FIC: "Temporary Monogamy" (Part Two) (Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean, Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Title: "Temporary Monogamy" (2/27)
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) |
"Temporary monogamy?" Dom asked, frowning over the top of his new script pages. His wig was sticking out in all directions; made those ridiculous ears of his look even bigger. "Sounds a bit dodgy, dunnit?"
"That's exactly what I said," Orlando replied, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard. The Hobbits may be madcap in the wildest of ways, up to and including getting him into all sorts of bother that he was pretty sure would get him arrested back in England; but, well, new places, new adventures, and so far, the local bobbies were remarkably tolerant. Well, except for the bit with the fountain, but that was really Billy's fault for getting Elijah so piss drunk. Of course, Elijah was the like the welterweight of drinkers, but Orlando didn't exactly have the most room to talk about not having the old head for alcohol (much to Dom's delight and Sean's consternation and everyone else's amusement).
Anyway, the point of it was, when it came to the really important things, he knew he could trust Dom and Elijah and Billy. Unlike a few of the other gossips on set Orlando could name. Like, say, Lawrence and Bernard and John, who were really the biddiest of old ladies, appearances to the contrary, and probably listened in at keyholes to boot. He had a vision of the three of them drinking tea and eating biscuits and discussing set gossip with all of the glee that his gran and her friends did every Thursday. He bet they probably even wore the hats.
PJ and Andrew were involved in a very intricate discussion with one of the APs about something or another, Orlando wasn't sure, some technical thing. He still wasn't entirely knowledgeable on all of the intricacies of the filming aspects and spent a great deal of time asking an inordinate amount of questions about who did what and where and why, driving everyone mental, he was sure. All he did know at the moment was the sound stage was cold as fuck and he was grateful for his mug of tea. Kept his hands warm. Playing an Elf was all well and good, but his costume could have used a few more layers at the moment. He was envious of the Hobbits and Viggo and Sean with their cloaks and gloves and whatnot.
"Sounds like Annie Savoy from Bull Durham is what it sounds like," Elijah chimed in, from Orlando's other side. His wig made his freakishly large eyes look even, well, larger. More freakish. Orlando swore sometimes that Elijah was really more Elf-looking than he was, with his clear skin and pick-your-cliché-bluer-than-blue eyes. "I mean, picking someone for the shoot sounds like picking someone for the season."
"What in sweet fuck are you talking about?"
"Y'know, Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins, Kevin Costner back when he could act. Best baseball movie of all time." At both Dom and Orlando's blank looks, Elijah let out a dramatic huff of air. "Never mind."
"Sorry, we're British," Dom grinned, not sounding sorry at all, then turned back to Orlando. "So, you gonna do it? Take Vig's dodgy advice, I mean?"
"Yeah, I guess. Beats the old right hand, y'know? I mean, long shoot and all. And it's been six months since Jemma and I broke off. I think it's time," Orlando added, with a decisive nod. After all, everyone'd been telling him since he got here that he'd find someone else eventually. Eventually was beginning to look like eternity, which was entirely too melodramatic a notion to contemplate, especially this early in the morning.
No one should be melodramatic before breakfast.
"Long since time if you ask me." Then Dom frowned, clearly lost in thought, and started humming what sounded like U2, something from 'War', if Orlando wasn't mistaken. Dom was constantly humming Irish rock bands. Orlando could tell Dom was really concentrating by the slight furrow between his brows - well, that, and his ears wiggled slightly. He didn't think Dom was aware that he did it, but it always made it easier for Orlando to fleece him at cards on poker nights. Not that Orlando was the card shark that Dave was, but Orlando was convinced that Dave made his living gambling, and only acted to find fresh marks.
"So, you'll let me and Billy take you out, introduce you around?" It was rare to find Dom without Billy or vice versa. Orlando'd asked once if they pulled girls together, and all he'd gotten in response was one of Billy's cheeky grins and Dom replying that Orlando's sexual fantasies were none of his nevermind, but really, saying such things in front of the children. By which he meant Elijah, of course. Who'd just rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, completely proving Dom's point.
Elijah and irony weren't the coziest of mates. And getting straight answers out of Dom was about as easy as getting Viggo to talk in English most days. But a lot more fun.
"Actually, I was thinking about letting Craig or Harry do it." Orlando nudged Dom's shoulder when Dom frowned again. "Don't be like that - they're locals. Viggo said to try to find someone local."
"And one should always follow the great Viggo Mortensen's advice," Dom replied dryly.
"Like you don't follow him around like a lovesick puppy," Elijah scoffed, without looking up from his book.
"When a man has the kind of weed Viggo's got, I'd be a fool not to," Dom grinned, then poked Orlando. "Tog."
Without thinking, Orlando tapped the back of Dom's head. "Tiggity."
Elijah finally looked up. "Wait, I thought you couldn't tiggity on a tog."
Dom's sigh was part exasperation, part mentor. "No, that's only if you're tiggitying on a tigtog," he explained slowly. "Honestly, Lij, do we need to write them down?"
"No." It sounded so much like a pout that Orlando had to keep himself from laughing out loud. Fuck help them all when Elijah actually cottoned onto the fact that TIG was not, in fact, a real game.
"Still, Craig's a bit of a shady character," Dom continued, circling back to the real conversation at hand. "Better off with Harry."
"Y'think?" Although Dom did have a point. Craig was much like Orlando imagined a male, less murderous, Lady Macbeth would be - full of schemes within schemes and all that. Maybe more a less jealous and prone to rage Iago, then. Too clever by half, and knew it, that sort of thing. Good person to have along on a pub crawl, though, knew all of the best watering holes and every bartender in the city.
"Yeah. Harry's sister is a dish," Dom said, and Elijah nodded in agreement, like a Greek chorus of one. "Bound to have some good-looking friends, yeah?"
Another good point. And fuck knew Orlando was going to need all of the help he could muster up.
***
Even six months later, Orlando couldn't precisely point out how it was that he'd come to be friends with Harry. All he knew was, about two weeks after he'd gotten to New Zealand, he'd come home from a day of training to find a rather tall, good-looking, salt-n-pepper haired gentleman sitting on his front porch, drinking port from the bottle and smoking a cigar.
"Hullo, I'm Harry, I live up the road apiece. Fancy a pull?"
Orlando had taken the bottle from Harry's outstretched hand, more in reflex than anything. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" He'd already met so many people it was hard to keep track.
"No," Harry had replied cheerfully, then had proceeded to blow the biggest smoke ring Orlando had ever seen. "But Karl reckoned you were a good sort. Wanna take the bottle for a spin around the beach?"
By the time they'd gotten back to Orlando's after their walk, slightly drunk off of really excellent Portuguese port and more than slightly stoned off of the joint that Viggo had given Orlando the day before, Harry and Orlando were chatting like old friends. Harry'd stayed for dinner, more alcohol, and had passed out on Orlando's sofa as comfortable as you please. And had even made waffles the next morning.
When Orlando had mentioned the incident to Karl the next day at training, Karl'd told him that meant that Harry had adopted him. Sort of like a puppy, Karl'd added, all gleaming teeth and amusement.
Orlando'd had bruises from the impromptu wrestling match for a week. But, in the end, Karl'd had a point. From that day on, Harry'd looked after Orlando with the sort of munificence that one would give a pet. It was slightly odd, but Orlando was learning that just about everything about New Zealand was slightly odd, and that most assuredly included the people.
"So, you're saying you want me to get Priscilla to hook you up with one of her friends, is that it?"
Harry sounded more confused than skeptical as he finished yanking a particularly tenacious weed out of the flower bed in his back lawn. The roots had to be at least a meter long. Harry's jeans were caked in dirt, as was his shirt, which might've been blue at one point, but was now a rather odd shade of rust.
Orlando nodded, then shook his head. "Yeah. But, um, no. Kinda wanna pick her out myself, like. Just wanted, you know -"
"Introductions?"
Orlando nodded. One nice thing about Harry was that he was able to follow along with Orlando's train of thought fairly well. Orlando still wasn't sure if that made them both equally mad or equally sane. Either way, at least he wasn't alone.
Harry wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm as he stood. Why he'd chosen their only full day off in three weeks to potter around in his yard was something beyond Orlando's comprehension. Orlando'd have just hired someone and been done with it. To his mother's and gran's dismay, his green thumb was more dark brown or black. But Harry claimed mucking about with flowers and weeds and such kept him young and in good shape. Considering how fit Harry was, Orlando couldn’t really argue.
"Beer?"
"Nah, I'm good," Orlando said. He was used to Harry's abrupt conversational shifts. "Maybe some water?"
Harry disappeared into the house and came back on the patio with two bottles. He passed Orlando one and straddled the other chair. "Got anyone in mind you wanted to meet, girl-wise?" he asked, winding back to their earlier conversation like they'd never left it.
"Well, no. Not really." He'd been too busy wallowing and pretending he wasn't actually wallowing to look around, if he was honest with himself.
"A type, then? Blonde, brunette, fancy a redhead, huge knockers, long legs, etcetera...?"
That was the problem with men, Orlando decided. They all wanted a type - himself included. "Hell, someone fun," he said, rubbing his thumb over the bottle, smearing condensation. "Someone not interested in long-term, but won't fuck me over while I'm here. I mean, good-looking would help, yeah, but she doesn't have to be drop-dead. Nice legs are a must, though."
"Hmm." Harry was silent for a moment, and Orlando took the time to look around the garden. He had absolutely zero knowledge of flowers and plants (which was another sore spot with his mother), but he liked what he saw. Looked nice. Homey. A little like his gran's place back in Kent. He had a sneaking suspicion that his gran and Harry would get on like a house on fire. Which terrified him to pieces if he thought about it too much.
"Karl might also know a few single girls. I'll ask him," Harry finally pronounced, sitting back.
Orlando frowned. "I thought Karl was still with Sean." And blissfully shagging each other whenever they had a flat surface, not that Orlando asked those sorts of detailed questions. He'd learned very early on that Kiwis were frighteningly honest. And forthright. And didn't mind giving far too much information about things. And things.
"He is," Harry replied, with a mild look. "Doesn't mean he's never enjoyed the company of women, now does it?"
"Right. Sorry." Orlando always forgot how sensitive Harry was where Karl was concerned. He'd asked Karl about their story once, how they'd gotten together, why it was over, and hadn't gotten any sort of useful answer. But, then, that was Karl for you, more twists than a spiral, that one. It was no wonder he and Viggo got on so well together.
Properly chastised, Orlando changed the subject. "Don't feel you have to rush. There's no timetable or anything."
Harry snorted, friendly eyes flashing in amusement. "Where women are concerned, it's always best to revise one's plans by the hour anyway."
(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) |
"Temporary monogamy?" Dom asked, frowning over the top of his new script pages. His wig was sticking out in all directions; made those ridiculous ears of his look even bigger. "Sounds a bit dodgy, dunnit?"
"That's exactly what I said," Orlando replied, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard. The Hobbits may be madcap in the wildest of ways, up to and including getting him into all sorts of bother that he was pretty sure would get him arrested back in England; but, well, new places, new adventures, and so far, the local bobbies were remarkably tolerant. Well, except for the bit with the fountain, but that was really Billy's fault for getting Elijah so piss drunk. Of course, Elijah was the like the welterweight of drinkers, but Orlando didn't exactly have the most room to talk about not having the old head for alcohol (much to Dom's delight and Sean's consternation and everyone else's amusement).
Anyway, the point of it was, when it came to the really important things, he knew he could trust Dom and Elijah and Billy. Unlike a few of the other gossips on set Orlando could name. Like, say, Lawrence and Bernard and John, who were really the biddiest of old ladies, appearances to the contrary, and probably listened in at keyholes to boot. He had a vision of the three of them drinking tea and eating biscuits and discussing set gossip with all of the glee that his gran and her friends did every Thursday. He bet they probably even wore the hats.
PJ and Andrew were involved in a very intricate discussion with one of the APs about something or another, Orlando wasn't sure, some technical thing. He still wasn't entirely knowledgeable on all of the intricacies of the filming aspects and spent a great deal of time asking an inordinate amount of questions about who did what and where and why, driving everyone mental, he was sure. All he did know at the moment was the sound stage was cold as fuck and he was grateful for his mug of tea. Kept his hands warm. Playing an Elf was all well and good, but his costume could have used a few more layers at the moment. He was envious of the Hobbits and Viggo and Sean with their cloaks and gloves and whatnot.
"Sounds like Annie Savoy from Bull Durham is what it sounds like," Elijah chimed in, from Orlando's other side. His wig made his freakishly large eyes look even, well, larger. More freakish. Orlando swore sometimes that Elijah was really more Elf-looking than he was, with his clear skin and pick-your-cliché-bluer-than-blue eyes. "I mean, picking someone for the shoot sounds like picking someone for the season."
"What in sweet fuck are you talking about?"
"Y'know, Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins, Kevin Costner back when he could act. Best baseball movie of all time." At both Dom and Orlando's blank looks, Elijah let out a dramatic huff of air. "Never mind."
"Sorry, we're British," Dom grinned, not sounding sorry at all, then turned back to Orlando. "So, you gonna do it? Take Vig's dodgy advice, I mean?"
"Yeah, I guess. Beats the old right hand, y'know? I mean, long shoot and all. And it's been six months since Jemma and I broke off. I think it's time," Orlando added, with a decisive nod. After all, everyone'd been telling him since he got here that he'd find someone else eventually. Eventually was beginning to look like eternity, which was entirely too melodramatic a notion to contemplate, especially this early in the morning.
No one should be melodramatic before breakfast.
"Long since time if you ask me." Then Dom frowned, clearly lost in thought, and started humming what sounded like U2, something from 'War', if Orlando wasn't mistaken. Dom was constantly humming Irish rock bands. Orlando could tell Dom was really concentrating by the slight furrow between his brows - well, that, and his ears wiggled slightly. He didn't think Dom was aware that he did it, but it always made it easier for Orlando to fleece him at cards on poker nights. Not that Orlando was the card shark that Dave was, but Orlando was convinced that Dave made his living gambling, and only acted to find fresh marks.
"So, you'll let me and Billy take you out, introduce you around?" It was rare to find Dom without Billy or vice versa. Orlando'd asked once if they pulled girls together, and all he'd gotten in response was one of Billy's cheeky grins and Dom replying that Orlando's sexual fantasies were none of his nevermind, but really, saying such things in front of the children. By which he meant Elijah, of course. Who'd just rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, completely proving Dom's point.
Elijah and irony weren't the coziest of mates. And getting straight answers out of Dom was about as easy as getting Viggo to talk in English most days. But a lot more fun.
"Actually, I was thinking about letting Craig or Harry do it." Orlando nudged Dom's shoulder when Dom frowned again. "Don't be like that - they're locals. Viggo said to try to find someone local."
"And one should always follow the great Viggo Mortensen's advice," Dom replied dryly.
"Like you don't follow him around like a lovesick puppy," Elijah scoffed, without looking up from his book.
"When a man has the kind of weed Viggo's got, I'd be a fool not to," Dom grinned, then poked Orlando. "Tog."
Without thinking, Orlando tapped the back of Dom's head. "Tiggity."
Elijah finally looked up. "Wait, I thought you couldn't tiggity on a tog."
Dom's sigh was part exasperation, part mentor. "No, that's only if you're tiggitying on a tigtog," he explained slowly. "Honestly, Lij, do we need to write them down?"
"No." It sounded so much like a pout that Orlando had to keep himself from laughing out loud. Fuck help them all when Elijah actually cottoned onto the fact that TIG was not, in fact, a real game.
"Still, Craig's a bit of a shady character," Dom continued, circling back to the real conversation at hand. "Better off with Harry."
"Y'think?" Although Dom did have a point. Craig was much like Orlando imagined a male, less murderous, Lady Macbeth would be - full of schemes within schemes and all that. Maybe more a less jealous and prone to rage Iago, then. Too clever by half, and knew it, that sort of thing. Good person to have along on a pub crawl, though, knew all of the best watering holes and every bartender in the city.
"Yeah. Harry's sister is a dish," Dom said, and Elijah nodded in agreement, like a Greek chorus of one. "Bound to have some good-looking friends, yeah?"
Another good point. And fuck knew Orlando was going to need all of the help he could muster up.
***
Even six months later, Orlando couldn't precisely point out how it was that he'd come to be friends with Harry. All he knew was, about two weeks after he'd gotten to New Zealand, he'd come home from a day of training to find a rather tall, good-looking, salt-n-pepper haired gentleman sitting on his front porch, drinking port from the bottle and smoking a cigar.
"Hullo, I'm Harry, I live up the road apiece. Fancy a pull?"
Orlando had taken the bottle from Harry's outstretched hand, more in reflex than anything. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" He'd already met so many people it was hard to keep track.
"No," Harry had replied cheerfully, then had proceeded to blow the biggest smoke ring Orlando had ever seen. "But Karl reckoned you were a good sort. Wanna take the bottle for a spin around the beach?"
By the time they'd gotten back to Orlando's after their walk, slightly drunk off of really excellent Portuguese port and more than slightly stoned off of the joint that Viggo had given Orlando the day before, Harry and Orlando were chatting like old friends. Harry'd stayed for dinner, more alcohol, and had passed out on Orlando's sofa as comfortable as you please. And had even made waffles the next morning.
When Orlando had mentioned the incident to Karl the next day at training, Karl'd told him that meant that Harry had adopted him. Sort of like a puppy, Karl'd added, all gleaming teeth and amusement.
Orlando'd had bruises from the impromptu wrestling match for a week. But, in the end, Karl'd had a point. From that day on, Harry'd looked after Orlando with the sort of munificence that one would give a pet. It was slightly odd, but Orlando was learning that just about everything about New Zealand was slightly odd, and that most assuredly included the people.
"So, you're saying you want me to get Priscilla to hook you up with one of her friends, is that it?"
Harry sounded more confused than skeptical as he finished yanking a particularly tenacious weed out of the flower bed in his back lawn. The roots had to be at least a meter long. Harry's jeans were caked in dirt, as was his shirt, which might've been blue at one point, but was now a rather odd shade of rust.
Orlando nodded, then shook his head. "Yeah. But, um, no. Kinda wanna pick her out myself, like. Just wanted, you know -"
"Introductions?"
Orlando nodded. One nice thing about Harry was that he was able to follow along with Orlando's train of thought fairly well. Orlando still wasn't sure if that made them both equally mad or equally sane. Either way, at least he wasn't alone.
Harry wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm as he stood. Why he'd chosen their only full day off in three weeks to potter around in his yard was something beyond Orlando's comprehension. Orlando'd have just hired someone and been done with it. To his mother's and gran's dismay, his green thumb was more dark brown or black. But Harry claimed mucking about with flowers and weeds and such kept him young and in good shape. Considering how fit Harry was, Orlando couldn’t really argue.
"Beer?"
"Nah, I'm good," Orlando said. He was used to Harry's abrupt conversational shifts. "Maybe some water?"
Harry disappeared into the house and came back on the patio with two bottles. He passed Orlando one and straddled the other chair. "Got anyone in mind you wanted to meet, girl-wise?" he asked, winding back to their earlier conversation like they'd never left it.
"Well, no. Not really." He'd been too busy wallowing and pretending he wasn't actually wallowing to look around, if he was honest with himself.
"A type, then? Blonde, brunette, fancy a redhead, huge knockers, long legs, etcetera...?"
That was the problem with men, Orlando decided. They all wanted a type - himself included. "Hell, someone fun," he said, rubbing his thumb over the bottle, smearing condensation. "Someone not interested in long-term, but won't fuck me over while I'm here. I mean, good-looking would help, yeah, but she doesn't have to be drop-dead. Nice legs are a must, though."
"Hmm." Harry was silent for a moment, and Orlando took the time to look around the garden. He had absolutely zero knowledge of flowers and plants (which was another sore spot with his mother), but he liked what he saw. Looked nice. Homey. A little like his gran's place back in Kent. He had a sneaking suspicion that his gran and Harry would get on like a house on fire. Which terrified him to pieces if he thought about it too much.
"Karl might also know a few single girls. I'll ask him," Harry finally pronounced, sitting back.
Orlando frowned. "I thought Karl was still with Sean." And blissfully shagging each other whenever they had a flat surface, not that Orlando asked those sorts of detailed questions. He'd learned very early on that Kiwis were frighteningly honest. And forthright. And didn't mind giving far too much information about things. And things.
"He is," Harry replied, with a mild look. "Doesn't mean he's never enjoyed the company of women, now does it?"
"Right. Sorry." Orlando always forgot how sensitive Harry was where Karl was concerned. He'd asked Karl about their story once, how they'd gotten together, why it was over, and hadn't gotten any sort of useful answer. But, then, that was Karl for you, more twists than a spiral, that one. It was no wonder he and Viggo got on so well together.
Properly chastised, Orlando changed the subject. "Don't feel you have to rush. There's no timetable or anything."
Harry snorted, friendly eyes flashing in amusement. "Where women are concerned, it's always best to revise one's plans by the hour anyway."
(To Be Continued)