Pairing: All of the LOTR Cast at some stage or another
Rating: PG13-NC17
Summary: Please read the AN below.
Warnings: Bad language, stereotypes, bad jokes etc. Angst in this one, so handkies ready
Author's Notes: A daytime soap opera mission/quest/thing. Being the day-to-day story of ordinary movie star folk in their run-of-the-mill luxury men only complex in LA. "Hamlet: The Musical" does not exist as far as I know.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No profit is made nor offence intended.

Episode Six
The One With NC17 Sex and An Ultimatum

Scene: Viggo's apartment

"Dear Viggo, " he reads, from the letter in his hand. It was hand delivered to his apartment that very morning by special courier, biking it across the quadrangle of the Man Solo complex. It is written on "Captain's Log" notepaper.

"Dear Viggo, thank you for my poem. It was the nicest poem anyone has ever written for me. I had no idea you could write like that, so passionately and with such emotion. It made my knees tremble.

"I don't know if you know, but Billy has left me for Dominic (the bastard). They apparently were shagging in Hartford, when they were supposed to be having the colonic irrigation. I feel as if my heart has been cleaved in twain. Please come over to my apartment as soon as possible and bring sticking plaster."

It is signed "Elijah Jordan Wood".

Viggo is grinning. He rushes into his magnificent bathroom - marble and granite and stainless steel - and strips off his clothes in a trice. In the full length mirror he assesses his body. Broad shoulders, impressive pecs, good abdominal definition, long, tapering legs, lean strong thighs… All those hours on the riverbank, holding his rod, have paid off. He has the physique of a Viking. And he virtually has permission for a bit of the old rape and pillage. Sticking plaster? He will perform open heart surgery on the bendy boy and Billy will be but a dim and distant memory.

Scene: Orlando's apartment

Orlando Bloom is sculpting. His long, agile fingers slide along the walls of wet clay, moulding, impressing, smoothing. The clay, once inanimate and dumb, now finds voice in the magnificence of his creation. The artist's loving, caressing touch brings life to the medium; body and soul united in search of the expression of a spark, an artistic ideal.

Finished, exhausted, the Brit collapses momentarily. Recovering, sighing, he reaches for the cutting wire and frees the work from its anchor. With great care he places it on the rack to dry with its companions. Interesting pieces.

Orlando leaves his studio and heads for the conservatory to water his plants. Always, artistic endeavour and then nurturing.

Harry will be here soon. The New Zealander has long intrigued him. For days he has nagged Sean Bean to find out if he has a chance with Harry. Those eyes, that strong face, that manly chest. Orlando feels a tingle in his thighs and picks up his little watering can with a trembling hand. In just one hour Harry will be here for supper.

Orlando has heard something about Harry. Something deliciously sexy and hot. Apparently, Harry has hairy toes and long toe nails. He imagines tracing his tongue along the fuzzy contours of the older man's meaty feet, sucking in between the woolly digits, rasping along those sharp nails... Looking down, he realises he has just sprayed his liquid all over his leggings. Very messy.

And it had Miracle Gro in it, too.

Scene: Elijah's apartment

Elijah looks around the apartment for the tenth time. He has vacuumed through, polished the furniture, straightened the cushions on the couch, put away his games and the photographs of Billy in his kilt. The kilt! No, he can do this, he tells himself. He can be strong.

In the bedroom, he rejects several outfits and opts finally for a transparent black silk shirt and low-slung leather jeans. Sexy but not too sluttish.

He wants a cigarette very badly. But he doesn't remember if Viggo smokes or not. Viggo. Coming here. Soon. Anytime soon. Oh God. Not wanting to stink the place out, he steps out onto the balcony and watches his smoke rings float away across the Olympic sized luxury swimming pool. As he stubs out his cigarette, Elijah panics.

He is about to reach for the phone, tell Viggo not to come after all, when he hears the doorbell. Oh well. Here goes.

"This is it, Elijah. Don't fuck up now. You can do this. This is Aragorn. This is the hunkiest man alive. This is the way to get over Billy..." he says.

With a deep breath, he walks to the door. Through the fisheye he can see Viggo. Big, big, manly Viggo.

He decides to pretend to be out. Yes, he'll pretend to be out! He ducks beneath the spy hole, even though the person outside cannot possibly see inside. He crouches at the foot of the door, his heart pounding. After a moment there is a rapping at the door, which frightens the life out of him.

"Elijah! Are you home?" calls Viggo.

"No!" shouts Elijah then claps his hand over his mouth. Fuck.

There is a moment's silence.

"Elijah. Little one... let me in."

"No. I'm really sorry, Viggo. Really I am," cries Elijah, collapsing at the foot of the door. He has to make the older man see this is madness.

"This was a mistake. I'm not ready for this. Billy and I, well... I need time to get over him. And you and me, well, Viggo, I just don't know if I can handle it right now. See, Viggo, you are so very much older than me, and much - bigger than me - and worldly wise and I am just, well, this kid still wet behind the ears. Forgive me, Viggo, please. Viggo. Viggo?" Elijah straightens up and peeks cautiously through the fisheye. The doorstep is empty. Oh.

"Elijah, I want to mend your broken heart."

Elijah spins round. Viggo has climbed over the balcony and is there, in the room. With red roses in one hand and a big bag of jelly babies in the other.

"Oh God," says Elijah, and his knees buckle.

"More. Yes. More."

"How much more? This much more? Or this much more?"

"Oh, definitely that much more."

Harry has never had clay smeared all over his body before. Never. He feels like a living work of art. Orlando's strong, capable hands are moulding him, shaping the slices of clay to fit his naked body.

"Hold still," Orlando pants, running a particularly long piece of clay along the contours of Harry's thigh. "Lie back. This will be even better if you relax."

"But I want to hold you, Orli, hold you in my arms and never let you go." Harry is immensely turned on by what the young Brit is doing, but he really just wants a simple shag.

"You will, you will, poppet. Nearly done." Orli, naked and magnificent, smooth and supple, applies the final coat of clay with a flourish. He pauses for a second to survey his handiwork and then he straddles the older man.

"Now, Harry. Want to show your appreciation to the artist?" he asks, positioning himself over the rigidity of Harry's affection.

"Oh yes..."

Viggo has laid Elijah on the couch after catching him in his girly swoon. The bendy boy is as light as a feather and not just any feather, but a feather from a day old chick. He is so delicate that for a moment Viggo thinks it best if he just walks away. He might damage him. But then that bottom lip flips open, springy and moist. And the gap in those teeth is like a siren call, pulling Viggo's cock from its slumber.

Elijah's eyes open up right on cue and there is no turning back now. The boy is momentarily alarmed and Viggo is quick to reassure him, caressing his forehead and then leaning in for a soft kiss. "We don't have to do anything, Elijah. We can just hold each other, if that's what you want," he says, his voice hoarse and low.

"We can? Really? You don't want to - impale me?" asks Elijah, blinking. Viggo is lost in those enormous eyes of brightest blue.

"No! Of course not," Viggo coos, tousling Elijah's locks, Boromir-style. He thinks of the bumper size lube in his jacket pocket and groans inwardly. Elijah seems to be relaxing a bit, however, shuffling up on the couch. His leather trousers make cute little noises as he shimmies, which makes Viggo want to rip them off violently.

"Well, maybe we could try a cuddle, for starters?" suggests Elijah, making room for him. Instantly, Viggo is on there with him, all thighs and sighs.

Viggo's hand travels up and down Elijah's leather clad leg, slowly and with infinite care.

"I have wanted you for eons, Elijah. For so long I cannot remember a time when you were not in my thoughts, little one..." Viggo whispers in Elijah's ear.

"Really? Wow," Elijah replies, his eyes brimming. He wants to tell Viggo that he is crushing him into the wooden frame of the couch, but he doesn't like to spoil the moment.

"I want to divest you of these trappings, throw them away, have you naked and trembling beneath my hands…"

"Oh. Viggo, is that your-?"

"Yes, little one. It is. Does it bother you?" asks Viggo, pressing his warm lips against Elijah's neck.

"No, of course not. It's just digging in my hip. It's very big. How long have you had it?"

Viggo pulls away and seems a little startled. Then he smiles and reaches down to remove his cell phone from his trouser pocket. "Better?" he asks, and this time he goes down hungrily on that mouth, which has conveniently opened for him, warm and moist and wanting.

Elijah's legs open and wrap around Viggo's big, manly frame.

"Teach me, Viggo! Teach me all you know! Help me forget Billy, please..." Elijah pleads.

"Oh, Elijah! I will share all my worldly experience with you. Everything I have ever learned over the years..."

"It's a lot of years, too, isn't it, Viggo?" asks Elijah, running his small fingers delicately up and down Viggo's broad chest.

"Yes, little one, a lot of years..."

"I wasn't born for most of them, was I, Viggo? Like, in the sixties, flower power..." Elijah says, tweaking a nipple.

"Well, I was but a small boy then myself, Elijah," replies Viggo, licking Elijah's belly. The skin there is so soft, like butter.

"But you were alive when Nixon resigned, when Star Wars came out. Awesome…" Elijah has undone the waistband of Viggo's Gucci pants and has inserted a finger, brushing the enormous cockhead that nestles in there, like a crouching tiger poised to pounce...

"Erm, yes, that is true. Hush, little one, let me love you..." Viggo has managed to get his hand down Elijah's low-slung leather trousers and is cupping his bottom, squeezing the firm orbs.

"How old are you, exactly, Viggo? Forty-five, forty-six?" Elijah asks, between hot kisses to that manly chin.

"Not quite. Is the age gap a problem for you, Elijah?" asks Viggo, pulling out of the embrace. If Elijah didn't have eyes like mini oceans, hair like spun silk and the firmest little backside, Viggo might be tempted to give it up as a bad job. But now Elijah is holding his arms open wide and his mouth open wide and his legs...

"Just shush now, okay?" Viggo plunges in with renewed vigour.

"Anything you say, anything. I defer to your greater age and experience…"

Elijah's shirt is ripped open by firm, questing hands, and his leather trousers are pulled clear. Viggo feasts his eyes on that body, lean and creamy, that has filled his dreams for so long. At last!

"Be gentle, Viggo. Please..."

Viggo, running his big hand up and down the length of Elijah's cock, pauses to look once more into those beautiful eyes.

"I would rather lose my sight and paint no more than hurt a hair on your head, Elijah. I would rather all the rivers ran dry and I could fish no more, than cause you pain. I would rather-"

"Okay, just fuck me. Now." Elijah has patience, but only up to a point.

Triumphantly, Viggo retrieves the lube from his jacket pocket, and sheds his clothes on the return journey. Elijah's tiny hole is primed with cold, strawberry scented gel, and Viggo inserts a finger experimentally inside. The younger man winces but when the second finger is inside he begins to smile, to relax. Viggo is overjoyed.

"Elijah, Elijah," he gasps, taking his enormous cock in his hand and preparing to consummate their passion.

The phone rings.

"Ignore it, Elijah!" the older man pleads, his length itching to find shelter.

"It could be my Mom. I can't ignore it, Viggo. If I do she'll cry..."

Sighing, Viggo withdraws from the gates of paradise and rolls away so that Elijah can reach the phone.

"Hello, Elijah Jordan Wood here," he chirps, brightly. Viggo admires the way in which he can say those innocuously sweet words when he is buck naked and dripping lube on the rug.

"What? No. How did you know? Really? You do? Oh! You have no right. No right at all. That is just so not fair...", Elijah cups his hand over the receiver and turns to Viggo, his lovely face stricken, "it's Billy. He knows you are here! He says it was a terrible mistake with Dominic!"

Viggo clenches his fists, but tries to remain calm.

"He wants me back, Viggo!", Elijah looks so excited, this cannot be happening. "But he says if I fuck you now it really is all over between us..."

Viggo has a delightful image of Billy Boyd down a deep well, up to his cute little chin in ice cold water; piranha fish are circling and are taking little bites out of that cute little Scottish butt…

"Tell him to go fuck himself, Elijah. He betrayed you! Five minutes from now, when I am inside of you, you will have forgotten he ever breathed, believe me..." Viggo towers above Elijah, so very big and manly and almost, yes, menacing.

Elijah is torn.

Billy, his first true love, his beautiful but treacherous Scot. Or Viggo, so big, so rampant. So here.

Bottom lip trembling, bottom trembling, Elijah removes his hand from the receiver.

"Billy?" he says, with feeling, "go fuck yourself."

He puts the phone down and is caught up in an embrace so crushing and passionate he wonders briefly if he has done the right thing. Sex with Viggo will be - interesting.