FIC: TLC (3/?)
Title: TLC
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Pairing: V/O and some others
Word Count: 2,827 chapter; 8,212 total
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people and this is a work of fiction.
Summary: AU. "Life is never long enough, so seize the happiness and hang on for the ride." Orlando never made LOTR and thus never became an in-demand actor. Instead he's languishing at the bottom rung and feeling like shit. But he's had a good past and has good friends. Maybe he'll land that role that'll make his career or maybe he won't. Still he knows that this life... is short and worth living.
Previous Chapters: here
- 2005 -
A scowling, snarling Eric Bana met him at the arrival gate. Thank god he saw that the tone and the ugliness weren’t directed at him. But whoever was on the other end, Orlando felt a bit of pity for. Not a lot because he really didn’t know if the other person had earned it. And also because he really didn’t want to think bad of his fellow actor-potential mate-before the filming had even begun.
Bad set relationships could be a film’s death and he couldn’t afford that. This had to launch his career (in any sense it would since it was his first role), had to be a box office success (he’d settle for it not losing money), and it had to establish himself as a serious actor (instead of the pretty, vapid boy everyone presumed). If not, then he would slip into certain obscurity.
His stomach rolled at the thought and Orlando dug his fingers into his palm to stop him from making a fool of himself. He forced a smile onto his face when Eric flipped the mobile off and glanced at him. His expression wasn’t welcoming, but it was certainly less severe than it had been.
“Hello,” Orlando said softly.
“Let’s get the rest of your bags,” Eric snapped, pivoting on his heel and turning toward the sign that said ‘baggage claim.’
Orlando grabbed his arm and stopped him mid-stride. Immediately, he dropped his hand when Eric whirled around and fixated a punishing glare at him. “I… I don’t have any other luggage,” Orlando mumbled, feeling like a first-rate dunce, loser, whatever. But God did he want to just… get along with his cast-mate and maybe become friends. “Just my carryon.”
“That’s certainly convenient, isn’t it? Well, don’t expect me to take you on a shopping excursion.” Eric jerked his hand in an impatient gesture for Orlando to follow after him. “Sam wants you on set immediately. Wants to show you around and get you a draft of the script so you can start reading through.”
“All right,” Orlando said, clutching his bag close to his side and following Eric out of the arrival terminal. He had to take almost two strides with every one of Eric’s walloping ones. But it wasn’t something he minded; after all, he was heading toward something good.
- 1995 -
They’d been fucking for weeks when Orlando began licking his wounds. His fuckwit boyfriend had abruptly ended all sort of contact with him and disappearing from wherever he’d been. It wasn’t that he’d been the love of his life, but goddammit-didn’t he at least deserve a warning?
He was pissed and he was pissed and it felt fucking good to be kissing some nameless sort of muscles and cock. And did he mention that cock felt really good pressed into his stomach?
Orlando groaned and bent his head back so this stranger might mark his throat and oh fuck did that feel like a sin. What did Catholics call it? Oh yes, he remembered-a mortal sin, one that would lay waste to his soul and lead him into eternal damnation. If hell was this, ohmyfuckinggodgood, he’d embrace it.
The nameless man’s hand was like a work of art. The stroke was perfect, not too gentle and not too rough. “Oh god,” he groaned. “I’m going to come.”
“Not yet, you aren’t,” the man said in a thicker accent than his own. “I’m gonna fuck you raw before you spew your load.”
Orlando could only moan when he felt a lubricated finger push into his tight hole. He bucked his hips eagerly, wrapping his arms around the stranger’s neck and trying to draw him down for a kiss. But the man resisted and whatever Orlando might have said died on his tongue when he felt a thick cock push into his ass with minimal preparation.
It hurt like a motherfucker until the cock jabbed his prostate and Orlando started muttering obscenities. His eyes clouded over in passion, but he could see a twisted smile on the man’s face and he didn’t think it was because of the pleasure. It was something else, but he didn’t care. He wanted to forget his first fuck and this was a way to do it.
“Come you little shit,” the stranger gasped as he pulled out and pushed in with a force that was more violent than gentle.
Orlando cried and came.
- 2005 -
Mendes certainly wasn’t a director that slacked around, not that Orlando suspected many of them did. He knew for a fact that people’s interpretations that acting was an easy job were bloody wrong. His back just twitched in pain at the thought of some of the things he would gladly do for a role. But he’d lucked out with a fairly non-demanding one.
“Have you thumbed through the script?” Mendes asked.
Orlando nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good, that’s good.” Mendes actually smiled a bit. “You got the script changes, right? The writers reworked the scene you and Eric are supposed to do today.”
“Uh huh.”
“Well then,” Eric remarked, startling Orlando by coming out the freaking shadows again, “why don’t we start off the top?”
Mendes’ smile widened. “Are you game, Bloom?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said as confidently as he could with Eric staring hard at him. “I’m game.”
“Great. Run through the scene once and then we’ll get the camera’s rolling.”
Orlando wetted his lips and swallowed dryly, hoping he’d gotten rid of the taste of nerves. He smiled at Eric, but the older, bigger man just ignored him. Somehow, Orlando got the distinct feeling that Eric didn’t much like him and he really didn’t know why. Was it just something about him or was it just that Eric wasn’t a very friendly person?
“Ready?”
“Yeah,” both Orlando and Eric said at the same time.
Orlando was a bit rattled, but Eric looked bored. Orlando bit his tongue and ran his fingers self-consciously through his curly hair before he got down on his knees and prostrated his body on the floor.
It had been one of those shitty days in which nothing had gone right. Of course, what made things even worse was that he’d somehow managed to get himself thrown out the bar and he was too fucking drunk to see straight. If he had, that would have bothered him. That would have pissed him off. That meant all the booze he’d drowned himself in hadn’t been doing its job.
Nar rested his face against the dirty, but cool pavement. The dim streetlights were dancing in yellow, purple, and orange. Such pretty colors. He liked purple. He liked orange. He really liked yellow. Yellow was sexy.
“Oh God,” cursed a familiar voice. Wes’ voice. But what was Wes doing here? “You fucking idiot. Did you have to waste yourself? He’s not bloody worth it.”
Nar wanted to laugh. Wes thought he was boozed out of his mind because of his fuck buddy had left him? That was sheer folly on Wes’ part, but then Wes wasn’t as smart as he thought himself to be.
“Nar? Can you hear me?” Wes shook him gently. “Oh God, please open your eyes.”
Nar wheezed and he wanted to say that his eyes were open, ‘cuz he could most definitely see the pretty purple, yellow, and orange lights. They were dancing right in front of his goddamn eyes, so was Wes fucking blind?
Hmm… black was a really pretty color too.
“Good,” Mendes said. “Very good.”
It felt too good, lying on the floor, Orlando thought. But he lifted his head and smiled, hoping it might brighten his face up. No matter how much Advil he took, he couldn’t seem to get rid of his damnable cold, cough, whatever. As soon as he got some money into his bank account, he’d find himself a doctor.
Orlando stood up and his world spun. He blinked rapidly, but didn’t shake his head. He knew when he got one of these dizzy spells that would only make things worse. He took a deep breath and almost jerked his head when he heard Eric ask, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Orlando said. He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Got a headache and all,” he lied. “Probably allergies or something.”
The way Eric kept looking at him was starting to make Orlando a tad nervy. “You should see a doctor and get a shot. You really don’t look so well.”
Orlando shrugged. “Bad night’s sleep.”
“Well,” Mendes cut in, “we certainly don’t need you getting sick.” He turned to his assistant and said, “Dee, do you know a good doctor around here?”
“No, but I can look one up,” she said, her fingers flying over her little blackberry.
“It’s really not-”
“The last thing I need is you getting sick in the middle of production,” Mendes said. “Just go to the doctor, get yourself some pills, and get better, all right? You’re sounding a bit hoarse… though, it might be a good sound for Nar. Was it on purpose?”
“Did I overplay it?” Orlando asked, trying to clear his voice. It wasn’t like he’d been deliberately trying to speak in a raspy voice, but he hadn’t tried to cover up his exhausted, dejected side-letting it overwhelm him and allowing it to push him into Nar’s character. “I was just trying to… feel like life is… gone.”
Mendes narrowed his eyes briefly before his expression returned to what it was. “I think the voice you’re using is good when Nar’s in that kind of situation, but other than that-I’d rather have it normal.”
“I understand.”
Eric cleared his throat, drawing both men’s attention to him. “Are the cameras set?”
Looking over his shoulder, Mendes shot the head cameraman an inquiring eye. The cameraman gave him a thumb’s up. “Ready when you are.”
Mendes smiled encouragingly at Orlando. “Just do what you did and it’ll be perfect.”
So Orlando did.
- 2005 -
He was in a bustling, Metropolitan city-NYC-and yet, he had no desire to go out and experience the scene. Instead he was in his hotel room getting ready for bed. He wondered if Viggo would mind terribly if he called. But he’d called Viggo two days ago. Maybe he ought to ring up Sean… he was still home, wasn’t he? Not away on another production set… not yet.
Orlando’s hand hovered over the phone before dropping limply on the fluffy coverlet. For fuck’s sake, he was twenty-eight; he didn’t need to whine to Viggo or Sean about his doubts and anxieties. He didn’t need to hear them reassure him that he wasn’t a terrible actor, that he wasn’t just a pretty face.
He had substance; all he needed was to believe that himself.
- 2000 -
“Oh my god, you’ll never guess what happened today!” Orlando exclaimed, plastering himself all over Viggo. His arms were looped around Viggo’s shoulders and his body was pressed almost intimately against Viggo’s. “I got a call! Some director actually called me to tryout for one of the supporting roles in his film!”
Viggo wrapped his arms around Orlando and returned the hug briefly before letting go. “That’s great.”
Orlando frowned, looking at a certain smile that he recognized all too well on Viggo’s face. “You knew!” he accused. “You knew, didn’t you?”
Viggo shrugged his shoulders. “Not exactly, but the director and I are acquaintances. He was looking for a young, good-looking boy that could act and I suggested you. I didn’t what of weight my word carried.”
“Thank you,” Orlando said softly. “I mean, you didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re a good actor. You just need a break and I think if you get the role… this might help. After all, you’ve got to start somewhere.”
Yeah, the problem was getting somewhere.
- 2005 -
“Bloom?” the nurse called, holding a clear backed, plastic clipboard. “Orlando Bloom?”
He stood up from the uncomfortable chair in the waiting room and grinned at the plump, good-natured looking woman. The wait had actually turned out to be far less than he expected, but then his general experience with American doctors were limited to one case that he definitely didn’t want repeat any time soon. “That’s me.”
She nodded and smiled at him. “Follow me this way.” She guided him to a small room and started asking him some general questions about himself, then about how he was feeling, before she said, “The doctor will be in shortly.”
Orlando didn’t know if that meant shortly in his relativity or hers. Better bloody well be his because if he had to wait a half hour for the doctor to show up, no matter how short the front wait had been, he really would be tempted to leave and screw the meds. But not really, he really, really wanted some antibiotics-he just really didn’t like doctors.
“Good morning,” the doctor said, a clean-cut middle aged man with steel-rimmed trendy glasses propped on his nose. “Mr. Bloom? I’m Dr. Valentine, and yes, I know it’s a strange surname.” The man smiled. “You can just think of me as ‘Jason’ if that makes things easier on you. So…” The man-Jason trailed his finger down his nurse’s loopy handwriting. “You have a bit of a cold? And a cough?”
“Yeah,” Orlando answered. “I just wanted some antibiotics or something to make it go away. I’ve been taking Advil, but they haven’t done anything.”
“Well, I can certainly give you something, but sometimes it’s better to just let the fever burn through if it’s mild,” Jason remarked. “Though it says here, you’ve been feeling like this for the last few weeks?” Orlando nodded and the doctor continued, “Were you fatigued before that?”
“Yeah.”
“Usually a cold doesn’t last that long…” the doctor said. “Have you been feeling this bad all the time? Or has it had its ups and downs?”
“Sometimes I feel functional, but other times I feel like shit,” Orlando answered honestly, hoping that this Jason fellow would take mercy on him and just prescribe him an arse full of pills to pop. “And I really can’t afford to be slowed down. I’m in the middle of a job.”
“Hmmm… I think you may have a case of the flu and are simply having a relapse. I’m taking it that you haven’t seen a doctor recently?”
“Couldn’t afford it,” Orlando muttered.
The doctor sighed and moved to a drawer, sliding it open and taking out a tongue depressor among other things. “Let’s get this examination over with, but I assure you-you’ll get your pills. And young man, you really should see a doctor when your body’s this worn down. These things don’t just go away. Consistent weakening of your body’s defense makes you susceptible to other infections, and you really don’t want to get pneumonia. Now that’s nasty.” Jason wielded the wide, flat wooden stick like a sword. “Say ahhhhhh!”
- 2005 -
Everyday on set this week, Orlando felt like his personality was slipping and giving away to the dynamic that was Nar. He even began to believe the same thing was happening to Eric and his Wes. There was a certain friendly chemistry between Nar and Wes, though-Orlando thought with an ironic grin-it wasn’t the kind that Nar wanted.
“Earth to Bloom!” Mendes shouted. “Camera’s about to roll.”
Orlando nodded and flipped his other face on.
There were days in which Nar didn’t feel weak enough to shoot up a mixture of shit into his veins. But those were the days when his lover hadn’t abandoned him, hadn’t call him a dirty cock-sucking slut that didn’t deserve to have anyone love him-when his life hadn’t been going down a dirt road that led to nowhere.
These now were the days when Nar found any heroin, any kind of ecstasy, any weird shit pill and took it. He popped them down his throat, but he was always careful not to overdo it to the death knell. Sometimes he wondered if he was a fucking coward ‘cuz he couldn’t swallow a handful of blissful poison.
“Fuck you, Nar,” a dirty, come-stained man cursed. “You owe me fifty for that!”
Nar grinned and licked his pretty lips. He knew his lips were pretty, his lover had told him so many times when he’d sucked him to a mortal heaven. Ripping the plastic off a fresh needle, he fitted it over the tube and squinted at his arms. Some of his veins were really shot. Still he had his legs. Oh. There. He pressed the needle against a patch of skin just below his elbow and pushed in.
“You fucking owe me,” the man hissed into his ear as the drugs started swirling, prettying the world in Nar’s head.
Nar turned his head and swiped his tongue across the scruffy jaw. “Want me to blow you?”
“Bloom,” Mendes snapped.
Orlando cringed inside, but put a brave face on to face the director. “Yes?”
A slow smile spread across Mendes’ face. “You’re more than a pretty face.”
TBC
A/N: Feed me?
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Pairing: V/O and some others
Word Count: 2,827 chapter; 8,212 total
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people and this is a work of fiction.
Summary: AU. "Life is never long enough, so seize the happiness and hang on for the ride." Orlando never made LOTR and thus never became an in-demand actor. Instead he's languishing at the bottom rung and feeling like shit. But he's had a good past and has good friends. Maybe he'll land that role that'll make his career or maybe he won't. Still he knows that this life... is short and worth living.
Previous Chapters: here
- 2005 -
A scowling, snarling Eric Bana met him at the arrival gate. Thank god he saw that the tone and the ugliness weren’t directed at him. But whoever was on the other end, Orlando felt a bit of pity for. Not a lot because he really didn’t know if the other person had earned it. And also because he really didn’t want to think bad of his fellow actor-potential mate-before the filming had even begun.
Bad set relationships could be a film’s death and he couldn’t afford that. This had to launch his career (in any sense it would since it was his first role), had to be a box office success (he’d settle for it not losing money), and it had to establish himself as a serious actor (instead of the pretty, vapid boy everyone presumed). If not, then he would slip into certain obscurity.
His stomach rolled at the thought and Orlando dug his fingers into his palm to stop him from making a fool of himself. He forced a smile onto his face when Eric flipped the mobile off and glanced at him. His expression wasn’t welcoming, but it was certainly less severe than it had been.
“Hello,” Orlando said softly.
“Let’s get the rest of your bags,” Eric snapped, pivoting on his heel and turning toward the sign that said ‘baggage claim.’
Orlando grabbed his arm and stopped him mid-stride. Immediately, he dropped his hand when Eric whirled around and fixated a punishing glare at him. “I… I don’t have any other luggage,” Orlando mumbled, feeling like a first-rate dunce, loser, whatever. But God did he want to just… get along with his cast-mate and maybe become friends. “Just my carryon.”
“That’s certainly convenient, isn’t it? Well, don’t expect me to take you on a shopping excursion.” Eric jerked his hand in an impatient gesture for Orlando to follow after him. “Sam wants you on set immediately. Wants to show you around and get you a draft of the script so you can start reading through.”
“All right,” Orlando said, clutching his bag close to his side and following Eric out of the arrival terminal. He had to take almost two strides with every one of Eric’s walloping ones. But it wasn’t something he minded; after all, he was heading toward something good.
- 1995 -
They’d been fucking for weeks when Orlando began licking his wounds. His fuckwit boyfriend had abruptly ended all sort of contact with him and disappearing from wherever he’d been. It wasn’t that he’d been the love of his life, but goddammit-didn’t he at least deserve a warning?
He was pissed and he was pissed and it felt fucking good to be kissing some nameless sort of muscles and cock. And did he mention that cock felt really good pressed into his stomach?
Orlando groaned and bent his head back so this stranger might mark his throat and oh fuck did that feel like a sin. What did Catholics call it? Oh yes, he remembered-a mortal sin, one that would lay waste to his soul and lead him into eternal damnation. If hell was this, ohmyfuckinggodgood, he’d embrace it.
The nameless man’s hand was like a work of art. The stroke was perfect, not too gentle and not too rough. “Oh god,” he groaned. “I’m going to come.”
“Not yet, you aren’t,” the man said in a thicker accent than his own. “I’m gonna fuck you raw before you spew your load.”
Orlando could only moan when he felt a lubricated finger push into his tight hole. He bucked his hips eagerly, wrapping his arms around the stranger’s neck and trying to draw him down for a kiss. But the man resisted and whatever Orlando might have said died on his tongue when he felt a thick cock push into his ass with minimal preparation.
It hurt like a motherfucker until the cock jabbed his prostate and Orlando started muttering obscenities. His eyes clouded over in passion, but he could see a twisted smile on the man’s face and he didn’t think it was because of the pleasure. It was something else, but he didn’t care. He wanted to forget his first fuck and this was a way to do it.
“Come you little shit,” the stranger gasped as he pulled out and pushed in with a force that was more violent than gentle.
Orlando cried and came.
- 2005 -
Mendes certainly wasn’t a director that slacked around, not that Orlando suspected many of them did. He knew for a fact that people’s interpretations that acting was an easy job were bloody wrong. His back just twitched in pain at the thought of some of the things he would gladly do for a role. But he’d lucked out with a fairly non-demanding one.
“Have you thumbed through the script?” Mendes asked.
Orlando nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good, that’s good.” Mendes actually smiled a bit. “You got the script changes, right? The writers reworked the scene you and Eric are supposed to do today.”
“Uh huh.”
“Well then,” Eric remarked, startling Orlando by coming out the freaking shadows again, “why don’t we start off the top?”
Mendes’ smile widened. “Are you game, Bloom?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said as confidently as he could with Eric staring hard at him. “I’m game.”
“Great. Run through the scene once and then we’ll get the camera’s rolling.”
Orlando wetted his lips and swallowed dryly, hoping he’d gotten rid of the taste of nerves. He smiled at Eric, but the older, bigger man just ignored him. Somehow, Orlando got the distinct feeling that Eric didn’t much like him and he really didn’t know why. Was it just something about him or was it just that Eric wasn’t a very friendly person?
“Ready?”
“Yeah,” both Orlando and Eric said at the same time.
Orlando was a bit rattled, but Eric looked bored. Orlando bit his tongue and ran his fingers self-consciously through his curly hair before he got down on his knees and prostrated his body on the floor.
It had been one of those shitty days in which nothing had gone right. Of course, what made things even worse was that he’d somehow managed to get himself thrown out the bar and he was too fucking drunk to see straight. If he had, that would have bothered him. That would have pissed him off. That meant all the booze he’d drowned himself in hadn’t been doing its job.
Nar rested his face against the dirty, but cool pavement. The dim streetlights were dancing in yellow, purple, and orange. Such pretty colors. He liked purple. He liked orange. He really liked yellow. Yellow was sexy.
“Oh God,” cursed a familiar voice. Wes’ voice. But what was Wes doing here? “You fucking idiot. Did you have to waste yourself? He’s not bloody worth it.”
Nar wanted to laugh. Wes thought he was boozed out of his mind because of his fuck buddy had left him? That was sheer folly on Wes’ part, but then Wes wasn’t as smart as he thought himself to be.
“Nar? Can you hear me?” Wes shook him gently. “Oh God, please open your eyes.”
Nar wheezed and he wanted to say that his eyes were open, ‘cuz he could most definitely see the pretty purple, yellow, and orange lights. They were dancing right in front of his goddamn eyes, so was Wes fucking blind?
Hmm… black was a really pretty color too.
“Good,” Mendes said. “Very good.”
It felt too good, lying on the floor, Orlando thought. But he lifted his head and smiled, hoping it might brighten his face up. No matter how much Advil he took, he couldn’t seem to get rid of his damnable cold, cough, whatever. As soon as he got some money into his bank account, he’d find himself a doctor.
Orlando stood up and his world spun. He blinked rapidly, but didn’t shake his head. He knew when he got one of these dizzy spells that would only make things worse. He took a deep breath and almost jerked his head when he heard Eric ask, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Orlando said. He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Got a headache and all,” he lied. “Probably allergies or something.”
The way Eric kept looking at him was starting to make Orlando a tad nervy. “You should see a doctor and get a shot. You really don’t look so well.”
Orlando shrugged. “Bad night’s sleep.”
“Well,” Mendes cut in, “we certainly don’t need you getting sick.” He turned to his assistant and said, “Dee, do you know a good doctor around here?”
“No, but I can look one up,” she said, her fingers flying over her little blackberry.
“It’s really not-”
“The last thing I need is you getting sick in the middle of production,” Mendes said. “Just go to the doctor, get yourself some pills, and get better, all right? You’re sounding a bit hoarse… though, it might be a good sound for Nar. Was it on purpose?”
“Did I overplay it?” Orlando asked, trying to clear his voice. It wasn’t like he’d been deliberately trying to speak in a raspy voice, but he hadn’t tried to cover up his exhausted, dejected side-letting it overwhelm him and allowing it to push him into Nar’s character. “I was just trying to… feel like life is… gone.”
Mendes narrowed his eyes briefly before his expression returned to what it was. “I think the voice you’re using is good when Nar’s in that kind of situation, but other than that-I’d rather have it normal.”
“I understand.”
Eric cleared his throat, drawing both men’s attention to him. “Are the cameras set?”
Looking over his shoulder, Mendes shot the head cameraman an inquiring eye. The cameraman gave him a thumb’s up. “Ready when you are.”
Mendes smiled encouragingly at Orlando. “Just do what you did and it’ll be perfect.”
So Orlando did.
- 2005 -
He was in a bustling, Metropolitan city-NYC-and yet, he had no desire to go out and experience the scene. Instead he was in his hotel room getting ready for bed. He wondered if Viggo would mind terribly if he called. But he’d called Viggo two days ago. Maybe he ought to ring up Sean… he was still home, wasn’t he? Not away on another production set… not yet.
Orlando’s hand hovered over the phone before dropping limply on the fluffy coverlet. For fuck’s sake, he was twenty-eight; he didn’t need to whine to Viggo or Sean about his doubts and anxieties. He didn’t need to hear them reassure him that he wasn’t a terrible actor, that he wasn’t just a pretty face.
He had substance; all he needed was to believe that himself.
- 2000 -
“Oh my god, you’ll never guess what happened today!” Orlando exclaimed, plastering himself all over Viggo. His arms were looped around Viggo’s shoulders and his body was pressed almost intimately against Viggo’s. “I got a call! Some director actually called me to tryout for one of the supporting roles in his film!”
Viggo wrapped his arms around Orlando and returned the hug briefly before letting go. “That’s great.”
Orlando frowned, looking at a certain smile that he recognized all too well on Viggo’s face. “You knew!” he accused. “You knew, didn’t you?”
Viggo shrugged his shoulders. “Not exactly, but the director and I are acquaintances. He was looking for a young, good-looking boy that could act and I suggested you. I didn’t what of weight my word carried.”
“Thank you,” Orlando said softly. “I mean, you didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re a good actor. You just need a break and I think if you get the role… this might help. After all, you’ve got to start somewhere.”
Yeah, the problem was getting somewhere.
- 2005 -
“Bloom?” the nurse called, holding a clear backed, plastic clipboard. “Orlando Bloom?”
He stood up from the uncomfortable chair in the waiting room and grinned at the plump, good-natured looking woman. The wait had actually turned out to be far less than he expected, but then his general experience with American doctors were limited to one case that he definitely didn’t want repeat any time soon. “That’s me.”
She nodded and smiled at him. “Follow me this way.” She guided him to a small room and started asking him some general questions about himself, then about how he was feeling, before she said, “The doctor will be in shortly.”
Orlando didn’t know if that meant shortly in his relativity or hers. Better bloody well be his because if he had to wait a half hour for the doctor to show up, no matter how short the front wait had been, he really would be tempted to leave and screw the meds. But not really, he really, really wanted some antibiotics-he just really didn’t like doctors.
“Good morning,” the doctor said, a clean-cut middle aged man with steel-rimmed trendy glasses propped on his nose. “Mr. Bloom? I’m Dr. Valentine, and yes, I know it’s a strange surname.” The man smiled. “You can just think of me as ‘Jason’ if that makes things easier on you. So…” The man-Jason trailed his finger down his nurse’s loopy handwriting. “You have a bit of a cold? And a cough?”
“Yeah,” Orlando answered. “I just wanted some antibiotics or something to make it go away. I’ve been taking Advil, but they haven’t done anything.”
“Well, I can certainly give you something, but sometimes it’s better to just let the fever burn through if it’s mild,” Jason remarked. “Though it says here, you’ve been feeling like this for the last few weeks?” Orlando nodded and the doctor continued, “Were you fatigued before that?”
“Yeah.”
“Usually a cold doesn’t last that long…” the doctor said. “Have you been feeling this bad all the time? Or has it had its ups and downs?”
“Sometimes I feel functional, but other times I feel like shit,” Orlando answered honestly, hoping that this Jason fellow would take mercy on him and just prescribe him an arse full of pills to pop. “And I really can’t afford to be slowed down. I’m in the middle of a job.”
“Hmmm… I think you may have a case of the flu and are simply having a relapse. I’m taking it that you haven’t seen a doctor recently?”
“Couldn’t afford it,” Orlando muttered.
The doctor sighed and moved to a drawer, sliding it open and taking out a tongue depressor among other things. “Let’s get this examination over with, but I assure you-you’ll get your pills. And young man, you really should see a doctor when your body’s this worn down. These things don’t just go away. Consistent weakening of your body’s defense makes you susceptible to other infections, and you really don’t want to get pneumonia. Now that’s nasty.” Jason wielded the wide, flat wooden stick like a sword. “Say ahhhhhh!”
- 2005 -
Everyday on set this week, Orlando felt like his personality was slipping and giving away to the dynamic that was Nar. He even began to believe the same thing was happening to Eric and his Wes. There was a certain friendly chemistry between Nar and Wes, though-Orlando thought with an ironic grin-it wasn’t the kind that Nar wanted.
“Earth to Bloom!” Mendes shouted. “Camera’s about to roll.”
Orlando nodded and flipped his other face on.
There were days in which Nar didn’t feel weak enough to shoot up a mixture of shit into his veins. But those were the days when his lover hadn’t abandoned him, hadn’t call him a dirty cock-sucking slut that didn’t deserve to have anyone love him-when his life hadn’t been going down a dirt road that led to nowhere.
These now were the days when Nar found any heroin, any kind of ecstasy, any weird shit pill and took it. He popped them down his throat, but he was always careful not to overdo it to the death knell. Sometimes he wondered if he was a fucking coward ‘cuz he couldn’t swallow a handful of blissful poison.
“Fuck you, Nar,” a dirty, come-stained man cursed. “You owe me fifty for that!”
Nar grinned and licked his pretty lips. He knew his lips were pretty, his lover had told him so many times when he’d sucked him to a mortal heaven. Ripping the plastic off a fresh needle, he fitted it over the tube and squinted at his arms. Some of his veins were really shot. Still he had his legs. Oh. There. He pressed the needle against a patch of skin just below his elbow and pushed in.
“You fucking owe me,” the man hissed into his ear as the drugs started swirling, prettying the world in Nar’s head.
Nar turned his head and swiped his tongue across the scruffy jaw. “Want me to blow you?”
“Bloom,” Mendes snapped.
Orlando cringed inside, but put a brave face on to face the director. “Yes?”
A slow smile spread across Mendes’ face. “You’re more than a pretty face.”
TBC
A/N: Feed me?