(no subject)
Title: Medicinal Whore
Author: Laurenne
Pairing: Orlando/Elijah.
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: "Orlando had called him fragile one day, for no reason at all, and Elijah considered 'accidentally' loosening his grip on the mug." (90 minutes.)
Orlando had called him fragile one day, for no reason at all, and Elijah considered "accidentally" loosening his grip on the mug. Playing doctor had its perks, but not when your patient acts like a whiny bitch.
"Who's the one staying in bed all weekend because he has a stuffy nose?"
"Well, you Americans are used to catching things from each other. You don't shower."
And Orlando grinned up at him; dared him to spill the tea - all over the bed, all over the man clad in pajama bottoms and nothing else.
Elijah set the mug on the carpeted ground and walked out the room as calmly as he could will his legs to move. He told Orlando to put on a shirt. He needed to keep warm.
*
He knew what Orlando was after, so when Dom makes a comment about America's age of consent and the fact that Elijah, well, has just recently passed it, he forces his mouth into a grin that doesn't spread to his eyes.
When Viggo calls Orlando a cradle-robber, he almost laughs. Almost. Orlando defends himself behind a glass of beer, ("It's only four years difference."), and nods in Elijah's direction. Cheers.
*
Frankly, Elijah was tired of this cycle. Orlando would phone him, "Elijah?" A few well-placed and pitiful sniffs, and Elijah would cave.
Standing in Orlando's kitchen, he engages in friendly subconscious conversation.
He doesn't want anything from you he can't get from anyone else. It's all about lust. Lust, lust, lust--
"Oh, fuck!"
He didn't expect the kettle to be that hot, nor did he expect Orlando to appear in the doorway and watch him suck on his right index finger.
When Elijah's hand is in Orlando's hands, and the pain is momentarily forgotten, he blurts out, "Aren't you sick?"
Orlando drops his hand and shuffles back to his bedroom. Elijah swallows and ignores the throbbing layer of burnt skin.
*
"My stomach hurts. Come over."
"Can't you make your own tea for once?"
"I can't move."
"You picked up the phone."
"I can't move."
"Give me an hour."
"Okay."
*
Sure, Orlando was prone to bodily malfunctions - whether it be an injury or some kind of illness, but that doesn't make his assumption that he would be his willing slave (Elijah didn't like to think about the extent of his "slavery") justified.
Elijah swears he fakes it. He swears it, because who stretches like that when they have a backache, who talks so fervently when suffering a sore throat?
He decides either Orlando is some freak of nature, or just a bit of a hypochondriac.
*
Orlando catches a cold from someone on set a month later, and Elijah ignores the knowing glances Dom shoots in his direction every ten minutes. He crosses paths with Orlando afterwards; their conversation intervenes with those making plans for pub visits and various celebrations.
"You gonna pass on the tea this time?" Orlando says while wiping at his dripping nose with a knuckle.
"Naw."
"Okay. Good."
But Elijah's not sure of his sincerity.
*
Dom just won't let it go, and when he finally spits it out, he finally calls Elijah "Orlando's medicinal whore", Elijah's laughs are genuine. Because, it's really very funny.
Fucking hilarious, even, watching Orlando fall asleep drooling. To see his nostrils go all dry and red from the sans-lotion-brand tissue, and to make fun of him for it, because Orlando allows him to.
The repetition of, lust, lust, lust is cut short once again, but this time without any physical injury.
Because that's not all he wants, is it?
*
"You sure you don't mind?" Orlando asks every time a new cup of steaming tea is handed to him, and Elijah answers truthfully.
"Yeah." He expects some sort of payment, some form of compensation, but he doesn't mention this. Because used tissues litter Orlando's bedside table in piles, and he'll need medication soon.
"You sure you're sure?" he tears a corner of unused tissue and rolls it into a ball between his fingers. Elijah picks at some loose thread on Orlando's duvet.
Orlando doesn't wait for an answer before he falls asleep - cocooned within what seems like thousands of mismatched sheets and comforters. It's summer, but "the flu'll do it to ya". The symptoms don't match up; Elijah's almost certain it's just a cold.
"I'm sure I'm sure."
Elijah counts the seconds between his sleep-heavy breaths and wonders if he'll eventually leave a permanent imprint on the edge of Orlando's bed.
Author: Laurenne
Pairing: Orlando/Elijah.
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: "Orlando had called him fragile one day, for no reason at all, and Elijah considered 'accidentally' loosening his grip on the mug." (90 minutes.)
Orlando had called him fragile one day, for no reason at all, and Elijah considered "accidentally" loosening his grip on the mug. Playing doctor had its perks, but not when your patient acts like a whiny bitch.
"Who's the one staying in bed all weekend because he has a stuffy nose?"
"Well, you Americans are used to catching things from each other. You don't shower."
And Orlando grinned up at him; dared him to spill the tea - all over the bed, all over the man clad in pajama bottoms and nothing else.
Elijah set the mug on the carpeted ground and walked out the room as calmly as he could will his legs to move. He told Orlando to put on a shirt. He needed to keep warm.
*
He knew what Orlando was after, so when Dom makes a comment about America's age of consent and the fact that Elijah, well, has just recently passed it, he forces his mouth into a grin that doesn't spread to his eyes.
When Viggo calls Orlando a cradle-robber, he almost laughs. Almost. Orlando defends himself behind a glass of beer, ("It's only four years difference."), and nods in Elijah's direction. Cheers.
*
Frankly, Elijah was tired of this cycle. Orlando would phone him, "Elijah?" A few well-placed and pitiful sniffs, and Elijah would cave.
Standing in Orlando's kitchen, he engages in friendly subconscious conversation.
He doesn't want anything from you he can't get from anyone else. It's all about lust. Lust, lust, lust--
"Oh, fuck!"
He didn't expect the kettle to be that hot, nor did he expect Orlando to appear in the doorway and watch him suck on his right index finger.
When Elijah's hand is in Orlando's hands, and the pain is momentarily forgotten, he blurts out, "Aren't you sick?"
Orlando drops his hand and shuffles back to his bedroom. Elijah swallows and ignores the throbbing layer of burnt skin.
*
"My stomach hurts. Come over."
"Can't you make your own tea for once?"
"I can't move."
"You picked up the phone."
"I can't move."
"Give me an hour."
"Okay."
*
Sure, Orlando was prone to bodily malfunctions - whether it be an injury or some kind of illness, but that doesn't make his assumption that he would be his willing slave (Elijah didn't like to think about the extent of his "slavery") justified.
Elijah swears he fakes it. He swears it, because who stretches like that when they have a backache, who talks so fervently when suffering a sore throat?
He decides either Orlando is some freak of nature, or just a bit of a hypochondriac.
*
Orlando catches a cold from someone on set a month later, and Elijah ignores the knowing glances Dom shoots in his direction every ten minutes. He crosses paths with Orlando afterwards; their conversation intervenes with those making plans for pub visits and various celebrations.
"You gonna pass on the tea this time?" Orlando says while wiping at his dripping nose with a knuckle.
"Naw."
"Okay. Good."
But Elijah's not sure of his sincerity.
*
Dom just won't let it go, and when he finally spits it out, he finally calls Elijah "Orlando's medicinal whore", Elijah's laughs are genuine. Because, it's really very funny.
Fucking hilarious, even, watching Orlando fall asleep drooling. To see his nostrils go all dry and red from the sans-lotion-brand tissue, and to make fun of him for it, because Orlando allows him to.
The repetition of, lust, lust, lust is cut short once again, but this time without any physical injury.
Because that's not all he wants, is it?
*
"You sure you don't mind?" Orlando asks every time a new cup of steaming tea is handed to him, and Elijah answers truthfully.
"Yeah." He expects some sort of payment, some form of compensation, but he doesn't mention this. Because used tissues litter Orlando's bedside table in piles, and he'll need medication soon.
"You sure you're sure?" he tears a corner of unused tissue and rolls it into a ball between his fingers. Elijah picks at some loose thread on Orlando's duvet.
Orlando doesn't wait for an answer before he falls asleep - cocooned within what seems like thousands of mismatched sheets and comforters. It's summer, but "the flu'll do it to ya". The symptoms don't match up; Elijah's almost certain it's just a cold.
"I'm sure I'm sure."
Elijah counts the seconds between his sleep-heavy breaths and wonders if he'll eventually leave a permanent imprint on the edge of Orlando's bed.