LOTR RPS: Bad Habits, EW/OB
Title: Bad Habits
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Elijah Wood
Disclaimer: Entirely a product of my sick imagination. Don't sue, I need the extra cash for therapy.
X-posted at fellow_shippers, bloomwood_
He tears the wrapper off his emergency pack of cigarettes and raps the pack against the chipped Formica of his kitchen table. Sticking the first one between his lips, he runs phosphorus against sandpaper and strikes the death knell blow to his latest resolution to quit. Fucking bad habit, smoking.
He stares at the cell phone sitting dead center on the table, staring back at him, mocking him silently. He knows it wasn’t going to ring again. There is no cause for it to do so. Orlando has already called. Orlando’s in town. Again. He’s on his way over. Again. He’s horny and wants Elijah to do something about it. Again.
He stubs out the cigarette, burned down to the filter, and grabs a new one from the pack. Match flare, first inhale, hold, exhale. It has a rhythm, a pattern. Patterns can be good, Elijah knows. He also knows, better than most, that they can be bad. He sits there, inhaling the nicotine, trying not to recall the pictures of blackened lungs Dom used to wallpaper their kitchen with, back in the days when he’d tried to get Elijah to quit, back in the days when he wouldn’t have been caught dead with a smoke. Dom has gotten sucked into that pattern, just as Elijah is sucked into Orlando’s.
Every time, Elijah knows what’s coming. Every time, he swears he’ll be strong enough to say no this time. Every time, he isn’t. He’s cried on Dom’s shoulder, on Sean’s, on Billy’s, and they all tell him the same thing: you’ve got to stop this, you must know nothing’s ever going to come of this, you’ve always known what Orlando’s like. He knew. He knows. His brain knows it isn’t a smart risk, his heart knows he can’t keep patching himself back together each time.
But then Orlando will smile at him. He’ll enfold Elijah into a fantastic hug, warm and tight and smelling of Orlando. And then he’ll kiss him softly, hello there, and that will be it. Reason and self-preservation fly out the window, and Elijah welcomes Orlando back into his bed.
Then the next morning, Elijah will wake up alone, shivering from the cold despite the warm L.A. climate, and head for the kitchen for his daily caffeine fix. Where inevitably Orlando will have left a note: Got an early call. Or Had an early flight, didn’t want to wake you. Or sometimes nothing more than See you next time. And Elijah will pick up the pieces of his broken heart off the kitchen floor, scattered amongst the shards of another broken coffee mug.
The knock on the door snaps Elijah out of his reverie, and he exhales another lungful of smoke before stubbing the cigarette out in the now-overflowing ashtray. Shit, he’s gone through the whole pack, he notices with dismay as he pushes away from the table.
Walking over to the front door, he grasps the cold brass knob and turns it resolutely. He pulls the door open and strikes the death knell blow to his latest resolution to quit. Fucking bad habit, loving Orlando.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Elijah Wood
Disclaimer: Entirely a product of my sick imagination. Don't sue, I need the extra cash for therapy.
X-posted at fellow_shippers, bloomwood_
He tears the wrapper off his emergency pack of cigarettes and raps the pack against the chipped Formica of his kitchen table. Sticking the first one between his lips, he runs phosphorus against sandpaper and strikes the death knell blow to his latest resolution to quit. Fucking bad habit, smoking.
He stares at the cell phone sitting dead center on the table, staring back at him, mocking him silently. He knows it wasn’t going to ring again. There is no cause for it to do so. Orlando has already called. Orlando’s in town. Again. He’s on his way over. Again. He’s horny and wants Elijah to do something about it. Again.
He stubs out the cigarette, burned down to the filter, and grabs a new one from the pack. Match flare, first inhale, hold, exhale. It has a rhythm, a pattern. Patterns can be good, Elijah knows. He also knows, better than most, that they can be bad. He sits there, inhaling the nicotine, trying not to recall the pictures of blackened lungs Dom used to wallpaper their kitchen with, back in the days when he’d tried to get Elijah to quit, back in the days when he wouldn’t have been caught dead with a smoke. Dom has gotten sucked into that pattern, just as Elijah is sucked into Orlando’s.
Every time, Elijah knows what’s coming. Every time, he swears he’ll be strong enough to say no this time. Every time, he isn’t. He’s cried on Dom’s shoulder, on Sean’s, on Billy’s, and they all tell him the same thing: you’ve got to stop this, you must know nothing’s ever going to come of this, you’ve always known what Orlando’s like. He knew. He knows. His brain knows it isn’t a smart risk, his heart knows he can’t keep patching himself back together each time.
But then Orlando will smile at him. He’ll enfold Elijah into a fantastic hug, warm and tight and smelling of Orlando. And then he’ll kiss him softly, hello there, and that will be it. Reason and self-preservation fly out the window, and Elijah welcomes Orlando back into his bed.
Then the next morning, Elijah will wake up alone, shivering from the cold despite the warm L.A. climate, and head for the kitchen for his daily caffeine fix. Where inevitably Orlando will have left a note: Got an early call. Or Had an early flight, didn’t want to wake you. Or sometimes nothing more than See you next time. And Elijah will pick up the pieces of his broken heart off the kitchen floor, scattered amongst the shards of another broken coffee mug.
The knock on the door snaps Elijah out of his reverie, and he exhales another lungful of smoke before stubbing the cigarette out in the now-overflowing ashtray. Shit, he’s gone through the whole pack, he notices with dismay as he pushes away from the table.
Walking over to the front door, he grasps the cold brass knob and turns it resolutely. He pulls the door open and strikes the death knell blow to his latest resolution to quit. Fucking bad habit, loving Orlando.