Part 1

Viggo set the tequila bottle down with a thump and watched with disinterest as it fell to the floor, spilling the last few drops onto the carpet of the motor home. He had not been this drunk since he was a teenager and he was having a hard time focusing on little things like his balance. When he stood to go and let out a little of the huge amount of booze he'd consumed, he fell back onto his chair. Cursing in sudden rage, Viggo staggered to the door and flung it open. He stumbled down the steps and nearly went to the ground. Leaning against the cool metal side of the trailer, he unzipped his pants and urinated while thoughts tumbled through his alcohol-muddled brain.

Damn! Why was it all so fucked up? Damned gorgeous, perfect, irresistible Elf! Viggo had tried to be a good husband and father. He had managed to repress all those inappropriate feelings for other men when they came up throughout his life, but now it wasn't possible. Not with this guy. This Orlando. God, what kind of name was that anyway? A beautiful one, he mused, as beautiful as the boy who bore it. No, it wasn't, not by a long shot, because nothing could be as beautiful as the Elf. Viggo groaned and shook off the last drops before tucking himself away. Instead of going back inside and sleeping it off like a sensible human, he leaned there and stared at the light burning in the 'Bago just a few dozen feet away.

Viggo wondered what the young Brit was doing at this time of night, or morning, as the case might be. Viggo had taken off his watch when he'd started drinking to dull the pain and couldn't remember where he'd hidden it. God, why had he drunk so much? He could barely see straight, but he could see the beacon of Orlando's light, drawing him as the flame lures the moth inexorably to tragedy. Shit! If the kid was awake, maybe they could sort this mess out. Suddenly convinced that it was a good idea to have this out with the boy right now, Viggo pushed away from the aluminum-clad wall and put one foot purposefully in front of the other. Yes, by God, they would settle this thing tonight!

Viggo didn't think he could take one more day on set with the unfairly attractive Prince of Mirkwood. It was inordinately distracting and he was afraid his performance would start to suffer. Surely, everyone was beginning to notice how Aragorn could not keep his eyes from following the lovely creature, all flowing pale hair and lithe limbs. It took all of Viggo's willpower to keep his hands off his co-star and it was driving him insane. The more so because Viggo had vowed not to be become involved with a man, particularly an actor, and even more particularly, an actor he was working with. However, Orlando Bloom was not playing fair. It certainly was not fair for one person to be so good-looking, charming, sexy and talented, and it was a constant temptation for Viggo to break his oath.

As Viggo reached the door of Orlando's trailer, the alcohol-fueled rage rose up in him again. This was the boy's fault for flaunting himself in front of Viggo, for taking up Sir Ian's openly gay banner and waving it about, for smelling so good that Viggo wanted to take a bite out of him whenever they stood in close proximity, which thanks to the script, was almost all of the time. Viggo was beginning to form the paranoid delusion that Peter, Phillipa and Fran were throwing Aragorn and Legolas at each other.

Trembling on Orlando's threshold, Viggo had a sudden vivid memory of walking into the trailer where the de-Hobbiting was being performed and finding Orlando there. It was obvious from the atmosphere in the small room that the five young men had already bonded, something Viggo, as a latecomer to the production, had yet to do. The lanky British boy was draped across the laps of Billy and Elijah with his head tilted back and his pretty mouth wide open. Dom was pouring a stream of tequila into the waiting orifice while Sean Astin watched the foolery askance with tolerant humor.

Viggo had paused in the doorway, unnoticed as yet, an eyebrow raised in surprise. Then Dom leaned over and placed his lips over Orlando's and Viggo actually felt the blood drop into his groin. His cock, unencumbered by undergarments that Aragorn would not be wearing, hardened instantly, brushing maddeningly against the rough cloth of his costume. Unable to tear his gaze from Dom's patently talented mouth moving on Orlando's, Viggo became so aroused that his dick ached with the need to bury itself in something tight and hot. Something Viggo knew he would find between the long legs of the boy who squirmed in Elijah's fondly restraining hold as Billy tickled his knees and Dom used him as a shot glass.

Viggo had backed away from the rousing tableau and closed the door silently. As it shut, Sean Astin met his eyes through the gap, and Viggo had dropped his gaze for the first time in his adult life. He had turned and hurried away like a thief caught in the act. There was no denying his shameful lust now with the proof preceding the rest of him into the refuge of his trailer. Viggo had reached into his Ranger's leggings and taken hold of himself, stroking his stiff flesh, as images appeared behind his closed eyes.

He saw Legolas, naked except for that remarkable hair, sprawled wide-legged across a velvet-draped bed in Elrond's House. Orlando knelt before him, gazing up with soft dark eyes under the wild, stripe of hair that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. The mad, young thing that danced to unheard music during sword practice gave Viggo a smoking glance over his shoulder, as he bent and presented his sculpted backside invitingly. Imagining his fist was Orlando's sheath, Viggo had come so hard, he had dropped to his knees and crouched with his forehead on the floor, panting like a man who has just run a four minute mile, his heard pounding so loud it deafened him.

When he'd caught his breath, he'd risen and cleaned himself with a paper towel. As he wadded it and tossed it at the trash bin, he'd been overcome with shame. Once again, he'd renewed his vow to resist this sickness. Taking a sharp knife from the kitchen drawer, he sealed his oath, drawing the blade unflinchingly across his forearm. The cut was not deep and he'd explained it away as an accident with his sword. He'd been able to control himself for almost a month, but tonight he'd been provoked beyond anyone's ability to ignore.

The entire primary cast had gone to dinner at Ian's invitation. The knight/actor had booked a large private dining room in Wellington and asked his co-stars to help him celebrate the anniversary of his coming out. Viggo would have declined, but couldn't bring himself to hurt Ian's feelings. The evening had started out decorously enough, but had soon descended into just the sort of debauchery Viggo had feared. Naturally, most of Ian's other guests were openly gay and they obviously felt comfortable expressing their fondness for one another at this gathering. Everywhere that Viggo looked, he saw men hugging men, men dancing with men and men kissing men. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but it was all around him. He'd turned to find Ian and say his good nights, when Sean Bean had taken his arm and pulled him around. Viggo had suppressed his instant flare of anger, one of the things that had driven Exene away, and looked inquiringly at Bean.

"It's your turn, mate," Sean had grinned.

The big man had grabbed Viggo's shoulders and guided him to a blindfolded Orlando. Before Viggo knew what was happening he'd been propelled into the young man' arms and the perfect lips were pressed against his mouth. A moist tongue flickered between his lips so quickly that it was almost subliminal, but Viggo's cock noticed. It was all the man could do not to wrench free of Sean's hold and bolt from the room but he stood there and listened to the boy try and guess who he'd just kissed. A silly party game. They had humiliated him for a silly party game.

Viggo couldn't recall the next half hour with any sort of clarity. All he knew was that he had somehow managed to exit the party gracefully, find a car, purchase a bottle of tequila and make it to his refuge without hurting himself or anyone else. Now, with most of that bottle blasting through his system, he stood before Orlando's trailer, determined to have it out with his tormentor. Without bothering to knock, Viggo opened the door and walked in.

Orlando looked up in surprise from the pages he'd been going over. He was good at the action stuff, but knew he'd have to work like mad to keep up with his super talented co-stars at the actual acting. Here was one of them now. Viggo Mortensen, who had walked into the production months after the rest of them and stepped right into Aragorn's sword and boots as though he'd been magically transported from the Middle Ages. A welcoming smile replaced Orlando's look of astonishment as the man came farther in.

"What's up, Viggo?" he asked.

The alcohol answered. "You want to know what's up?" Viggo slurred as he fumbled with the zipper of his jeans. "I'll show you what's up, you fucking tease."

The smile dropped from the boy's lips. "What are you doing?" he asked, a note of uncertain alarm in his voice.

"This is what you do to me," Viggo said, as he managed to free his straining erection.

"Whoa, that's impressive," Orlando said, trying for a light tone. "Why don't you put it away before you put somebody's eye out?"

"This is not joke, boy," Viggo growled. "You prance around in those hip hugger jeans, God, you can see everything they're so tight. You let everybody know how wild you are, how you're just hot for it all the time. Well here it is."

"Oooh-kaaaay," Orlando said slowly. "I think you've had a bit much, mate. I don't deny that you're yummiest man I've ever met and that I'd love to bottom for you under any other circumstance, but not while you're slobbering drunk, 'kay?"

Viggo shook his head irritably. Did he hear noises that sounded like refusal? Impossible. The little tease had been shaking his ass in Viggo's face from day one. It was time the arrogant boy learned a lesson about crying wolf. Viggo would throw a good scare into him and all the untoward flirting would come to a stop.

Orlando saw the man's eyes change and a sudden chill made him shiver uncontrollably. He started to rise from the couch, but Viggo was already on him. Orlando was strong, but he was outmatched. Viggo had a lot more experience and he used the lessons learned on the set of G.I. Jane to subdue the frantically struggling young man. Dipping his head, Viggo captured the perfect lips and thrust his tongue into the warm, wet space beyond. Orlando's wordless protest was muffled against the man's voracious mouth as he was pressed into the cushions. The boy bucked in panic, inadvertently forcing his crotch against Viggo's arousal.

Viggo groaned at the delicious sensation and gripped Orlando tighter. He had forgotten his nominal reason for coming to Orlando's trailer. Viggo was lost in a red haze of lust and alcohol, unaware and unheeding of the boy's objections to his violent suit. His world had narrowed to the feel of smooth skin under his hands and the pulse of need that made his cock throb like a bad toothache. He pushed the young man's tight t-shirt up, binding his arms, and forcing some of the cloth between the white teeth. The t-shirt also covered the dark eyes that shone with fear, as Viggo wrestled the low-cut jeans down the slim hips.

Orlando thrashed with renewed energy when his crotch was bared to the man's gaze. It was suddenly too real. This was no game. Viggo meant to force him. Tears streamed from the corners of Orlando's eyes when he felt a calloused finger probe at his opening. He begged Viggo to stop, but the makeshift gag reduced his pleas to garbled noise. His body stiffened as the digit pushed into his passage, and he redoubled his efforts to free himself.

Viggo cursed as he was nearly thrown off the couch. Grabbing a flailing ankle, he pulled the boy's jeans all the way off. Using a leg of the Levi's, Viggo tied Orlando's ankle to the hook that held the curtain rod. The boy's backside was now elevated off the couch, his pelvis tilted conveniently and alluringly up. Viggo placed his palm against the boy's inner thigh and spread his legs, lifting his free foot to the coffee table. Orlando kicked at him, and knocked several items to the floor. Viggo's blurred vision registered the plastic bottle of massage oil as it bounced on the carpet and he bent to retrieve it. Popping open the cap, he squirted a fragrant stream of oil into the palm of his hand and greased his upstanding rod.

Orlando shook his head wildly and tried to cry out in denial when he felt the hot head of the man's shaft at his opening. This could not really be happening. Viggo Mortensen, gentle, serene, decent Viggo Mortensen had not burst into his trailer and tied him up and was certainly not about to penetrate him forcibly. It wasn't possible. It wasn't . . . Orlando's breath whistled in through his nostrils and he let it out again in a stifled scream as the big cock drove into him. He was given no time to recover before the hard length was sheathed to the hilt in his narrow scabbard.

Viggo groaned as his cock sank into the hot, velvet lined passage. This was a pleasure so sublime even the poets had no word for it. Driven mad by his lust, he did not pause to consider the needs of the body that writhed so enticingly beneath his. He withdrew to the brink and thrust powerfully, submerging his entire length in the quaking quicksand. Quite by chance, his curved rod struck the sensitive spot in Orlando's sheath and the boy had another reason to moan and twist against the cushions.

Orlando whimpered as his susceptible flesh warmed to the man's uninvited caress. Waves of bliss arrived unbidden, making him shudder in reaction. This wasn't right. He could not be enjoying this brutal attack. This was rape. It was rape and yet Orlando could not prevent the rapid build-up of sweet tension in his lower belly, a tightening coil that would eventually snap sending shockwaves of erotic electricity sparking along his neural pathways. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right.

Viggo felt something change and his arousal reached new heights as the boy's hips tried to move in concert with his stroke. Fingers sinking into the smooth flesh of a supple thigh, the man thrust fiercely into the quivering flesh that hugged his erection so snugly. Seeing the boy's cock stir, Viggo grasped the stiffening rod and pumped it insistently. Orlando made a strangled sound in his throat and tossed his head from side to side in a frenzy of despair and ecstasy. Viggo's plunging cock and stroking hand drove the boy to the edge and pushed him over. Orlando fell into his orgasm, tumbling helplessly as a blast of pure pleasure blew through his every cell leaving him a hollow devastated shell in the aftermath.

Viggo raised his sticky fingers to his panting mouth, licking and sucking them clean of the boy's essence. Aroused to an unbearable degree, he cupped the taut buttocks and pistoned his cock in the clenching socket. Orlando moaned feebly in protest as the thick shaft slammed relentlessly into him. Abruptly, the man froze and clutched at the yielding flesh as his climax struck him like lightning igniting a pine. His hips moved reflexively, burying his twitching cock in the tight heat as his seed erupted in a powerful stream. Finally satisfied, at peace for the first time in his life, Viggo collapsed onto his victim and passed out.

Read Chapter 2 of 12 of Bailey's Casualties of Love