FIC: TLC (4/?)
Title: TLC
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Pairing: V/O and some others
Word Count: 2,542 chapter; 10,754 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
- 2000 -
“Oh. Okay. Yeah, yeah, okay. I understand.”
His hand tightened around the phone and he had to force himself to put it back down on the receiver. Orlando was so tempted to just to hurl it against the wall to hear if the sickening sound would equal the one turning in his stomach. Butterflies he could handle, that kind of whirling was comfortable. But this-this disappointment curdling inside was not. Throwing up would make him feel better but it wouldn’t solve the problem.
He was a fucking failure.
God, maybe he should have listened to his mum and just gone to the post-grad program that had wanted to take him. It hadn’t been a great school, not the one he’d really wanted to get into, but it hadn’t been a bad one. No, no, no he just had to try his hand at acting. Really, it’d been an equal, if not bigger passion ‘cuz of Viggo, and not getting into the sculpting program at Edinburgh College of Art had only given him a decent excuse. After all, he’d done what his mum had always wanted, gotten a college degree-even if it was one in sculpting.
Now he didn’t even sculpt anymore. Orlando glanced down at his clean nails, still carefully cropped and trimmed in a way that made it easier to mold the clay. But it’d been what? Months since he’d sculpted, months since he’d come to the U.S. searching for a silly dream.
Obviously, he couldn’t act-no matter what his drama teacher and fellow mates had said. He couldn’t really sculpt that well either, if he counted the number of rejections he’d gotten when he’d applied for several post-grad programs. God-Orlando ran his fingers through his unruly hair-what was he going to do with himself?
Another role rejected, another chance lost, another affirming failure.
Life just sucked.
- 2005 -
Nar and Wes were certainly chummy on the screen when Wes wasn’t lecturing to Nar about his filthy habits and that one day it was going to get him killed in a ditch and god knows what Wes would do if he was gone. It was rather sweet of Wes, but then Eric wasn’t really Wes-even though they were being civil like coworkers ought to-so Orlando was quite surprised when Eric asked after filming had wrapped up, “Want to go for drinks?”
Orlando blinked. “Uh… sure.”
“Great, you driving or me?” Eric inquired, sticking his hand into his pockets and withdrawing a set of keys.
Orlando nodded in his direction. “You might as well.”
“All right, let’s go.”
And that was it. They had gone. Simple dialogue that should have taken place when they’d met two weeks ago was now finally happening and Orlando sure wasn’t about to complain. Eric was actually chatting with him like he might want to be friends, and did Orlando want to be friends with Eric. It wasn’t about who Eric was, though having a friend like Eric wouldn’t be bad for his career. But it had nothing to do with that, he just-he didn’t want to not get along with his fellow mate especially when their characters were supposed to be best friends.
“You know, you aren’t that bad,” Eric said off-handedly. “I thought when Sam told me you were gorgeous and unknown, you’d be a shit of an actor.”
“Because that’s how it goes?” Orlando asked, staring out the window at the pedestrians they were driving past. “Unknowns are shit actors?”
“I sound like an ass,” Eric muttered. “It’s just… young actors are getting there by their looks and not by their talent. But you’re good, you’re scarily good, Bloom.”
“Orlando,” he said. “That’s my name and you might as well use it.”
“Orlando,” Eric repeated. “Shakespeare’s As You Like It?”
He had to grin, that’s what a lot of people thought. “Nope. My mum’s got a more gender-bending humor. I’m named after the Orlando in Virginia Woolf’s novel. She’s got a… whack sense of naming.”
“The man who turns into a woman?”
Orlando laughed. “Yes. Sometimes I wonder if she knew…”
The car came to an abrupt stop and Orlando stopped laughing, turning his face forward and saw the relight before he glanced at Eric’s face. There was nothing of reproach, though Eric had to know what he was implying. After all, he was being fairly obvious. And it wasn’t like he was ashamed. He’d tried girls, god how he’d tried when he was young and yet he’d always known they weren’t right.
Some of his wet dreams still could make him blush, especially when a certain someone was around. Orlando flushed darkly and was glad the car shadowed him from the city streetlights.
“Knew what?” Eric asked casually.
“Um… nothing.” Orlando rested his head back against the seat. “Don’t mind me. I babble sometimes.”
Eric pressed down on the gas and the car jerked into action. “Have you seen the doctor yet?”
“Yeah,” Orlando said, glad that the other man wasn’t going to pursue the ‘nothing’ that was never nothing. “The doctor gave me some pills. Should fix me up.”
“That’s good,” Eric said and shot Orlando a grin. “’Cuz you look like shit. Good for the role, but gotta let those make up people do their jobs, eh?”
Orlando returned the grin. “Yeah,” he said happily. “Yeah.”
- 1995 -
The taste of semen could be great, could be bitter, but it was never good when it was dried up and crusted on his stomach. Orlando grimaced and turned around, only to run into a decidedly naked body. He blinked a few times, wondering why the bloke was in his bed. He might bring them back to his flat, but he made a point never, ever to let them stay the night.
From the hardy snores, Orlando somehow doubted this guy-whatever his name was-would be easy to wake up. At least, he was good-looking, really good-looking. It was shallow of him, Orlando knew, but he liked fucking beautiful men. Just call it one of his musts. It was just like a big cock.
Orlando licked his lips, remembering how good this bloke’s cock had filled his arse. He shrugged and rolled his way out of bed, wincing at the painful burn. Maybe the bloody willy had been a bit too much, especially with the way the guy had used it. God, what a fuck!
He shrugged and hobbled a bit too the loo. The pain only got worse the further he went. Bloody fuck. Orlando shut the door to the loo, not something he usually did but then again he usually didn’t have someone stay overnight either. So the circumstances were not normal. Not normal indeed, he mused when light prodding to his arse had produced mostly dried blood.
Fucking ass, he’d made him bleed and he’d had let him stay the night!
Orlando turned the water to the shower on and stepped in. Maybe the bastard would wake up and leave before he had to kick his naked arse out of the flat. God knows what his flatmates would think if they knew he’d let someone stay over. ‘Cuz they all knew, he didn’t fuck for keeps.
- 2005 -
Vodka was great. Gin and tonic was lovely. And of course, shots of anything were beautiful. Orlando licked his lips, about to pour himself another double when Eric grabbed his wrist. Looking up, Orlando raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I think you’ve had enough.”
Orlando rolled his eyes. Why did everyone think he was an effing lightweight because he was slender and pretty? Well, he’d like to tell Brawny, Dark and Handsome that just because he was bigger didn’t mean he couldn’t drink him under the table.
“If you puke in my car…” Eric said, “I’ll seriously-”
“Throw me out? Make me walk back?” Orlando asked, fluttering his eyes slowly. “That would be incredibly cruel of you.”
Eric narrowed his eyes, but his lips were curved in a friendly enough way to take out the usual warning that would be invoked in a perceptive man, and Orlando didn’t consider himself blind. Foolish sometimes, but not dim-witted. Not that.
“I do believe I was right when I told Sam you were a little shit,” Eric drawled. “Smart ass little shit.”
“Me?” Orlando asked, lowering his eyes to his empty shot glass.
“Definitely,” Eric said as he poured the rest of the whiskey into Orlando’s glass. “You’ve got a face that could manipulate angels, it’s so innocent. But you’re not, are you? Nar isn’t quite as removed from you as it should be?”
Orlando shrugged and gulped the burning liquid. “Everyone’s done some drug. Even if it’s a softy.”
“Not everyone,” Eric said.
Orlando lifted his head suddenly, causing his vision to spin in mixing rainbow colors. “Oh? I’m not really surprised.”
“Less nervy and more cocky when you’re drunk, aren’t you?” Eric mused.
“’M not drunk,” Orlando said with a lopsided grin. “You’d need to poison my liver to get me drunk.”
“Somehow I think Sam would have my head if I landed you in the hospital.”
Orlando deliberately shifted his eyes toward Eric’s crotch. “Pity that.”
“Horny drunk too. It seems.”
Orlando laughed in a low, raspy kind of way. “I’m not drunk.”
“You look drunk,” Eric stated. “You smell drunk.”
“Nothing is what it seems,” Orlando murmured and smiled. He threw down a twenty and then got up with a steadiness that belied his violet distorted vision. “Now let’s go.”
- 2000 -
Well, he’d gotten a role. A walk-on role. Didn’t require any of the acting skills he’d picked up in his drama classes. God, was it all a lie? That he had talent like his professors said? Like Viggo and Sean said? He seriously doubted their word when all he’d gotten was a bloody walk-on, stand on the pavement, looking pretty as a whore job.
He didn’t even get the courtesy of a line. He wouldn’t even be listed in the credits. He was that small. Orlando gritted his teeth and forced a brilliant smile onto his face as he listened to the director tell the streetwalkers what he wanted them to do.
Easy enough with the right makeup, Orlando thought. The only thing that he thought was ironic was that a prostitute got paid more in an hour than he was getting for this day shoot. Orlando bit his tongue before he could say anything foolish and nodded toward the director.
He echoed with the others, “All right.”
- 1995 -
“Are you fucking self-destructive?” Viggo actually screamed.
Orlando stared at his mentor, his best friend, his… everything. Sometimes he almost thought he loved Viggo more than his mum. If only Viggo was around more, but Viggo had those art shows of his and then his poetry readings and whatnot. He had a life and Orlando didn’t. He was stuck going to school and trying to make something out of himself. As if he could.
“God, are you stupid?” Viggo cried, tapping his fingers against Orlando’s forehead repeatedly. The rhythmic beat thudding the waves in Orlando’s head into pink swerves. “Use a fucking condom if you’re going to fuck.”
“I don’t even know why I told you,” Orlando muttered, abruptly sitting down on the floor. “I bloody tell you everything. Stupid mouth.”
“Stupid is as stupid does,” Viggo snapped. Orlando winced at the tone, staring at the carpet and finding the mixed patterns intensely interesting. “Now let’s get you tested and see… what might be wrong.” Viggo half-stumbled over the last few words as his expression had softened into one of earnest concern, worry even. “And if you ever fuck again, do it with a fucking condom. Do you understand me?” Viggo knelt down next to his side and cupped his face. “Do you?”
Orlando licked his lips. “Yeah.”
- 2005 -
“Scene 27, Take 5!”
“I love you,” Nar said, flipping a joint between his fingers. “But you never were a shirt lifter.”
“Nar…” Wes began.
“Don’t bother explaining. I get it. You can’t love me like that.” Nar grabbed a lighter, but Wes stopped him from lighting up. “Fuck you,” Nar said with good humor as he tossed the lighter and joint down onto the table. “I’m all right. Must you spoil all my fun?”
“Do you need to do all this… shit?” Wes asked and waved his hand at the various needles and other supplies.
“Makes me forget,” Nar said simply. “Not that I blame you. But life fucking sucks. It’s easier,” he murmured, “to just lose my sense of self.”
“And if you die?”
Nar’s eyes flickered toward Wes’. “Would you care?”
“I love you in my own way, you little shit.”
Smiling, Nar slumped backwards onto the couch. “But not in my way.”
Wes said nothing.
“Cut!” Mendes said, a grin spreading across his face. “Excellent job, Eric… Bloom.”
“Thanks,” Orlando said and ran a hand through his curls. “Done for the day?”
“Yeah, you’re done.”
Orlando turned to Eric and lifted an eyebrow. “Want to join me on some sightseeing?”
Eric shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”
- 2000 -
“How many times have you had unprotected sex?” asked the nurse bluntly.
“Uh… a couple of times.”
The nurse raised her eyebrow, noting it on her clipboard. God, he really hated that scribbling sound.
“But most of those times it was with my boyfriend and he’s clean.”
The nurse eventually stopped writing and looked up. “When was the last time? How many months ago?”
“I think about… 10 weeks or so?”
“I take it you don’t really know,” she stated flatly.
Orlando shook his head. “Sorry.”
”You should be apologizing to yourself.” She jotted more onto the clipboard. “It’s you that’ll be in trouble is anything comes up in the blood tests.”
Orlando licked his dry lips carefully. “Blood tests?”
“Oh yes,” the nurse said. She pulled open a drawer and withdrew two large tubes. “I hope you aren’t the type that’s squeamish at a little red.”
From the size of those bloody tubes, he’d like to tell her that wasn’t a little bit of red. That was a fucking lot of red! But there was no way he was going to tell her that. She’d think he was a pansy. And he wasn’t. Goddammit, he wasn’t.
The nurse had a positively evil smile when she pushed his sleeve up and wrapped a plastic band around his upper arm. Her finger traced down his arms and she said, “You have good veins,” as if it was a grand compliment. He wanted to tell her to get this shit over with, but trepidation set in when she snapped the syringe on. He reflexively tensed his arm, his body when the needle dove into his arm.
There was a brief pain, minor really compared to what he’d experience before, but the sight of blood actually leaving his arm made him feel rather woozy. God, he really was a pansy. Orlando took a deep breath and tried to calm down his rapidly beating heart. Fucking hell, his heart sounded like an out of control drumbeat.
Just another stupid blood test. That’s all.
TBC
A/N: Just finished a scholarship application today, so that's why this was so delayed. The next part will likely be late too as I'm currently in the "Hurricane Rita" strike zone. If I have to evacuate (should it become a Cat.4), I don't know when I'll be able to get online or when I'll be able to even write. Sorry, but nothing much I can do. Thanks for reading and leave a comment!
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Pairing: V/O and some others
Word Count: 2,542 chapter; 10,754 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
- 2000 -
“Oh. Okay. Yeah, yeah, okay. I understand.”
His hand tightened around the phone and he had to force himself to put it back down on the receiver. Orlando was so tempted to just to hurl it against the wall to hear if the sickening sound would equal the one turning in his stomach. Butterflies he could handle, that kind of whirling was comfortable. But this-this disappointment curdling inside was not. Throwing up would make him feel better but it wouldn’t solve the problem.
He was a fucking failure.
God, maybe he should have listened to his mum and just gone to the post-grad program that had wanted to take him. It hadn’t been a great school, not the one he’d really wanted to get into, but it hadn’t been a bad one. No, no, no he just had to try his hand at acting. Really, it’d been an equal, if not bigger passion ‘cuz of Viggo, and not getting into the sculpting program at Edinburgh College of Art had only given him a decent excuse. After all, he’d done what his mum had always wanted, gotten a college degree-even if it was one in sculpting.
Now he didn’t even sculpt anymore. Orlando glanced down at his clean nails, still carefully cropped and trimmed in a way that made it easier to mold the clay. But it’d been what? Months since he’d sculpted, months since he’d come to the U.S. searching for a silly dream.
Obviously, he couldn’t act-no matter what his drama teacher and fellow mates had said. He couldn’t really sculpt that well either, if he counted the number of rejections he’d gotten when he’d applied for several post-grad programs. God-Orlando ran his fingers through his unruly hair-what was he going to do with himself?
Another role rejected, another chance lost, another affirming failure.
Life just sucked.
- 2005 -
Nar and Wes were certainly chummy on the screen when Wes wasn’t lecturing to Nar about his filthy habits and that one day it was going to get him killed in a ditch and god knows what Wes would do if he was gone. It was rather sweet of Wes, but then Eric wasn’t really Wes-even though they were being civil like coworkers ought to-so Orlando was quite surprised when Eric asked after filming had wrapped up, “Want to go for drinks?”
Orlando blinked. “Uh… sure.”
“Great, you driving or me?” Eric inquired, sticking his hand into his pockets and withdrawing a set of keys.
Orlando nodded in his direction. “You might as well.”
“All right, let’s go.”
And that was it. They had gone. Simple dialogue that should have taken place when they’d met two weeks ago was now finally happening and Orlando sure wasn’t about to complain. Eric was actually chatting with him like he might want to be friends, and did Orlando want to be friends with Eric. It wasn’t about who Eric was, though having a friend like Eric wouldn’t be bad for his career. But it had nothing to do with that, he just-he didn’t want to not get along with his fellow mate especially when their characters were supposed to be best friends.
“You know, you aren’t that bad,” Eric said off-handedly. “I thought when Sam told me you were gorgeous and unknown, you’d be a shit of an actor.”
“Because that’s how it goes?” Orlando asked, staring out the window at the pedestrians they were driving past. “Unknowns are shit actors?”
“I sound like an ass,” Eric muttered. “It’s just… young actors are getting there by their looks and not by their talent. But you’re good, you’re scarily good, Bloom.”
“Orlando,” he said. “That’s my name and you might as well use it.”
“Orlando,” Eric repeated. “Shakespeare’s As You Like It?”
He had to grin, that’s what a lot of people thought. “Nope. My mum’s got a more gender-bending humor. I’m named after the Orlando in Virginia Woolf’s novel. She’s got a… whack sense of naming.”
“The man who turns into a woman?”
Orlando laughed. “Yes. Sometimes I wonder if she knew…”
The car came to an abrupt stop and Orlando stopped laughing, turning his face forward and saw the relight before he glanced at Eric’s face. There was nothing of reproach, though Eric had to know what he was implying. After all, he was being fairly obvious. And it wasn’t like he was ashamed. He’d tried girls, god how he’d tried when he was young and yet he’d always known they weren’t right.
Some of his wet dreams still could make him blush, especially when a certain someone was around. Orlando flushed darkly and was glad the car shadowed him from the city streetlights.
“Knew what?” Eric asked casually.
“Um… nothing.” Orlando rested his head back against the seat. “Don’t mind me. I babble sometimes.”
Eric pressed down on the gas and the car jerked into action. “Have you seen the doctor yet?”
“Yeah,” Orlando said, glad that the other man wasn’t going to pursue the ‘nothing’ that was never nothing. “The doctor gave me some pills. Should fix me up.”
“That’s good,” Eric said and shot Orlando a grin. “’Cuz you look like shit. Good for the role, but gotta let those make up people do their jobs, eh?”
Orlando returned the grin. “Yeah,” he said happily. “Yeah.”
- 1995 -
The taste of semen could be great, could be bitter, but it was never good when it was dried up and crusted on his stomach. Orlando grimaced and turned around, only to run into a decidedly naked body. He blinked a few times, wondering why the bloke was in his bed. He might bring them back to his flat, but he made a point never, ever to let them stay the night.
From the hardy snores, Orlando somehow doubted this guy-whatever his name was-would be easy to wake up. At least, he was good-looking, really good-looking. It was shallow of him, Orlando knew, but he liked fucking beautiful men. Just call it one of his musts. It was just like a big cock.
Orlando licked his lips, remembering how good this bloke’s cock had filled his arse. He shrugged and rolled his way out of bed, wincing at the painful burn. Maybe the bloody willy had been a bit too much, especially with the way the guy had used it. God, what a fuck!
He shrugged and hobbled a bit too the loo. The pain only got worse the further he went. Bloody fuck. Orlando shut the door to the loo, not something he usually did but then again he usually didn’t have someone stay overnight either. So the circumstances were not normal. Not normal indeed, he mused when light prodding to his arse had produced mostly dried blood.
Fucking ass, he’d made him bleed and he’d had let him stay the night!
Orlando turned the water to the shower on and stepped in. Maybe the bastard would wake up and leave before he had to kick his naked arse out of the flat. God knows what his flatmates would think if they knew he’d let someone stay over. ‘Cuz they all knew, he didn’t fuck for keeps.
- 2005 -
Vodka was great. Gin and tonic was lovely. And of course, shots of anything were beautiful. Orlando licked his lips, about to pour himself another double when Eric grabbed his wrist. Looking up, Orlando raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I think you’ve had enough.”
Orlando rolled his eyes. Why did everyone think he was an effing lightweight because he was slender and pretty? Well, he’d like to tell Brawny, Dark and Handsome that just because he was bigger didn’t mean he couldn’t drink him under the table.
“If you puke in my car…” Eric said, “I’ll seriously-”
“Throw me out? Make me walk back?” Orlando asked, fluttering his eyes slowly. “That would be incredibly cruel of you.”
Eric narrowed his eyes, but his lips were curved in a friendly enough way to take out the usual warning that would be invoked in a perceptive man, and Orlando didn’t consider himself blind. Foolish sometimes, but not dim-witted. Not that.
“I do believe I was right when I told Sam you were a little shit,” Eric drawled. “Smart ass little shit.”
“Me?” Orlando asked, lowering his eyes to his empty shot glass.
“Definitely,” Eric said as he poured the rest of the whiskey into Orlando’s glass. “You’ve got a face that could manipulate angels, it’s so innocent. But you’re not, are you? Nar isn’t quite as removed from you as it should be?”
Orlando shrugged and gulped the burning liquid. “Everyone’s done some drug. Even if it’s a softy.”
“Not everyone,” Eric said.
Orlando lifted his head suddenly, causing his vision to spin in mixing rainbow colors. “Oh? I’m not really surprised.”
“Less nervy and more cocky when you’re drunk, aren’t you?” Eric mused.
“’M not drunk,” Orlando said with a lopsided grin. “You’d need to poison my liver to get me drunk.”
“Somehow I think Sam would have my head if I landed you in the hospital.”
Orlando deliberately shifted his eyes toward Eric’s crotch. “Pity that.”
“Horny drunk too. It seems.”
Orlando laughed in a low, raspy kind of way. “I’m not drunk.”
“You look drunk,” Eric stated. “You smell drunk.”
“Nothing is what it seems,” Orlando murmured and smiled. He threw down a twenty and then got up with a steadiness that belied his violet distorted vision. “Now let’s go.”
- 2000 -
Well, he’d gotten a role. A walk-on role. Didn’t require any of the acting skills he’d picked up in his drama classes. God, was it all a lie? That he had talent like his professors said? Like Viggo and Sean said? He seriously doubted their word when all he’d gotten was a bloody walk-on, stand on the pavement, looking pretty as a whore job.
He didn’t even get the courtesy of a line. He wouldn’t even be listed in the credits. He was that small. Orlando gritted his teeth and forced a brilliant smile onto his face as he listened to the director tell the streetwalkers what he wanted them to do.
Easy enough with the right makeup, Orlando thought. The only thing that he thought was ironic was that a prostitute got paid more in an hour than he was getting for this day shoot. Orlando bit his tongue before he could say anything foolish and nodded toward the director.
He echoed with the others, “All right.”
- 1995 -
“Are you fucking self-destructive?” Viggo actually screamed.
Orlando stared at his mentor, his best friend, his… everything. Sometimes he almost thought he loved Viggo more than his mum. If only Viggo was around more, but Viggo had those art shows of his and then his poetry readings and whatnot. He had a life and Orlando didn’t. He was stuck going to school and trying to make something out of himself. As if he could.
“God, are you stupid?” Viggo cried, tapping his fingers against Orlando’s forehead repeatedly. The rhythmic beat thudding the waves in Orlando’s head into pink swerves. “Use a fucking condom if you’re going to fuck.”
“I don’t even know why I told you,” Orlando muttered, abruptly sitting down on the floor. “I bloody tell you everything. Stupid mouth.”
“Stupid is as stupid does,” Viggo snapped. Orlando winced at the tone, staring at the carpet and finding the mixed patterns intensely interesting. “Now let’s get you tested and see… what might be wrong.” Viggo half-stumbled over the last few words as his expression had softened into one of earnest concern, worry even. “And if you ever fuck again, do it with a fucking condom. Do you understand me?” Viggo knelt down next to his side and cupped his face. “Do you?”
Orlando licked his lips. “Yeah.”
- 2005 -
“Scene 27, Take 5!”
“I love you,” Nar said, flipping a joint between his fingers. “But you never were a shirt lifter.”
“Nar…” Wes began.
“Don’t bother explaining. I get it. You can’t love me like that.” Nar grabbed a lighter, but Wes stopped him from lighting up. “Fuck you,” Nar said with good humor as he tossed the lighter and joint down onto the table. “I’m all right. Must you spoil all my fun?”
“Do you need to do all this… shit?” Wes asked and waved his hand at the various needles and other supplies.
“Makes me forget,” Nar said simply. “Not that I blame you. But life fucking sucks. It’s easier,” he murmured, “to just lose my sense of self.”
“And if you die?”
Nar’s eyes flickered toward Wes’. “Would you care?”
“I love you in my own way, you little shit.”
Smiling, Nar slumped backwards onto the couch. “But not in my way.”
Wes said nothing.
“Cut!” Mendes said, a grin spreading across his face. “Excellent job, Eric… Bloom.”
“Thanks,” Orlando said and ran a hand through his curls. “Done for the day?”
“Yeah, you’re done.”
Orlando turned to Eric and lifted an eyebrow. “Want to join me on some sightseeing?”
Eric shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”
- 2000 -
“How many times have you had unprotected sex?” asked the nurse bluntly.
“Uh… a couple of times.”
The nurse raised her eyebrow, noting it on her clipboard. God, he really hated that scribbling sound.
“But most of those times it was with my boyfriend and he’s clean.”
The nurse eventually stopped writing and looked up. “When was the last time? How many months ago?”
“I think about… 10 weeks or so?”
“I take it you don’t really know,” she stated flatly.
Orlando shook his head. “Sorry.”
”You should be apologizing to yourself.” She jotted more onto the clipboard. “It’s you that’ll be in trouble is anything comes up in the blood tests.”
Orlando licked his dry lips carefully. “Blood tests?”
“Oh yes,” the nurse said. She pulled open a drawer and withdrew two large tubes. “I hope you aren’t the type that’s squeamish at a little red.”
From the size of those bloody tubes, he’d like to tell her that wasn’t a little bit of red. That was a fucking lot of red! But there was no way he was going to tell her that. She’d think he was a pansy. And he wasn’t. Goddammit, he wasn’t.
The nurse had a positively evil smile when she pushed his sleeve up and wrapped a plastic band around his upper arm. Her finger traced down his arms and she said, “You have good veins,” as if it was a grand compliment. He wanted to tell her to get this shit over with, but trepidation set in when she snapped the syringe on. He reflexively tensed his arm, his body when the needle dove into his arm.
There was a brief pain, minor really compared to what he’d experience before, but the sight of blood actually leaving his arm made him feel rather woozy. God, he really was a pansy. Orlando took a deep breath and tried to calm down his rapidly beating heart. Fucking hell, his heart sounded like an out of control drumbeat.
Just another stupid blood test. That’s all.
TBC
A/N: Just finished a scholarship application today, so that's why this was so delayed. The next part will likely be late too as I'm currently in the "Hurricane Rita" strike zone. If I have to evacuate (should it become a Cat.4), I don't know when I'll be able to get online or when I'll be able to even write. Sorry, but nothing much I can do. Thanks for reading and leave a comment!