Warnings: Admittedly, I have taken a totally ridiculous amount of liberty with Viggo. Lani we all met on the Two Towers Extended Version bonus materials. Immediately I admired her spunk. I thought it would be fun to get the two of them together let her admire Viggo’s spunk; uh, I mean, and let a star have it out (and get it on) with a ‘normal’ person for once.
Graphic het sex and masturbation.
Timeframe: Helm’s Deep shooting
Bunny: Saralinde’s Lords of Gondor site. She writes such good ViggoHet I had to try it.
As always, this never happened. Sorry Lani, but better you than the bearded ladies of Rohan.
Author: Helena Snow-Renn
She always went last, not that she even cared after the first couple nights. Lani was the only female Uruk-Hai in the world. For that privilege, she would gladly wait for the seventy-five minutes it took each night for one hundred twenty smelly, sweaty Maoris, Kiwis, and Aussies (mostly) to wash off the crud that coated them after a night of Helm’s Deep. All Lani’s life she’d wanted to be involved in some epic project; despite the all-night shoots and rain and mud, this was perfect. After two months of the nightly battle, some of the stunties were grumbling they’d never see the light of day again. Not Lani. Give her twenty-five pounds of perpetually damp foam rubber costume, a wickedly hooked spear and a helmet and she thrived. She wasn’t shy about saying how much she loved it.
Like anyone else, she’d be dead tired by the time their five a.m. quitting time rolled around; sometimes she’d been whacked and mowed over one too many times and struggled with her attitude, but she never turned away any of the guys who sought her encouragement. It was just a running joke at first. Then, a source of bemusement. ‘Go have a Lani-talk,’ they’d say. So far, she credited herself with having prevented half a dozen extras from walking. Sometimes though, she couldn’t find the right combination of words to keep a frustrated stunty from walking away from the whole mess. At such times, she referred the men to one Viggo Mortensen. She’d rarely spoken two words to him, but didn’t doubt he could work whatever miracles she didn’t have the power to conjure. There was something simply about the way he’d look at you that made you want to forget whatever petty shit you were bitching about and give it your all. He was, after all, the one who held together the squabbling, many-minded Fellowship and all their lackeys when even Peter and the New Line execs couldn’t. If you believed local legend, anyway. A few disconcerted Uruks couldn’t be much of a problem for him.
There came a day for her to lose her first, which is how she though of it: a guy named Lars, Scandinavian-named and very Aryan in appearance, six-foot-three with a slightly German accent. The other men must have thought him beyond reaching because no one sent him to her. She heard by the grapevine and approached him on her own. He merely shrugged her off in a show of, “This place blows, and what would a woman like you know anyway?” The insinuation was while she wasn’t a man, neither was she truly a woman, being at home in such a rough-and-tumble environment. Attack, main, kill; they did these things all night, even if most of it was fake.
Determined not to let it wear on her, Lani peeled off her costume in the molten orange light of the rising sun. After dropping it off in wardrobe, she veered toward the weapons stash. It would be at least half an hour till she could have the privacy of the shower room. Might as well run through some exercises. She was beat, but needed the distraction. It took a few minutes to find a medium-length, lightweight sprung-steel sword in the midst of hundreds of heavy Uruk-Hai scimitars, pikes and spears. She started with basic patterns, concentrating on her footwork. After a few minutes she transitioned into somewhat more difficult lunges. She had so lost herself in the rhythm of it she didn’t hear another stunt person come up behind her. When he laid a hand on her shoulder, she whipped around, half crouching, ready to parry an attack. The man’s large dark eyes widened but he had no time to react. Her blade arced toward the unarmed, unsuspecting Maori. A split second before her blade would have sliced into the man’s upper arm it clanged hard against a long, wickedly sharp silver sword rich with etched runes. The impact on her arm that was already trying to hold or turn back the blow shivered it all the way to the shoulder. Lani’s borrowed weapon fell to the ground.
“Take it easy!” commanded a twangy male voice through her mental haze. “He’s not your enemy.”
The other man let out his breath. “Oh, shite! Thought I was gonna lose me arm for sure. Anyway… Lani, we’re done. Shower’s all yours.” He smiled thinly. “Don’t worry, Lani. I’ll get you tomorrow. And, thanks.” That last was directed at Viggo.
Lani picked up her fallen weapon and fled.
A huge cistern had been rigged weeks ago to facilitate heating shower water. They had several small heaters, similar to the kind one can put in an animal’s water bucket, which could be used when the sun hadn’t shone brightly enough during daylight hours to heat the whole tank. Neither method ever produced enough hot water to go around. They had one rather crude washhouse for the lot of them; just one pipe with six showerheads attached ran through the quickly-constructed little building. It was just one of those things Lani had at first put up with, but had quickly grown used to. With her change of clothes stashed safely in the far corner, she twisted the hot water tap to full blast. What came out was not even lukewarm, but it would do. She stepped gingerly under the running water.
Lani sensed, rather than heard, another human in her near vicinity. Someone else was in the room with her. He’d been quiet in his approach, padding in barefoot. She’d had her head tilted back into the tepid spray to rinse out shampoo. So when she opened her eyes, there sat Viggo himself on the damp wooden bench opposite, slouched down with his legs crossed. The man obviously thought himself clever to have taken her unawares like that. His hair was filthy and plastered to his head. All of his clothes were caked in layers of sludge and were mostly one range of the color spectrum—mud brown. Lani let out a short squeal of surprise and turned her back to him. After all the razzing she’d had to take from the crew about ‘don’t be a pussy’ till they discovered she could kick ass with the best of them, she wasn’t about to let one guy, star of this cacophony-on-wheels or not, intimidate her. So what if she was naked? She could chop through five cement blocks with her bare hands. She had nothing to be afraid of. Or ashamed of. These last eight weeks had toned her already-fit body into sculpted abs and wiry arm musculature, even if it had thickened her thigh muscles from carrying so much extra weight all the time.
”Didn’t mean to scare you…” The man began in the most innocent of voices.
Lani cut him off. “Oh, yes you did.”
“Well, fine. Trying to hone my Ranger skills and all that.”
That was a crock of shit if she’d ever heard it. The look she threw him over her shoulder said as much. He wasn’t fazed in the least.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Uh…okay.” This was really quite ridiculous, Lani decided. Surely he had a house or apartment or at least a hotel room, one where he had access to hot water.
In one fluid motion, Viggo rose to his feet and began to unbuckle his sword belt. Lani ceased looking before she got herself in trouble. She’d always found a man unbuckling his belt to be a very erotic gesture, or at least suggestive.
“There, I’m unarmed,” he joked, and she could hear him brace the sword carefully against the back wall. Lani had no retort for that. Her conscience was still stinging with shame over the near tragic event outside earlier. But as for Viggo...
He was shedding layers of costume quickly, efficiently. Lani reached for the soap. Her hands, feet, and neck were still crusted with mud. The greasepaint they used to encircle their eye sockets was always tricky to get off. Then there was all that sweat. She could smell herself. As Viggo approached, she could smell him, too. It was a very different kind of stink than hers. The sooner they were both clean the better. She resolved not to look at him. Hopefully if she afforded him this small measure of privacy, he would do the same for her.
The showerhead next to hers sprang to life. Its gout of water hit the wooden floor, then a body. Lani’s hearing suddenly sharpened.
For an American, one of his age no less, which was about fifteen years older than she, Viggo was very attractive. Lani had always thought so. And he was standing next to her now, wet and naked. ‘Just one peek,’ she told herself guiltily. She would pick her moment carefully.
Viggo surprised her by speaking. “So… you’re the famous Lani, huh?”
Lani had no idea what he meant. He was the famous one. Was that supposed to be a joke at her expense? “What do you mean, ‘the famous Lani’?”
“Well, you’re our only stuntwoman, right?”
“True,” she conceded, while scrubbing at her blackened fingernails.
“And you’re like the pep-talk girl, I’ve heard.”
“Well, so much for that. I lost one today.”
“I think I remember him. Big guy, blond, soft-spoken… he wasn’t going to last. Homesick, I think.”
“We all get homesick in this hellhole. I bet even you do.”
“’Even you do,’ she says. Especially me, some days.” He must have turned around, as the water was splattering against his body at a different speed now. Lani started on her other grubby paw. ‘Don’t look, don’t look,’ went her inner mantra.
“There’ve been days I’ve sent guys to talk to you, when I can’t help them,” she told him. “Even though I don’t know you. Didn’t know you. Jesus, what a way to meet, eh?”
“Hi, Lani, I’m Viggo,” he quipped, offering his hand. Lani caught the movement in her peripheral vision. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” She mentally laughed at the absurdity and turned to take his hand. Determinedly, she did not allow her eyes to dip below his neck. He was smiling, a blazingly white, gap-toothed smile that reached his keen storm-blue eyes. Apparently her resolve was not his. He ran a long appreciative look up her form. She felt utterly…naked. Hello. Whatever he thought he was seeing, she could tell he liked it. “Men!” she thought. “One track minds!”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, seeing her expression. “You’re a striking woman, you know.”
“Right,” she said sarcastically. “When I’m not an Uruk-Hai, right?”
“Maybe I should qualify,” Viggo added. “When you’re not an Uruk-Hai with raccoon eyes.”
“Oh!” Lani realized she hadn’t washed off the grease paint yet. It had a tendency to run and smear all over her face. Viggo had more or less said she was appealing after that? He had to be crazy. She picked up the soap again.
“You’re not using that on your face, are you?” Viggo interrupted.
“Uh… yeah.” She already had suds on her cheeks.
“Wash that off, girl. I’ve got some stuff here that works great… try it.”
Probably some expensive all-natural glop that cost as much as she’d made tonight.
“Thanks, but it’s not necessary.”
“No, really. It’s gonna take you half an hour to get that off your face. That soap will dry out your skin, too. With this, if you smear it on and wait a minute, it wipes right off.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Lani put her face under the spray. Then she gathered her nerve and faced Viggo, holding out a cupped hand. He caught her wrist, flicked up the lid of a smallish black bottle with his thumb, and poured. The substance was halfway between liquid and jelly, white and viscous. Lani blushed to think of what it reminded her of. Viggo still had her wrist. “Such small hands,” he mused quietly. His calloused palm slid up her arm slowly, fingers wrapped around as far as they’d go, all the way to her shoulder. Tingles rippled outward from where he had touched her. Lani was afraid to look up or down now. Her eyes settled on his chest. Used to much darker-skinned people, she was startled to see such pink nipples on a grown man. Dusty rose pink, like a little girl’s, to her thinking. They were pulled tight from the cold water, tipped with quarter-inch buds, surrounded by puckered areolas and a ring of raised bumps. Fascinating. Lani had the crazy thought that Viggo’s nipples were just right for piercing. A silver ring winking from one or both would have been perfect.
Abruptly, Lani pulled her arm free and spread the ooze over her face. She hoped she hadn’t been standing there like a dork for too long. Viggo lathered up. Water splashed and thrummed against the floorboards as he turned this way and that. From the sound she was sure that he’d rinsed off and was washing his hair. When it seemed that he’d finished the job, which sounded like a lot of scratching and furious rubbing, followed by many douses of water being squeezed from wet hair, she asked, “Can I take this off yet, you think?”
Viggo’s voice sounded a bit strained. Suddenly he was being very quiet. “Wait; give it a bit more time.”
By now Lani’s skin had adjusted to the water temperature. It actually felt good—invigorating. While she stood there, she started going over the next day’s choreography.
Still no sound from Viggo. Wait a minute. Heavy breathing. Something… like a muted slapping. No, it couldn’t be… he wasn’t…? If he’d intended to touch her at all, he’d have done so by now. And she’d have broken his fingers. Well, this was too much. Off came the face-goop. Lani gave her pupils a minute to acclimate and faced her left.
“What the hell are you doing?” She bleated out her initial reaction, unable to stop. It wasn’t like she’d never witnessed this particular act before… it was just so… insane! Viggo stood, back to the shower, cock in hand. It was thick and throbbing, jutting out proudly from his narrow hips. His hand was wrapped around it so tightly his knuckles were white, and moving rapidly.
“It’s for my hair. Conditioner.”
“What does that have to do with…?”
“Semen. Works great,” Viggo stated as if she should have known, duh. He turned his head to stare at her. In fact, he positively leered. “Oh. Did you want some?”
The absurdity of the situation hit Lani hard, so hard she began to giggle, then laugh uncontrollably. After a minute, she was so weak from it she tottered over to lean against the wall. All the while Viggo continued to stroke himself, apparently unbothered by her hee-hawing, his body gradually tensing as pressure built. Lani had had to slide down the wall when she could no longer stand. Finally, her ebullient attack ended. So she sat and watched. ‘And why not?’ Viggo hadn’t told her to leave. Not hardly, to appear while she was showering to strip himself naked, and then proceed to wank in front of her.
Lani, from her angle, saw him mostly from the back. He’d slicked his hair straight back; made longer the water, the dark strands clung to his neck and fell to the upper line of his scapulae. ‘Wiry’ was how she would have described his build. He was smaller than he appeared under all those layers of costume, but by no means skinny. Months of sword-fighting and riding had the same natural effect on him as it did her. At this moment, all the muscles in his back moved in an animal poetry. They rippled his tan skin subtlety. He’d planted his feet shoulder-width apart, the knees were not quite locked. Drowned-looking dark hair stuck to the columns of his legs. His ass was much lighter than the rest of him, but not white enough that Lani ruled out nude sunbathing. His hips rocked forward, and Viggo had a sensual rythme going. She could practically feel it, feel him. Her breath hitched unexpectedly at his display. Dammit, she didn’t need to go getting turned on. With all the men around, she should not even be thinking about sex, much less sitting here watching it. If she went into the human stew/mosh pit/war zone reeking like a bitch in heat there would be trouble. She’d discovered that the hard way and wasn’t going to ever make the same mistake again. Damn Viggo. She’d need to meditate at least two hours before she set foot on this set again. ‘Thanks a lot, Viggo, for stolen sleep.’ Her meditations would have to come first, or she’d never rest.
Who was she kidding? First things first. A good wank. A very good, hard, gut-wrenching, earth-shattering, screaming orgasm to make her pass out: that was the only cure.
The actor stepped up his pace. From where she sat, Lani had a good, eye-level view of his nicely curved ass. In no logical pattern at all Viggo’s cheeks would clench and unclench, showing off the hollows on either side. Lani could see flashes of his hand pounding, of his purple organ above or below the fist. He was going to strangle his parts if he squeezed any tighter. Something about the way he bucked his pelvis forward, into his own ravening hand… Lani’s inner throbbing intensified and picked up Vig’s timing. She had to dig short nails into palms to keep from touching herself.
His climax had to be soon. Besides the dizzying push-pull at his groin, Viggo’s chest heaved with each breath and his legs shook.
“You like watching?” he asked abruptly, mid-stroke. “Hm? You like watching me jack off?”
Wonderful Yank terminology.
“You like it, don’t you?” He pivoted 180-degrees and let the water hit him squarely in the chest. “You don’t have to just watch, though, you know.”
“But, but, you’re almost done, aren’t you,” Lani sputtered. “So finish it.”
Immediately he dropped what he was doing and put both hands up in an ‘I yield’ position. “Not if I don’t want to be. Well, what about you?”
“What about me? Haven’t I proven I can take care of myself?”
“No arguments there. But it’s a shame for you to have to. Don’t you like to be taken care of sometimes, too? So let me.”
Lani just looked at him. God, did she ever want to. “You’re crazy, you know. Has anyone ever told you that?”
He just smirked.
“Weeeeell…” She drew out the word trying simultaneously to talk herself into and out of it. The ridiculousness of it… but this was not a ‘normal’ place. The age difference… which didn’t stop her blood from boiling at the sight of him. Different nationalities… so what? Surely he was just using the nearest warm body; a guy like that could have whoever he wanted… well, she could use that logic too, on the man himself… she was currently unattached, it had been months… what the hell? Yes!
Lani jumped out of her crouch and literally flew through the air at him. He caught her and staggered over to the nearest wooden wall with Lani struggling to get a purchase on his neck and her knees over his hips.
“Whoa, easy there!”
Lani’s back banged against the boards. She laughed, “You sound like you’re talking to a horse!”
“I’m gonna mount you like a horse…”
“Wrong position, you know.”
Lani wiggled around against him. The hair on his chest tickled her. She could feel his erection rubbing somewhere near her entrance. Both of Viggo’s hands cupped her bottom. He braced his feet, got his hips under hers and then somehow, between the two of them, they aligned and she felt him slide in. He was staring at her, eyes a darker shade of blue now, gauging her reactions. Lani didn’t want to be gauged. She wanted to be fucked. Hard. Now. Viggo grinned wolfishly and gave her a good. Hard. Push. Then he pulled back as far as he could without losing his balance and shoved. It in. Again. The stuntwoman tilted her hips forward to take him deeper. His cock was like a hot phallic stone—it was that hard. Lani shivered at the way he kept her pinned with his eyes. He fucked with them as much as he fucked any other body part. Viggo let her back rest against the wall, her powerful legs still around his waist. He rocked against her, into her, the friction where their bodies joined driving Lani mad. It felt so damn good; she wanted to cum so bad. It was building up in her insides. Viggo was already so close; she had to see him get off as he pounded into her.