Author: Lostiawen

E-mail: changeling@planetx.org

Rated: NC-17

Pairing: VM/OB

Summary: Orlando goes back to the house. 

Archive: Please ask.

Feedback: Yes, please.

Warnings: AU, romance, sap, some angst, creepiness. 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, none of this really happened.  The author is not associated with or is implying anything about the sexual preferences or the lives of the people depicted within. 

Author´s Notes: Dedicated to those who have lost a loved one. 

By the way, the / / notation to indicate mental speech was inspired by the "Claimed" Series by Brenda and Jo.

Thanks to Linda, whose chatty Orli in "Pure Love" and "Infinite Love" was such an inspiration for my Orli.  I forgot to credit her in Chapter 1, so I´m doing it now.  *huggles*

Posted May 21, 2003

I must be barking mad for coming back, but I can´t let it rest. I´m sure that there must be some rational explanation for what happened. Maybe someone spiked my alcohol or my weed. Maybe there´s someone lurking around here and I just had some weird half-asleep remembrance of him feeling me up. But most of all, I refuse to let this scare me. Nope, not going to happen, not to me. So here I am, standing in the yard outside of the house again. Talk about deja vu. 

Well, sort of. It´s daytime right now. After visiting Robert, I ran back to my flat, cleaned up, stocked some supplies, and came straight back. 

This time, I´m prepared. I brought a mirror with me, just so that I don´t go running around like a berk with paint on my face again, several books, some food to nosh on, water, a torch, and some ghost-disproving material. 

I´d say "ghost-busting material", but I´m not really trying to bust a ghost, just prove that it´s some wanker having me on. Hmm, do female ghosts have busts? Come to think of it, do male ghosts have cocks? Oh right, my dream man did have a very lovely feeling one...Christ, slap yourself and belt up, Orlando, he´s _not_ a ghost, just some pervy bloke who gets off on scaring the hell out of poor, innocent, young things. Well, just poor, young things, in my case. 

You know, I really should have asked someone to come with me, but I´m sure they would have laughed their arses off. Besides, I have to know the answer for myself. 

And anyway, it´s about time I got around to reading "Lord of the Rings". I didn´t have the patience for it when I was younger, so I thought I´d give it a try again. 

This house definitely looks less imposing in the daylight, but I still feel a tingle of fear as I see the painting of myself. I force myself to stare at it until my heart slows down to a reasonable speed. Okay, I can deal with it now. I´m good. Right. Don´t think about how it looks exactly like you...kill that thought, Orlando. 

Do something else useful: like, checking the dust around here? You could see if another human being was here last night. Of course, that´s before any useful evidence was erased by some smeg-head named Orlando flailing around in the morning. Guess I was in a panic when I packed up. Bugger. It´s not like I can deduce anything, anyway. Orlando Bloom, Super Klutz Investigator, just doesn´t have a good ring to it. 

Guess it´s time to sit, crack open "The Fellowship of the Ring," and just wait. 

Man, this book´s a hard read. Wish I could have some nice thought-provoking alcohol to make it go faster, but I want to be alert tonight. 

Shit, Frodo´s _still_ in the Shire. How many pages has it been? Ugh. It´s a wonder that this book has become so popular, it reads like a fucking dictionary. 

Nothing happens, of course, while I wrestle through pages and pages detailing life in the Shire. So, why in bloody hell did it take Gandalf 17 years to get back to him? What was he doing, smoking an entire field of pipe-weed? Bugger this book, I´ll read it later. Hmmm, it makes a nice, satisfying thud when I toss it into the corner; maybe it has a future as a fly swatter. And still no ghost...I mean, bloke, lurking around. 

Fuck, I´m a git. Bloom, you thick bastard, nothing´s going to happen right now. If anyone is going to barge in, he´ll do it in the evening. You´ve seen enough horror movies to know how it works. Bad Orli, no biscuit. 

So what do I do now? I mean, besides sitting around with my thumb up my arse again. You know, even though I got the shit scared out of me when I woke up, I really liked being with Mr. Nice Bum. I´d love to have another shot at him again. 

Hmm, ghost or no ghost, he did have a wicked mouth. Loved the feel of my dream man´s mouth on mine, wonder how that talented tongue would feel on my cock...uh oh, trousers are getting much too tight. 

Unfortunately, I need to hold off on doing the five knuckle shuffle. There´s no rubbish bin around here, and leaving spunk-encrusted tissues around for hours is just too nasty. 

Blowjobs are nice and clean. Too bad I´m not flexible enough to suck myself off. Maybe I could get his lips wrapped around my prick tonight...mmm. Oh, stop it already, Orlando. There´s a good boy. Pat yourself on the head. No, the one on top of your neck. Shit, maybe ignoring my cock is going to be harder than I thought. 

All right, what can I do to kill time until evening falls? I can´t wank, I can´t drink, I can´t get high...guess I should have taken up knitting or something. *snort* Oh, that´s a good one. Wait, I have a fantastic idea: I could go into Orli-exploration mode. 

On the surface, there´s nothing amazing about the rest of the house. It´s pretty much abandoned and empty. But man, it´s kind of creepy that there are no insects or vermin around here. You´d think there´d be something around, at least some sodding cockroaches. Ignore the fact that your hair is standing up slightly, Bloom. Okay, I´m done exploring and I´m back to where I started. Now what? 

I guess I could recite some lines from Shakespeare while I´m waiting. With different accents. Ah, better, but something´s missing...wait, I could try leaping about a bit, too. Now this is fun...ouch. Tripped on something and fell down. Shit, I should watch where I´m going or I´ll kill myself before evening. 

Hmmm, if an Orlando dies in a haunted house, and there aren´t any insects here, will my corpse just lie around and rot away? Argh. Now you´re getting weird. Okay, back to doing the lines...

Finally, it´s dark. Time to turn in. But first, a few precautions. I tap around the walls and listen. Okay, nothing hollow. No hidden passageways. Good. 

I´m putting my sleeping bag right in the middle of this room. No easy access to it from the window, door, or walls. 

Because I don´t want to be sleep-stripping anyway, I take off all of my clothes, and neatly arrange them so that they´re around my sleeping bag in a certain pattern. 

Starting at the walls and working my way back towards the middle, I sprinkle flour all over the floor, making sure that I cover every inch. 

There. If anyone tries to come into this room, he´ll make a mess in the flour. And if he wants to screw with my sleeping body, he´ll have to move my clothes around or step on them. 

Okay, now time to turn in for the night. Well, that was the original concept at first. I wind up tossing around again. Guess I´m still wired. 

Argh. Well, I don´t really want to stare at the ceiling, so I look around the room. Of course, the only thing to stare at is that picture. With the moonlight on it, it looks pale and it kind of glows. Almost...like a dead man. 

_That_ was definitely a mistake. Okay, Bloom, close your eyes and try not to think about it. Got it? Good. Crap, what was that noise? Deep breath. Settle down, Orli. Okay, try to sleep. What was that? Nothing. Hasn´t it been a while? Check the watch. Shit, I´ve been doing this for hours. 

Bugger. Maybe I should count naked men jumping over a fence to put me to sleep. Ha ha. Great. No, you´re not nervous Orlando, not at all, nope, not really. 

And denial is not a river in Egypt. 

Christ, did someone just drop the temperature a bunch of degrees? It´s suddenly colder than a witch´s tit in here. I see my breath and I´m glad that I´m in a sleeping bag, or my nuts would be shriveling up. 

Shitshitshit. I feel like someone´s just walked over my grave. And I´m not alone. _Something_ is out there. I pull out the torch and click it on, pointing it toward the door. Fuck. Nothing there. 

I sweep the room with it, and I don´t see a thing. I definitely don´t remember this happening. On the other hand, I was stoned and drunk last night. I don´t think I would´ve noticed a lorry running me over. 

Oh god, is that chill getting closer? And then I _feel_ it. I feel something cold touching my face, so bitterly icy that it feels like I´ve plunged my head into a newly thawed pond. The torch drops from my hand, and I try to catch it, but my fingers won´t respond. In fact, my entire body won´t move. I´m paralyzed. Shit! 

No! The iciness is seeping into my blood, and now it´s flowing through me. Cold encloses my face, and now it´s going down into my throat, following the flow of my blood, spreading out into my chest through my veins. God, it almost hurts...heart´s beating like a frightened rabbit´s...

Bugger! Move your arse, Bloom! Do something! Christ, it´s creeping over my torso, my hips, sliding down my legs...my teeth are chattering now as the chill closes over my feet. 

I feel another icy bite against my lips, turning them blue. BOLLOCKS! Something frigid is prying my mouth open, slithering inside and probing...NO! 

Suddenly, the biting numbness against my tongue turns into a vaguely familiar hot tingle dancing through my mouth...and now I feel a lovely warmth spreading through my face and curling through my body. It kind of feels like the slow, fuzzy feeling I get when I´m buzzed. My brain feels extremely woozy now. It´s as delicious as the cold was terrifying, and I wind up sinking into it. 

/Sleep,/ I hear a familiar low, husky voice saying. But I don´t hear it in my ears, it almost echoes in my brain. Strange. 

/Go to sleep, I´m here./ I can feel his voice rumbling through my body now, and it´s sooo nice...I feel myself drifting away...

When my vision clears, I´m in a field again, and I´m completely starkers. Note to self: whatever I wind up sleeping in, I´m going to be wearing when I dream. Do not, repeat, do not wear any embarrassing knickers to bed. Ugh, and the birds are still tweeting. Gotta work on changing that next. 

I take a gander around, and my lovely stranger is looking at the painting again. He´s closer this time. Maybe about 7 meters away or so. 

And now my brain catches up to the rest of me. Guess he is a ghost...no! Get a hold of yourself, Orlando. There must be a rational explanation for what just happened. 

But I saw it with my own eyes, or rather, felt it with my own skin. That chill must have come from him. 

Ker-ching! Ghost 1, Orli 0. 

Bugger, they do exist...don´t panic, Orli. Face your fears. Concentrate on something else. Think of anything... breathe, that´s it...he used to be human, remember...okay, I´m good. 

Wait a minute...What the _fuck_ did he do to me? First, I can´t sleep, then he creeps me out, and now I´m in dreamland? Thanks a lot, you sod; I love having my head messed with. Good, Orli. Get narked. Anger good. 

"Oi!"  I yell. I try to walk, but my limbs still feel immensely heavy, which makes me really brassed off. 

He turns around and smiles. Wow...it´s a dazzling smile, one that lights up his entire face. His eyes are shining with joy as he approaches me again. I feel myself melt and go all sort of mushy inside. Fuck! Orlando, you´re supposed to be angry. Don´t you dare fall into the twee trap. 

"Hello again," he purrs, taking my hand and pressing the palm to his lips, causing little shivers to shoot through my body. Train of thought derailing...where was it...um, don´t you dare fall into...right...no falling, I can do that. 

Oh god, is he tracing the lines in my palm with his tongue? He is...wow...Fuck! Focus, goddamnit! Think of something frightfully nasty. Margaret Thatcher naked, now there´s a horrifying sight...ugh, yuck...okay, good...focus...huh, he´s murmuring something to me. 

I wind up concentrating on his voice, trying to go beyond the sexy husk. Mmm, tongue...bugger, concentrate! Oh man, his accent is mostly Yank. Mmm, yank. Just what I want him to do to my...shit, Orli! Right. Huh, there´s some sort of overlay to his accent. 

Accent...right...wait, what was I thinking about? Right, I was thinking about how that feels good...his tongue against my palm. Mmm, and now he´s rubbing his cheek against the area he licked...nice. Damnit, focus. 

"I´m so glad that you´re back," he whispers. He wraps his arms around me and buries his nose in my hair...aah... feels good...

"I´ve been waiting so long to have the chance to hold you."  His tongue traces the whorl of my ear. Oooo, instant Orli-puddle. 

"To cherish you," he whispers in that drop-your-trousers- and-shag-me-now voice. Definitely turning in an Orli-puddle now. 

No, no Orli-puddle. Orli-puddle bad. Orli-puddle way too twee. Anger good. Focus...Margaret Thatcher...push him away...shit, that´s hard to do...damn heavy air...okay, good...brain clearing up now that he´s not so close. Now give him the bollocking he deserves. 

"Sod it, why the hell did you have to scare the shit out of me?"  That´s good, Orlando. Use your theatre training to get more projection in your voice. 

"I´m sorry, angel. That happens whenever I touch someone. I tried to make it as short as possible." 

Now I´m feeling really stroppy. "Bullshit. Can´t you turn it off?"  Good seethe to the voice, take a bow, Orli. 

"Can you stop breathing?"  he replies mildly. "That chilly touch is a part of me. I can´t get rid of it." 

Oh. 

Then he smiles a warm-hearted, generous smile to show that he´s not angry at all with me even though he has every reason to. Now I feel really guilty and really, really small. Is there a nice rock for me to crawl under? Shit, no rock. 

Before I shrivel away from shame, he gathers me in his warm arms again and holds me close. Mmm, I´m definitely growing fond of the feeling of his nose buried in my hair. Fuck, why is it so hard to think? 

"It´s all right, angel. We can only see each other when you´re dreaming."  He kisses me lightly and then runs his thumb over my lips, sending shivers through my body. "You looked like you were having trouble sleeping, so I helped you along." 

"Christ, couldn´t you have done it without touching me?" 

"No. I needed to make some sort of extremely close contact with you or it wouldn´t have worked." 

Oh, bugger, that cold sliding into my mouth must have been his tongue. Wait, why the hell would he want to see me again? And I still don´t know why the painting looks so much like me...

Christ, Orlando, it´s obvious. He did it because he wants a piece of your arse. Figures. He wants to take advantage of me just like everyone else. Guess ghosts aren´t so different from people in real life after all. You´ve had blokes try to impress you in the past by playing guitar or whatnot; this is no different. Ah, some focus is back. Good. 

"So why did you create this particular painting?"  I ask rather stroppily, gesturing towards the easel. "Why does it look like me?" 

"It is you." 

"Bollocks, we´ve never met before. How would you know?" 

"Because I´ve dreamed about you. Because I´ve dreamed about the two of us being together even before the day that you were born." 

Bam. Okay, reality has left...repeat, reality has completely left the room. 

-----
end part 2

chapter 1
chapter 3
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