FIC: "Temporary Monogamy" (Part One) (Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean, Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Title: "Temporary Monogamy" (1/27)
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean (Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Click here for full disclaimers & notes.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty-One | Part Twenty-Two | Part Twenty-Three | Part Twenty-Four | Part Twenty-Five | Part Twenty-Six | Part Twenty-Seven (and Epilogue) |
Six Months Later
"This," Orlando pronounced, rolling the 's' with a stream of smoke, "is some really good shit. Even for you," he added, and passed the joint back to Viggo.
The nicest thing about the house that Orlando was renting while he was filming was that, in addition to being two doors down from Sean's place and half a block from Dom's, it had very easy access to the roof. To make it even better, the house was also at the end of a quiet block near the beach, so sometimes, late at night, after everyone around had gone to bed, Orlando could hear the waves breaking on the shore. The sound never failed to soothe him, especially on longer days. But it was nothing compared to the prime weed that Viggo always seemed to have on hand. Billy was fond of saying that Viggo was probably found work as a drug dealer between his films. Orlando wouldn't be surprised.
"I think it's the sheep shit as fertilizer." Viggo replied, shaggy, dark hair fluttering in the light breeze. His voice was even lower than normal. Also, as normal, his jeans had more holes than fabric, and his feet were bare. Really, it was amazing that he knew what shoes were at all.
Orlando wrinkled his nose in disgust, but it didn't stop him from taking another acrid drag. "Not exactly something I want to think about, mate."
"I think it's time you moved on."
"From what?" Orlando mentally went back over the last few minutes of their conversation and couldn't remember anything that might give him a clue as to what in sweet fuck Viggo was talking about. Not that this was news. Viggo and linear thought didn't exactly inhabit the same plane of existence. He'd figured that out in the first five minutes of meeting Viggo, after a conversation consisting of the usual hello, how are yous that had been partially in Danish and partially in Elvish, and had ended when Viggo had head-butted him. Later on, Lawrence had mentioned that meant he and Viggo were now brothers. Peachy - like Orlando didn't have enough mad relatives running about.
"You need to find yourself someone you won't mind having temporary monogamy with."
Granted, Orlando was stoned, but honestly, he had no idea what Viggo was saying. "Vig, man, that's random, even for you. What the hell are you on about?"
"Getting you laid." Viggo's teeth gleamed like a hyena's before the kill.
"I'm sorry, I'm gonna need an earth to Viggo translation." Not that he really wanted to think about sex and Viggo in the same breath, mind. It'd be like imaging his crazy, pot-smoking uncle doing the deed, which was a thought better left, um, un-thought.
"Anyway," Viggo continued, oblivious to the fact that he still hadn't answered Orlando's question, "you pick your person. And this is the part where good hygiene comes in."
"Good hygiene?" Against Orlando's better judgment, he was curious. A fatal flaw, especially where Viggo was concerned, but sometimes he did manage to impart some wisdom. Sort of like a mad prophet, really. Knew a lot, loads of experience, and all that. Mad as a fucking loon, as well, but oddly enough, it only added to the appeal. Who didn't love a crazed genius? Especially one who had the most excellent pot in, well, the history of ever.
"Don't underestimate the power of good hygiene. I've learned that the hard way." Viggo lit up another joint and fat tendrils of smoke wafted in the air. "I mean, I'm not saying said person has to be a neat freak or anything."
"Of course not," Orlando muttered to himself, thinking of Viggo's own propensity for wandering around in his mud-spattered costume when he wasn't on set, and the hiking trips he was always taking with Karl that left his clothes looking like they'd gone through a war or two. Good hygiene of the bathing variety was, apparently, more of a guideline than an actual rule. Which begged the question what hygiene meant to Viggo, but Orlando wasn't brave enough to ask. Knowing his luck, Viggo would tell him.
"And you go out a few times, make sure you're compatible."
"Compatible?"
"Not likely to give you grief for grass stains in the fridge or painting the dog blue. You know, the usual."
"Right," Orlando nodded, even though he had no idea what Viggo was actually saying. Who put grass in the ice box? Oddly enough, painting the dog he could see Viggo doing. Provided, by painting the dog, what Viggo really meant was giving the fur splotches of day-glo color to liven them up. Of course, Viggo also got the local dogs stoned, so they probably wouldn't mind running around with pink or blue fur, but there you were.
"And you both agree, this is it for the shoot."
"It?" Orlando wrinkled his brows, concentrating once again on the conversation. It wasn't as easy as it sounded, but, oddly enough, he thought he was beginning to get the gist of it. Which sort of scared him. "Like, um, the being monogamous bit and all that?"
"Temporary monogamy." Viggo stressed the 'temporary' like he was explaining particle physics to a small child.
"Temporary?"
"Yep. Together for the shoot, then done. No strings, no drama."
"Sounds a bit dodgy." Of course, this was Viggo, and almost everything Viggo suggested sounded dodgy. Dodgy, and sometimes illegal. There was the incident with the fence posts in Richard's back yard to think about, although Orlando thought that was mostly Karl's fault. Most things involving livestock were Karl's fault. And then the one thing that happened with the caulking gun that Orlando was still convinced would come back to haunt him if he ever decided to run for political office. Not that he was actually planning on it, mind, but still.
Viggo and logical, well thought-out ideas were, on the whole, mutually exclusive.
The lure of getting completely stoned was forgotten as he warmed to his subject. "I mean, yeah, it's a lovely theory, the whole buggering off together, no strings and all. But, um, what if, like, one party ends up falling for the other?"
"Ah, but that's why you establish the rule." Viggo smiled, slow and wide, blinding in the moonlight. "Casual. Completely casual."
Again, against his better judgment (what little he had left at this point), Orlando asked the next question. "Er, so, why be monogamous, then?"
"Easier," Viggo shrugged, the motion stretching his paint-splattered t-shirt across his chest. "No worrying about who to go home with. And it's temporary, so there's no jealousy."
Sounded like absolute rubbish from where Orlando was sitting, but what did he know. The rules were probably different for mad prophet artistic actor types. "I take it you've had quite a bit of experience with the jealousy?"
"Yeah. You could say that." From the tone of Viggo's voice, Orlando knew better than to ask further. Not that he exactly wanted to know. With Viggo, one could either get a crazy-entertaining story that would have him in stitches, or it could wind up being a treatise on the migratory pattern of the swallow-necked bluebird or some nonsense.
"And try to keep to one of the locals," Viggo added. "Best if it's one of the crew and not an actor, but that's not a hard and fast rule."
"Because of the drama?" Orlando guessed.
"Exactly. Actors are full of sturm und drang." While Orlando was still trying to process what German literature had to do with dating, Viggo knocked their fists together in an odd sort of toast. "So, here's to your successful hunt."
"And this mad scheme has actually, in fact, worked for you?" Because this was Viggo, and one could never entirely trust anything the man said, it was just as likely that this was one of his pranks. Oh, he could act the sensitive artist when he wanted to, but everyone had learned the hard way that Viggo had a juvenile sense of humor that was worthy of his pre-teen son.
"It's working for me right now," Viggo smiled. It looked sincere enough.
"You mean, someone actually is consenting to be seen in public with you?" Orlando couldn't help the surprised tone. But, really, Viggo'd actually found someone willing to put up with his insanity? Miracles would never cease.
"Yes, but she's no one you'd know," Viggo laughed. "No one on the shoot. Maybe you should follow my lead on that."
"Might be difficult, since I think Pete's employing the entire bloody country," Orlando grumbled. "She pretty? Yours, I mean."
"She's lovely," Viggo said, and rested his hand over Orlando's briefly in a paternal gesture. "It'll be good for you. Moving on will be good for you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Moving on. Seemed like everyone was doing that these days. Everyone except him.
Orlando shifted his back on the flat tiles, and looked up at the brightly twinkling stars overhead. Everything looked so different here. Back home, he could point out a few constellations. But here...here, he felt out of his depth. Like he'd have to learn everything all over again. He'd felt that way since he stepped foot on the island, gotten his first glimpse of the endless verdant green of it and the mountains that seemed to rise out of the sea like benevolent gods. But, at the same time, he also felt at peace here in a way that he never did in England.
Maybe Jemma had been right. Maybe New Zealand really had changed him. Or maybe it was just the people. He'd certainly laughed more these days, felt more relaxed. Well, as relaxed as he could, considering he was working ridiculous hours, and was part of the biggest film ever made. But, strangely, he was fine with that aspect on most days. Fine with where he was and with the friends he'd made and living in such a different environment. Maybe it was that he was surrounded by so many Brits. Maybe it was the atmosphere and that there were no strangers in New Zealand, only friends you hadn't met yet. Maybe this was a test, and somehow, somewhere, he was being graded. He just wished he had any idea what the questions were.
Still, it was nice, this life he'd managed to start building. He only wished he truly had someone to share it with. This mad idea of Viggo's might be worth exploring, after all.
***
The tip of Sean's cigarette glowed red as he leaned against his porch railing and looked down the street to Orlando's house. Or, to be more specific, Orlando's roof. He could barely make out the shadowy figures of Viggo and Orlando, lounging on unsafe looking tiles, and he shook his head in amused resignation.
"One day, mark my words, they're both gonna roll right off and break their soddin' necks," he stated, taking a long drag from his cigarette.
Karl appeared in the doorway. When Sean twisted to look at him, he could see that Karl was only wearing a pair of boxers - and Sean's boxers at that, if he wasn't mistaken. Karl stepped out onto the porch, and neatly plucked the cigarette from Sean's lips. "You know, it's your positive outlook I like most about you," Karl grinned.
Sean's lips curled north; he didn't know a single person that could resist that smile. "Someone's got to look out for the silly buggers."
Karl nodded with all of the seriousness the situation warranted. "It's good they've got you, then, to spy on them and keep them in line."
Sean snagged the cigarette back, and gently bumped Karl's shoulder with his own. "Those are mine," he said, motioning to the boxers.
Karl made a show of looking down. "So they are. Want them back?"
"I'll collect them later."
"I might not be inclined to give them up."
"What if I promised to bugger you blind as recompense?"
Karl pretended to consider the option. He did look rather nice like this, Sean admitted to himself, mostly naked and gorgeous by moonlight. "I could possibly be persuaded if sex is on the table," Karl finally replied.
"Table it is, then," Sean grinned, and crushed out the cigarette. He gave Orlando's roof one last glance, and made a mental note to check later - much later - to see if they'd both made it off safely, and turned his attention back to Karl. And all of his mostly naked gorgeousness. "Go on, then, I'd like to claim them now."
"Thought you might," Karl smirked. In one swift motion, he bent and pulled the boxers off long legs. Sean simply stared in appreciation. Fucking hell, but Karl had a perfectly formed body.
"I'll be at the table when you're ready." And, with that, Karl turned and walked back into the house, stark naked.
Sean glanced down at the crumpled boxers, now in his hand. It only took a moment to toss them over his shoulder before following Karl back into the house.
(To Be Continued)
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean (Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Click here for full disclaimers & notes.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty-One | Part Twenty-Two | Part Twenty-Three | Part Twenty-Four | Part Twenty-Five | Part Twenty-Six | Part Twenty-Seven (and Epilogue) |
Six Months Later
"This," Orlando pronounced, rolling the 's' with a stream of smoke, "is some really good shit. Even for you," he added, and passed the joint back to Viggo.
The nicest thing about the house that Orlando was renting while he was filming was that, in addition to being two doors down from Sean's place and half a block from Dom's, it had very easy access to the roof. To make it even better, the house was also at the end of a quiet block near the beach, so sometimes, late at night, after everyone around had gone to bed, Orlando could hear the waves breaking on the shore. The sound never failed to soothe him, especially on longer days. But it was nothing compared to the prime weed that Viggo always seemed to have on hand. Billy was fond of saying that Viggo was probably found work as a drug dealer between his films. Orlando wouldn't be surprised.
"I think it's the sheep shit as fertilizer." Viggo replied, shaggy, dark hair fluttering in the light breeze. His voice was even lower than normal. Also, as normal, his jeans had more holes than fabric, and his feet were bare. Really, it was amazing that he knew what shoes were at all.
Orlando wrinkled his nose in disgust, but it didn't stop him from taking another acrid drag. "Not exactly something I want to think about, mate."
"I think it's time you moved on."
"From what?" Orlando mentally went back over the last few minutes of their conversation and couldn't remember anything that might give him a clue as to what in sweet fuck Viggo was talking about. Not that this was news. Viggo and linear thought didn't exactly inhabit the same plane of existence. He'd figured that out in the first five minutes of meeting Viggo, after a conversation consisting of the usual hello, how are yous that had been partially in Danish and partially in Elvish, and had ended when Viggo had head-butted him. Later on, Lawrence had mentioned that meant he and Viggo were now brothers. Peachy - like Orlando didn't have enough mad relatives running about.
"You need to find yourself someone you won't mind having temporary monogamy with."
Granted, Orlando was stoned, but honestly, he had no idea what Viggo was saying. "Vig, man, that's random, even for you. What the hell are you on about?"
"Getting you laid." Viggo's teeth gleamed like a hyena's before the kill.
"I'm sorry, I'm gonna need an earth to Viggo translation." Not that he really wanted to think about sex and Viggo in the same breath, mind. It'd be like imaging his crazy, pot-smoking uncle doing the deed, which was a thought better left, um, un-thought.
"Anyway," Viggo continued, oblivious to the fact that he still hadn't answered Orlando's question, "you pick your person. And this is the part where good hygiene comes in."
"Good hygiene?" Against Orlando's better judgment, he was curious. A fatal flaw, especially where Viggo was concerned, but sometimes he did manage to impart some wisdom. Sort of like a mad prophet, really. Knew a lot, loads of experience, and all that. Mad as a fucking loon, as well, but oddly enough, it only added to the appeal. Who didn't love a crazed genius? Especially one who had the most excellent pot in, well, the history of ever.
"Don't underestimate the power of good hygiene. I've learned that the hard way." Viggo lit up another joint and fat tendrils of smoke wafted in the air. "I mean, I'm not saying said person has to be a neat freak or anything."
"Of course not," Orlando muttered to himself, thinking of Viggo's own propensity for wandering around in his mud-spattered costume when he wasn't on set, and the hiking trips he was always taking with Karl that left his clothes looking like they'd gone through a war or two. Good hygiene of the bathing variety was, apparently, more of a guideline than an actual rule. Which begged the question what hygiene meant to Viggo, but Orlando wasn't brave enough to ask. Knowing his luck, Viggo would tell him.
"And you go out a few times, make sure you're compatible."
"Compatible?"
"Not likely to give you grief for grass stains in the fridge or painting the dog blue. You know, the usual."
"Right," Orlando nodded, even though he had no idea what Viggo was actually saying. Who put grass in the ice box? Oddly enough, painting the dog he could see Viggo doing. Provided, by painting the dog, what Viggo really meant was giving the fur splotches of day-glo color to liven them up. Of course, Viggo also got the local dogs stoned, so they probably wouldn't mind running around with pink or blue fur, but there you were.
"And you both agree, this is it for the shoot."
"It?" Orlando wrinkled his brows, concentrating once again on the conversation. It wasn't as easy as it sounded, but, oddly enough, he thought he was beginning to get the gist of it. Which sort of scared him. "Like, um, the being monogamous bit and all that?"
"Temporary monogamy." Viggo stressed the 'temporary' like he was explaining particle physics to a small child.
"Temporary?"
"Yep. Together for the shoot, then done. No strings, no drama."
"Sounds a bit dodgy." Of course, this was Viggo, and almost everything Viggo suggested sounded dodgy. Dodgy, and sometimes illegal. There was the incident with the fence posts in Richard's back yard to think about, although Orlando thought that was mostly Karl's fault. Most things involving livestock were Karl's fault. And then the one thing that happened with the caulking gun that Orlando was still convinced would come back to haunt him if he ever decided to run for political office. Not that he was actually planning on it, mind, but still.
Viggo and logical, well thought-out ideas were, on the whole, mutually exclusive.
The lure of getting completely stoned was forgotten as he warmed to his subject. "I mean, yeah, it's a lovely theory, the whole buggering off together, no strings and all. But, um, what if, like, one party ends up falling for the other?"
"Ah, but that's why you establish the rule." Viggo smiled, slow and wide, blinding in the moonlight. "Casual. Completely casual."
Again, against his better judgment (what little he had left at this point), Orlando asked the next question. "Er, so, why be monogamous, then?"
"Easier," Viggo shrugged, the motion stretching his paint-splattered t-shirt across his chest. "No worrying about who to go home with. And it's temporary, so there's no jealousy."
Sounded like absolute rubbish from where Orlando was sitting, but what did he know. The rules were probably different for mad prophet artistic actor types. "I take it you've had quite a bit of experience with the jealousy?"
"Yeah. You could say that." From the tone of Viggo's voice, Orlando knew better than to ask further. Not that he exactly wanted to know. With Viggo, one could either get a crazy-entertaining story that would have him in stitches, or it could wind up being a treatise on the migratory pattern of the swallow-necked bluebird or some nonsense.
"And try to keep to one of the locals," Viggo added. "Best if it's one of the crew and not an actor, but that's not a hard and fast rule."
"Because of the drama?" Orlando guessed.
"Exactly. Actors are full of sturm und drang." While Orlando was still trying to process what German literature had to do with dating, Viggo knocked their fists together in an odd sort of toast. "So, here's to your successful hunt."
"And this mad scheme has actually, in fact, worked for you?" Because this was Viggo, and one could never entirely trust anything the man said, it was just as likely that this was one of his pranks. Oh, he could act the sensitive artist when he wanted to, but everyone had learned the hard way that Viggo had a juvenile sense of humor that was worthy of his pre-teen son.
"It's working for me right now," Viggo smiled. It looked sincere enough.
"You mean, someone actually is consenting to be seen in public with you?" Orlando couldn't help the surprised tone. But, really, Viggo'd actually found someone willing to put up with his insanity? Miracles would never cease.
"Yes, but she's no one you'd know," Viggo laughed. "No one on the shoot. Maybe you should follow my lead on that."
"Might be difficult, since I think Pete's employing the entire bloody country," Orlando grumbled. "She pretty? Yours, I mean."
"She's lovely," Viggo said, and rested his hand over Orlando's briefly in a paternal gesture. "It'll be good for you. Moving on will be good for you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Moving on. Seemed like everyone was doing that these days. Everyone except him.
Orlando shifted his back on the flat tiles, and looked up at the brightly twinkling stars overhead. Everything looked so different here. Back home, he could point out a few constellations. But here...here, he felt out of his depth. Like he'd have to learn everything all over again. He'd felt that way since he stepped foot on the island, gotten his first glimpse of the endless verdant green of it and the mountains that seemed to rise out of the sea like benevolent gods. But, at the same time, he also felt at peace here in a way that he never did in England.
Maybe Jemma had been right. Maybe New Zealand really had changed him. Or maybe it was just the people. He'd certainly laughed more these days, felt more relaxed. Well, as relaxed as he could, considering he was working ridiculous hours, and was part of the biggest film ever made. But, strangely, he was fine with that aspect on most days. Fine with where he was and with the friends he'd made and living in such a different environment. Maybe it was that he was surrounded by so many Brits. Maybe it was the atmosphere and that there were no strangers in New Zealand, only friends you hadn't met yet. Maybe this was a test, and somehow, somewhere, he was being graded. He just wished he had any idea what the questions were.
Still, it was nice, this life he'd managed to start building. He only wished he truly had someone to share it with. This mad idea of Viggo's might be worth exploring, after all.
***
The tip of Sean's cigarette glowed red as he leaned against his porch railing and looked down the street to Orlando's house. Or, to be more specific, Orlando's roof. He could barely make out the shadowy figures of Viggo and Orlando, lounging on unsafe looking tiles, and he shook his head in amused resignation.
"One day, mark my words, they're both gonna roll right off and break their soddin' necks," he stated, taking a long drag from his cigarette.
Karl appeared in the doorway. When Sean twisted to look at him, he could see that Karl was only wearing a pair of boxers - and Sean's boxers at that, if he wasn't mistaken. Karl stepped out onto the porch, and neatly plucked the cigarette from Sean's lips. "You know, it's your positive outlook I like most about you," Karl grinned.
Sean's lips curled north; he didn't know a single person that could resist that smile. "Someone's got to look out for the silly buggers."
Karl nodded with all of the seriousness the situation warranted. "It's good they've got you, then, to spy on them and keep them in line."
Sean snagged the cigarette back, and gently bumped Karl's shoulder with his own. "Those are mine," he said, motioning to the boxers.
Karl made a show of looking down. "So they are. Want them back?"
"I'll collect them later."
"I might not be inclined to give them up."
"What if I promised to bugger you blind as recompense?"
Karl pretended to consider the option. He did look rather nice like this, Sean admitted to himself, mostly naked and gorgeous by moonlight. "I could possibly be persuaded if sex is on the table," Karl finally replied.
"Table it is, then," Sean grinned, and crushed out the cigarette. He gave Orlando's roof one last glance, and made a mental note to check later - much later - to see if they'd both made it off safely, and turned his attention back to Karl. And all of his mostly naked gorgeousness. "Go on, then, I'd like to claim them now."
"Thought you might," Karl smirked. In one swift motion, he bent and pulled the boxers off long legs. Sean simply stared in appreciation. Fucking hell, but Karl had a perfectly formed body.
"I'll be at the table when you're ready." And, with that, Karl turned and walked back into the house, stark naked.
Sean glanced down at the crumpled boxers, now in his hand. It only took a moment to toss them over his shoulder before following Karl back into the house.
(To Be Continued)