Posted: February 2004
Title: Fluid
Author: Haleth
Type: RPS
Characters: Orlando wankfic
Rating: PG-15 or so.
Disclaimer: Oh, I'm sure Orlando Bloom knew what his motivation was. He's a professional actor, for Elbereth's sake. This is just all made up stuff. If you don't understand that, hop over to one of the gossip boards – they like to take made-up things very seriously in places like that; you'll fit in just fine;-)
Note: I had no spare Legolas plot bunnies for the Characters In Bloom Action Elf Challenge, but this thing came up and bit me hard, so I wrote it down.
Summary: Orlando is having a little trouble finding his groove.

*****

Flashing silver blades swing in smooth intersecting arcs. Lean limbs flow from one position to the next in a graceful, balletic dance. Attack from behind is thwarted by a simple backward thrust. Attack from the left is countered by a right hand swipe. Feet remain on the ground at all times, centre of gravity low, all muscles supple and fluid.

"Not bad, Bloom," the trainer says.

"Made it through another training session without cutting my own nose off," Orlando thinks.

"How was ‘Slicing and Dicing 101', Orlando?" asks Billy at dinner.

Orlando just shrugs. It's memorization work, not actual knife work. Training his body to go through the motions. There is a sense of detachment he achieves, sometimes, so that his muscles are doing the work not his brain. It's necessary, he knows, to be able to do it without consciously thinking about it, because Legolas would not be thinking about positions or angles or the proper follow-through. He would do it without thinking, except he wouldn't feel detached because it's part of him.

Body straight, parallel with the arrow, eyes focussed. Look right down the shaft. Bow slanting at just the right angle. Arm locked but not stiff. Tilt from the hips, don't turn the head too much. Keep a consistent anchor. Don't move the jaw. Keep your mouth shut. Be perfect and fluid.

"You're getting it, kid" the trainer says.

"Thank God I didn't shoot the trainer," Orlando thinks.

"Bag any straw cows today, Orlando?" asks Billy at dinner.

Orlando just gives a tired smile. There is so very much to keep track of, it's overwhelming. After a few millennia, Legolas wouldn't have to break it down into individual components. So Orlando can't be seen to be taking things step by step. It has to look like it's part of him.

Light step, easy and graceful. Leave no footprint. Absolute stillness at the drop of a hat. Uninterrupted motion from one place to the next, from foot to foot, without a shake or stumble or a breath out of sync. Make it look fluid.

"Coming along, Legolas," the trainer says.

"Sooner or later everyone will figure out I'm a total klutz," thinks Orlando.

"How's the cat-like grace and agility coming along, Orlando?" Billy asks at dinner.

Orlando sighs. He's wondering why he ever thought he could fool anyone into thinking he's an Elf. He's trained all his life for this, and he's doing fine in the individual events, but he has no idea how to bring it all together and make it look right. So it all seems part of him.

Perhaps fluid is the key.

He sits on his bed in the dark and thinks about fluidity. The elegance and grace it implies. Somehow he has to become it, become fluid.

He tries an acting exercise. He wonders what kind of a fluid Legolas would be. What kind of fluid all the characters would be. It's easy for the Hobbits. They would be draft, all bubbly and refreshing yet hearty. Aragorn would be some kind of whiskey or scotch that bites the back of your throat and really lets you know its there. Gimli would be malt beer, of course, that was easy, that was in the script. Galadriel would be the purest of pure spring water. Or maybe liquid light. But Legolas?

The Elves of Mirkwood drank wine. But Legolas couldn't be wine. It's too cheerful. True, he was more cheerful in the book; not like in the movie where they can't have him singing and running off at the mouth all the time. He's only a supporting character, after all. Orlando dreaded even the thought that he might be asked to sing like an Elf. Fortunately that's not an issue for Legolas. Legolas is very serious in the movies. He's dead serious. Deadly serious.

Assassin Elf. Or would that be Elf Assassin? No, Elf Assassin would imply he assassinates Elves, and Legolas assassinates Orcs. And Uruk Hai. And Easterlings.

Why is he trying to be so damn fluid, if all he's going to do is kill and maim?

Oh, right, he is the eyes and the ears of the Fellowship. Alert like a cat. Aware of everything going on. Orlando thinks about being alert all the time. The only way he could do that would be to drink one hell of a lot of coffee. But Legolas can't be coffee. That would make him too jittery, and the Elf is the opposite of jittery. Calm, cool, alert, aware, deadly, strong, graceful, fluid Elf.

"I'm doomed," Orlando thinks.

"Trouble sleeping last night?" Billy asks at breakfast.

"Thinking about fluids," Orlando mutters.

Billy smirks. "I think you need to get laid." Billy laughs with an irritating giggle that makes Orlando remember how he hadn't slept all night.

That night Orlando sits thinks about fluids again. Fluid mechanics. The smooth motion of hydraulics. The blood coursing through his veins pushing his muscles, pumping his limbs, giving him the fluidity he needs. But he keeps thinking about how blood pumps into one particular body part and doesn't flow back out again. Just keeps filling it until it's hard.

And so it does.

Maybe he does need to get laid. He looks at the clock. His call is in less than seven hours. And he really needs his sleep. He lies back, closes his eyes, opens his trousers, spreads his legs, just a little. Runs a fingertip up the vein that's filling his cock. Maybe he should just have a good wank.

He wonders if Legolas ever wanks. He finds it hard to picture. An Elf jerking off. Would he need to? Sex would have to get boring after a few centuries, so Elves must have a lower sex drive than humans. Orlando can't picture needing to get laid constantly for millennia. But even if he didn't have much of a sex drive, he'd still want to get off every now and then. All those months on the quest with no one Orlando could see Legolas wanting to get off with. No one who was available, anyway. Nothing but filthy humans and Hobbits and a Dwarf around. He didn't know if Gandalf counted. Maybe Legolas just held off until they got to Lothlorien. Surely Legolas was having sex all those nights he spent away from the Fellowship.

But how would Legolas jerk off? He tries to picture Legolas, out in the woods somewhere, off scouting ahead, taking a few minutes to have a wank. Seems sort of undignified, for an Elf, dropping trou in the middle of the forest and yanking it out. Orlando runs his fingers up and down his cock, tries to picture trees around him, fresh air, having to flip his hair over his shoulder to get it out of the way, the stiffness and weight of the jerkin, the soft wool leggings.

Say, now that was something he'd never actually considered. Elves are hairless, on their faces. Where else are they hairless?

Oh no, this would keep him up all night. The fluid nonsense was bad enough, but now – and he could see the future - he would obsess about Elven pubic hair all night long. It had to be sparse, at least sparser than his. And even if they were going to let Legolas's eyebrows be as dark as Orlando's, there was no way his pubes would be anything but blond. What does blond pubic hair feel like on a bloke, anyway?

And what about Elf cock? He closes his fist around himself, wondering what Legolas would feel like. Would he be as thick as Orlando? As long? He wouldn't be cut, that's for sure. He would be elegant. Isn't everything about Legolas elegant? Orlando pulls harder on his cock, imagining pale skin, and a slim, elegant cock. Blond pubic hair. Archer's calluses rubbing against sensitive skin. Wait, he has those. He knows what that feels like. And when he rubs his thumb across his sensitive head, the callus sends sparks shooting through his groin. That's good, he thinks. Legolas would know that trick. He tries it again.

He tries to picture Legolas with his head thrown back, mouth open, eyes closed, close to coming. All that Elven self-control. Would he have a restrained, dignified orgasm? No, Orlando decides. It would be the one time Legolas lets go. The only time, outside battle, when he lets his body go wild. Loses control. He groans, and it's loud. He thrusts his hips upward, driving his cock into his fist. He reaches under his shirt and pinches his nipples until they ache. He spits on his palm to make it slide over his hard cock faster. Slides his other hand over his flat stomach and curls up a bit to feel the ridges of muscle under the smooth skin. Reaches down to cup his balls, then thumbs the head some more. When he finally comes, he yells out "ai", and shoots across his stomach in hard bursts.

And spends the rest of the night wondering if Legolas comes that hard every time.

"Little too much wanking last night?" Billy smirks.

Orlando can't see anything to smirk about, so adopts a hurt expression. It goes well with the dark circles under his eyes. He's bloody exhausted, and doesn't need any flak from the one who planted the wanking idea in his head to start with.

"I didn't mean it in a mean way." Billy looks contrite enough, but it's hard to tell with that tosser because he always has a bit of a gleam in his eye. "Although, a good wank might be just what you need."

Orlando pouts. It was not.

"I just meant you should take it easy. Not be so serious about it. You're doing really great with all the training and everything, but you keep pushing yourself too hard. I think you should take a good look at your goal."

Orlando shrugs. "I don't know, I just want it to come together, you know? I've got the knife work and the costume and the archery and the movement work and the wig and the makeup, but they all seem separate."

"Ah, you're missing the flow."

Orlando raises an eyebrow.

"Fluidity, you know. Like in drama school. Finding your character and all that."

Orlando nods excitedly.

"Bollocks," Billy proclaims. "You're in the movies now. Throw all that out the window. It's a load of shite."

Shite? Acting exercises and method and finding the character is shite? Since when?

"I've read the script as much as any one, and here's what you have to do, Orlando, if you really want to be Legolas…"

Orlando leans forward as if they're about to share a deep, invaluable secret.

"You've got to channel Reeves."

What?

"You know, Superman. Don't you remember the Superman movies? You're a superhero just like him. Super Elf!"

That's just stupid.

"Super Elf?" Orlando is confused.

"Immortal, super vision, perfect aim, able to leap gaping chasms in a single bound… able to slice Moria Orcs into pieces and still look spectacular. Beautiful and peaceful, yet deadly. You're ElfMan."

Now it's surreal.

"ElfMan. Isn't that Aragorn?"

"Okay, Action Elf!"

This has gone beyond surreal. And back to stupid again.

"He's just an Elf, Billy."

"No. He's a superhero. But pretty. You know you're pretty, Orlando. Can't get away from that. But you have to be an Action Elf, too."

Orlando shakes his head, hoping the entire conversation might just fall out one ear so he'll never have to think about it again.

Orlando thanks Billy for his dubious help and sets off for the gym, where he's about to do his first full fight rehearsal. Just him, Orlando Bloom, up against six or seven killer Uruk Hai. He's scared he isn't tough enough to meet the challenge. He's not sure he can remember all his training. He's worried it won't all come together. He's terrified he'll get creamed.

But.

There's always a but.

But he's Action Elf!

"Great session, Bloom!"

"Excellent fight, kid."

"Very smooth and fluid, Legolas."

He he, Orlando thinks to himself. Action Elf rules.

*****

THE END

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