Unlocking the door, Orli stepped inside, finally glad to be free of the strain of the outside world. Dropping his keys on the coffee table, he shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the couch before climbing the stairs.
His bedroom was simple, if a bit adolescent in its general messiness. CD's and clothes were strewn about with equal lack of care, the bed unmade.
A desk, dresser, and his bed filled three corners, with the forth being given over to a worn out looking old chair that had what Orli called "Character". He'd gotten it his first week in New Zealand and had used it most often to masturbate in. The angle of the chair was such that he could lean back a little - a game he played with himself, though the wall prevented him from falling backwards.
Sitting in the chair, he could see his Movie Corner, where he put all the photos and such from his time on set. Most of the photos were of Viggo, and that's why Orli was sitting there now, jeans undone, chair leaned back, blood starting to quicken.
Orli's head rolled back as he hovered in the chair, thinking of Viggo. Viggo with his long, thick hair that curled just at his shoulders. How it looked when he was wet, dewy and glistening, looking like one of his poems, all flowing and sublime. Orli didn't care *why* it was wet - sweat, a dunking for a scene or a gatorade dousing from the hobbits. He just loved Viggo's hair when it was wet. Or dry, for that matter.
Thoughts of Viggo's hair was enough to get Orli quite hard and he began to slide his soft fingers along his shaft. He closed his eyes, wishing his hands were rougher, larger, older.
Viggo had said his name today - fully, as he always did. Orli arched slightly into his hand as he remembered. Viggo didn't say Orli's name, he purred it. "Orlando," he always said. Never Orli. Being called Orlando used to make the young man shiver, because he was in trouble. Hearing Viggo say it still meant he was in trouble, but it was more the trouble he now had to go to to disguise or eliminate his erection. The chair wobbled slightly which only quickened Orli's already racing heartbeat.
They had been rehearsing their Helm's Deep Dressup scene, as he dubbed it. Where Aragorn was donning his armor and Legolas apologizing. It was nice to have a scene with just Viggo. Never mind everyone else. Any scene with Legolas and Aragorn was a scene with Just Viggo, but this was nice because there was no one else he had to pay attention to. The scene had been an excuse to focus entirely on Viggo. Not that he didn't normally, but that was beside the point.
His fingers moved slowly, barely touching himself, deliberately teasing as he peeked open an eye and glanced at one of the many pictures of Viggo. Closing his eyes again, Orli imagined he was back in that scene, only there was no one else, just them. He pictured Viggo pulling him close, devastating his young mouth. His fingers squeezed, his hips bucked slightly, and the chair toppled from under him, finally winning the game Orli had long been playing with it.
Orli lay in a daze, legs in an extremely undignified position as a result of the chair's sudden betrayal. Now fully entrenched in reality, Orli stood, his erection less bothersome and less, well ... erect. The moment shattered, he pulled the chair from the ground and set it upright again, glowering at it as one would a child. With a sigh, Orli stripped methodically, heading to have a shower.
Once he was under the warm spray, his mind wandered again, back, of course, to Viggo. Viggo wet. All of him t his time, not just his hair. Viggo's sleek body covered in little rivulets of water sliding down his chest and thighs. Orli gave up trying to wash, sliding a soapy hand down his own smooth chest, imagining hair under his fingers as he knew Viggo had. Just a light dusting, enough to tickle. Turning to face the wall, he imagined Viggo was in the shower with him, slick hands on his back, moving down his body. Leaning one arm against the cool tile, Orli stroked himself slowly, firmly, as he imagined Viggo would. He turned around to press his shoulders to the wall, his other hand now free to fondle his balls. Imagining Viggo's full lips on his neck, moving down his chest, Orli moaned. His hand moved faster, and he could feel himself approaching the crest, his legs shaking. His stomach began to twinge as he prepared for an orgasm when the shower suddenly blasted cold.
With a colorful spray of English, New Zealand, and American curses, Orli turned the water off and leaned against the wall, panting harshly, his masturbation session again thwarted and his erection once more flaccid.
Drying off, Orli now felt determined to get himself off, if for no other reason that to tell the cosmos fuck off and leave him alone. Grumbling that he'd done nothing to deserve this, Orli sat on the bed, bouncing a few times to make sure it wouldn't collapse, like the chair.
Laying on the cool covers, Orli began by running his hands over his body, arching up into them. He couldn't see the movie corner as well from here but he didn't need to, having a thousand Viggo moments etched in his mind.
His legs spread naturally, and if he concentrated enough, he could feel a brush of manly, lightly furred thighs against them. His cock leaped once again to life and he took hold, quickly getting himself back on the road to a solid orgasm. He licked his lips, his other hand sliding down between his legs, pressing a finger teasingly against his entrance.
Orli was working the tip of his second finger into his ass when the phone rang. The shrill electronic sound deadened his arousal. After very rudely dismissing the telemarkter, he returned to his masturbation, deadly determined now.
Not willing to risk the time necessary for fantasy, Orli relied on sole physical sensation. Grasping his cock, he found and stimulated the most sensitive spots, concentrating his attention around the head. A long finger wormed into his ass, finding his prostate.
Not teasing as he normally did, Orli was soon panting, his body reaching for orgasm.
The house was then filled with the sound of his doorbell.
With a growl, Orli's pleasure took a few steps back, but he ignored it, hoping the idiot would go away. His hand moving quickly, he felt himself draw near, almost weeping at the thought of a so-long denied release. He was a few strokes away when the doorbell rang again, insistently. He heard and indistinct voice call his name and screamed, once again denied ultimate release. Ready to murder whoever was at the door, he pulled on his robe and all but stormed downstairs, not bothering to belt it, just holding it together with shaking fingers.
Yanking the door open, he growled a curt "What?" before his eyes registered who it was.
"You left this in my trailer," Viggo murmured, holding out Orli's script binder.
