Title: Soft Focus

Author: Crimsonsenya

Pairing: VM/OB

Rating: R

Summary: Pictures are all that Viggo has when they’re apart.

A/N: Inspired by pictures of Orlando Bloom taken during 2004 Toronto Film festival. My first VO piece ever.

Disclaimer: This fic is entirely fictional. I do not know the persons described and I don’t claim to know anything of their sexual orientation.

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There was crispness in the air that morning, a promise of cooler days of autumn ahead.

“Why do you always want to take pictures at the most odd hours? We could have stayed in bed longer, make a better use for that Vaseline.” A sly smile played at Orli’s lips. Viggo grunted behind the camera. He loved taking pictures of Orli, especially like this, tousled and glowering, slightly nauseous of too little sleep and too much drinking and fucking. The photographs he took every time they met were the only thing that could bridge the gap of thousands of miles of continent and an occasional ocean between them when they worked apart from each other. His most valuable possession was a collection of scrapbooks that he kept safely hidden in a box under his bed. The books were filled with pictures and articles on the young man, he was now again capturing on film.

Orli leaned on the concrete block next to him and yawned.

“I kept you all night from your beauty sleep, didn’t I?” Viggo grinned and snapped one more photo before Orli could compose himself in a pose he usually presented for the photographers. Still, no matter how much Orli posed, there were some parts of the real Orli left, lurking determinately under the surface and those fragments made his poses to look somewhat affected and forced. It was also the reason Viggo cherished certain pictures of him, candid shots, like the one in Sean’s book, where Orli and a friend were sitting on a bench in New Zealand. There were also a few pictures he’d managed to take of Orli in his peaceful state of post-sex slumber, looking like a naked and golden Egyptian god that never ceased to inspire him.

“Nay…” Orli dig his hands deeper in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I just need a cup of coffee and I’m ready for the next round. If I hadn’t let you sleep, you old wanker, your nurse would have spanked my pretty ass.” Orli felt like showing his tongue, but he flashed his best bedroom smile instead, the one he knew would make Viggo instantly hard.

The hems of his shirt hung over his pants. For Orli they were like two yellow flags announcing Viggo was here. Come to see the first man landing on the sun! He was most definitely not going to change or shower before the Haven Press Conference. He was going to be sitting there in front of the whole world with his just been fucked -grin, smelling like scotch, sex and Viggo’s skin. The time they got to spend together felt too short and too precious for him to wash it hastily away as if sleeping with Viggo was some insignificant footnote to his list of conquests. If his publicist thought she could convince him to do otherwise, she’d better look for another job, because Orli didn’t pay her to waste his time.

Viggo zoomed out on Orli, who’d crossed his arms behind his back, to get a picture of the yellow shirt peeking from under his jacket. The smile had disappeared from Orli’s face replaced by a lonely expression. Viggo frowned. He could clearly see the stains in the shirt. Their first times after long separations were always so frantic and desperate that they didn’t often have time to undress properly. Their mouths latched together. His hands rushed to unbutton and unzip Orli’s trousers that were pulled down and off. At the same time, Orli unbuckled his belt and covered his hardness with lube-slicked fingers.

“No, leave it. I want you –inside me– now.” Orders that stopped Viggo from pulling the yellow shirt up and made him slip his hands underneath it instead. When they woke up and started gathering their clothes around the suite Viggo had noticed the stains on the hem.

“Shit. You can’t wear that before the press, and this is history”, he blurted out pointing at the black jacket Orli had worn the previous night at the premiere. Somehow, the jacket had ended up in the bathtub, and now, it was soaked, wrinkled and reeking of beer and champagne.

“There’s nothing wrong with the shirt.” Orli stated without flinching before bursting into laughter at Viggo’s concerned face. “I saw a store next to your hotel. Don’t worry, mum. I’ll get something from there.”

The leather jacket Orli purchased was so tacky that Viggo was sure his publicist would go nuts when she saw it. All in all, Orli had refused to tuck in the dirty hems. Finally, Viggo had cracked up too and gathered Orli into his arms for a long heated kiss. This was how he liked his Orlando: stubborn and naughty and totally lovable, no matter how grown up and mature he’d become. Afterwards, they’d still had some time left for Viggo to take pictures before the flood of media would carry Orli out to the sea of success. This time Viggo chose to take the photographs with soft focus, blurred like seen through tears. A couple of close-ups more and Orli would have to leave.