get around to saying it, I still say it, every day. Sometimes it's to your face, more often its to the telephone but I don't mind, I'd yell it from a mountaintop if you'd let me. I love you Orli. You can still make my heart stop and flip over just by saying those three little words. Do you know that? You used to blush when you said it, you don't anymore, but then these days I usually only get a distracted "Yeah, me too." at the end of a phone call. That hurt at first but as you said, it doesn't mean anything, it doesn't mean that you don't...its just that you never know who might overhear. Your career is much more high profile than mine and I know it doesn't take much to get you into the tabloids. I don't envy you that; it can't be easy, speak to a woman once and you're in love, twice and you're engaged. I've lost count of the number of 'broken hearts' you've had. You used to call me almost in tears, worried that I'd think any of it was true. You used to rant about 'those tabloid cunts' ruining your life. You used to talk about coming out and not giving a damn what anyone else thought.
You don't do any of those things anymore.
You used to love my lens; you'd pose for me anywhere, laughing on set, in makeup with your ears, at the beach with your surfboard. Even in the privacy of my bedroom or studio. Not that I would ever do anything that could hurt you - no matter what you said. "Come on Vig, who's going to care?" The curve of your back fascinated me, the angle of your shoulders, and the perfect line of your silhouette. Nothing that could ever hurt you or haunt you. Now you shy away like I'm some paparazzi stalker trying to catch you out.
Henry is getting married in two weeks and you won't be here. And you had me tell him! Do you know what you mean to him? Do you know what it would mean to him to have you here at his father's side on his wedding day? Hell, do you know what it would mean to me?! He has accepted you and us from day one, he was happy because you made me happy. I don't give a damn how your agent or your publicist or anyone else thinks it will look! I know we've had fights before but I have never been this angry with you Orli, you have let me down so many times recently, changing our plans for some event or party they think you should be seen at. And since when did 'they' start thinking for you Orli? Every second sentence out of your mouth is "Sara thinks" or "Andre said" and I am fucking sick of it! I love you and you avoid me like I'm trying to sabotage your damn career. And no, before you start that again, I am not jealous of your success. I like my career and my life the way they are, I feel no desire to attend awards ceremonies and after parties. You didn't used to care about any of that either, but that was before 'they' started running your life. Your life Orli, try to remember when it was Your Life, when you did things because you wanted to, before you became a vapid puppet of the Bloom Media Machine.
I'm sorry baby; you know I don't want to hurt you. But I don't want you to hurt me either, so I guess self preservation is making me the bad guy. If you're not here for the wedding I don't want to see you again. I'll pack your stuff for you and send it anywhere you want but I don't want you in our house. I'm sorry Orli, I love you but if you don't want to be with me, with me, then I have no choice, I can't keep kicking myself in the head. The choice is yours; I hope you'll be here. I want you to be here...