FIC: "Temporary Monogamy" (Part Three) (Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean, Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Title: "Temporary Monogamy" (3/27)
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) |
"So, I hear you're looking for someone to warm your bed."
Of course, word had traveled. It always did. There were no secrets on this set; well, mostly, there weren't any. Viggo'd probably mentioned his insane idea to Lawrence, or fuck forbid, Craig, who was probably, even now, thinking of some way to use the information to his advantage. Still, though, if Orlando had to be accosted about the insanity before coffee, he was glad it was Karl.
Orlando scooted over on the bench so Karl could drop down beside him. He nudged Karl's shoulder in a friendly gesture and picked up his fork. The breakfast in the tents was horrible, which was why he normally had breakfast with Sean at the local diner up the road, but Sean had a fuck-off early shoot, so here Orlando was, stuck with runny porridge and overcooked bacon. At least the coffee was nice and strong.
"If you're volunteering yourself and Sean for the warming activities, I'll have you know I don't share," he stated, just so it was clear. Given Karl's propensity for getting into scrapes, Orlando thought he was justified.
Although, if Orlando was the sort to swing that way, Christ, he could do a lot worse than Karl and Sean, that was for certain.
"Possessive, that's sexy," Karl nodded, and leaned in, beard tickling Orlando's ear. "Besides, who said I wanted you?"
Orlando's lips twitched with amusement. "I know you dream about me, don't deny it."
"Yes, but those sorts of dreams normally involves us as cowboys or spies saving the world," Karl grinned, and leaned out of the way of Orlando's swipe when he stole a piece of bacon from Orlando's plate. "And not in the fun, kinky, role-playing sort of way."
Orlando paused in the act of raising his coffee cup to his lips. Tried to picture himself and Karl as James Bond types with the guns and gadgets and girls and whatnot, and had to smile. Only Karl, man. The biggest, sexiest kid he'd ever met. "You have a fucked imagination, anyone ever tell you that?"
"Harry used to, constantly. Although, he's one to talk, the filthy pervert. Speaking of, he says you were wanting a few introductions around to some of the local ladies."
"Yeah, I guess," Orlando shrugged. Figured that Harry would have told Karl. Harry told Karl everything. Sure, and all, Orlando tried to maintain good relationships with his exes, but those two were a whole different kettle of fish. "I mean, if it's not too much trouble."
"Women are always trouble. It's why I'm taking a break from them."
"Lucky Sean," Orlando said, and meant it. From the moment Karl had introduced himself, he'd been like the big brother that Orlando'd never had.
One day in New Zealand and Karl had sat across from him at breakfast, looking all gorgeous and manly and, most importantly, awake, even at the ungodly hour, and all Orlando had done was stare.
"You're Karl fucking Urban, mate."
Karl had made a point of giving Orlando the biggest, shit-eating grin on the planet. "You've heard of me?"
Orlando had been too amazed to care that he'd been making an ass of himself. "You played Caesar and Cupid. Holy fuck. Hey, you still have the wings?" he'd asked, coffee, for once in his life, completely forgotten.
Karl'd cocked an eyebrow, but had shrugged friendly enough. "Sure, but I only model them when I'm pissed."
Orlando'd nodded, and had given the matter a bit of thought. "The first bottle after training's on me, then."
Karl's booming, answering laugh could have been heard from space. "Oh, yes, Orlando Bloom, we're going to get on just fine," he'd declared, and had shaken Orlando's hand to seal the deal.
They'd gotten rotten drunk that night, and the night after, and there might have been an incident involving a cow pasture that was still a little fuzzy around the edges of Orlando's memory, although he'd read about the incident in the paper the next day, and that had been that. He and Karl had done everything except do the whole blood exchange to announce their fraternal-type loyalty to the other.
Of course, gaining Karl meant that Orlando also gained Sean, and their rather spectacularly easy, laid-back relationship. Which was amazing, if slightly odd at times. Orlando was thrilled that two of the best men he knew were so compatible, even if he was slightly envious at how easily they'd both said it had happened. Orlando'd never had an easy time of relationships.
"Remind him that he's a damn lucky bastard next time you see him, would you?" Karl stole another piece of bacon with an unrepentant grin.
"I'll set him straight, don't worry." Orlando batted at Karl's hand. Brotherhood was all well and good, but honestly, there were limits. "And get your own breakfast. This shite is bad enough, and if you touch my coffee, you're a dead man."
"Spoilsport."
"I told you I don't share."
***
The problem, however, with having all of these new-found best friends that were looking out for him was that they actually followed through on their promises. Which was how Orlando found himself trudging up the road to this barbecue thingymabob or whatever at Harry's, even though he really, truly did not want to be around people at the moment. It had been a fuck of a long day and he was tired, sore from running about and fighting, and not a little bit cranky.
But, Priscilla had gone through a lot of trouble to invite some of her friends, and had, rumor had it, cooked all day and such - and Orlando liked her. Liked Harry too, and didn't want to see him in the doghouse with his sister if Orlando, the guest of honor, so to speak, didn't show. He knew how his own sister got when she was in a strop about a slight, either real or imagined, and it was never pretty.
So, here he was, trundling up to Harry's place - showered, obligatory bottle of wine in tow - and trying not to think too longingly of his pajamas and his sofa and the six-pack of bitter in his icebox and the game of footie he could be watching with Sean and Karl and Dom. This whole get out, be sociable, and explore his options was his idea. Mostly. Sort of. Alright, it was Viggo's idea, but he'd gone along with it, set the ball in motion, so to speak. Least he could do was meet some people.
Harry, bless him, had figured that, rather than put Orlando completely on the spot, he'd turn the occasion into an actual gathering, and had invited the other cast and crew. Which was nice in that Orlando didn't feel like an exhibit at a zoo, but not so excellent in the way that Billy, the sly fox, was trying to horn in on all of the best-looking birds. With Dom's help, of course. Orlando bet they really did tag-team, and the idea of it was enough to make him slightly freaked.
"You know you want to be the filling in our hot Hobbit sandwich," Dom grinned in passing, brows waggling in amusement.
"Seriously, Dommie, that is never an image I ever needed in my head." Of course, which begged the question of if Elijah and Astin were condiments, and honestly, was it any wonder that Orlando drank as much as he did?
"He wants us," Billy pronounced, with his own grin, and clapped Orlando on the back. "It's alright, you can come to us when you're ready."
Orlando merely groaned and left in search of more beer. Or something stronger. He wondered if Viggo dealt in heroin as well as pot.
Priscilla'd done her best to introduce him around, like some sort of society matron for her daughter at a debutante ball. Which left Orlando wondering if he should have worn a corsage instead of shorts, his favorite bright yellow tee, and his Birks. And if he was still expected to lead at the first dance, and if that really did make Harry his father-figure, which was honestly just not right at all.
Still, a couple of hours later, pleasantly stuffed on Harry's excellent short ribs and some broccoli bake Viggo'd whipped together (that was actually edible, for a change, and had been made with ingredients that Orlando recognized - a near miracle where Viggo was concerned), Orlando stood, trapped, in a loose circle of women. All of whom were, he had no doubt, lovely people. And all of them so completely boring. So completely obvious. Orlando was positive they didn't even see him - just an opportunity to get with a member of the Rings cast. Bragging rights for later years.
Well, he had news for these ladies; he was no one's trophy fuck. No matter what Viggo always said about selling him in a white slavery trade for a harem of sloe-eyed girls to fetch for him and paint his toenails.
"So, there was this houseful of guests and my father with his bum back and my brother's graduation the next day..." Andrea - at least, Orlando thought her name was Andrea, he was just as shite with names - paused for effect. She batted pretty eyelashes and sidled closer to his side. It was a move that he knew was calculated. Orlando could see the lace edges of her bra if he looked straight down. A glimpse, a tantalization, of things to come. Not that Orlando was interested. Her laugh sounded too much like his Jemma's. Petty of him, but he couldn't get over it. It was eerie, in a really creepy, not cool, sort of way.
"Go on," he said, pasting a fake smile on his face. Please, by all means, bore me some more, I'm dying to hear it.
She beamed at him. "Well, anyways, there I was -"
"Sorry to interrupt, Annie. Orlando, have you got a minute? I've got a dilemma only you can solve, I'm afraid."
Saying a quick prayer of gratitude to every saint he knew, Orlando turned and gave an honest to God real grin to his savior. Tall, rangy body, green, friendly eyes surrounded by laugh lines and an angular face. Two-day old stubble hiding a stubborn chin.
Sean.
(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) |
"So, I hear you're looking for someone to warm your bed."
Of course, word had traveled. It always did. There were no secrets on this set; well, mostly, there weren't any. Viggo'd probably mentioned his insane idea to Lawrence, or fuck forbid, Craig, who was probably, even now, thinking of some way to use the information to his advantage. Still, though, if Orlando had to be accosted about the insanity before coffee, he was glad it was Karl.
Orlando scooted over on the bench so Karl could drop down beside him. He nudged Karl's shoulder in a friendly gesture and picked up his fork. The breakfast in the tents was horrible, which was why he normally had breakfast with Sean at the local diner up the road, but Sean had a fuck-off early shoot, so here Orlando was, stuck with runny porridge and overcooked bacon. At least the coffee was nice and strong.
"If you're volunteering yourself and Sean for the warming activities, I'll have you know I don't share," he stated, just so it was clear. Given Karl's propensity for getting into scrapes, Orlando thought he was justified.
Although, if Orlando was the sort to swing that way, Christ, he could do a lot worse than Karl and Sean, that was for certain.
"Possessive, that's sexy," Karl nodded, and leaned in, beard tickling Orlando's ear. "Besides, who said I wanted you?"
Orlando's lips twitched with amusement. "I know you dream about me, don't deny it."
"Yes, but those sorts of dreams normally involves us as cowboys or spies saving the world," Karl grinned, and leaned out of the way of Orlando's swipe when he stole a piece of bacon from Orlando's plate. "And not in the fun, kinky, role-playing sort of way."
Orlando paused in the act of raising his coffee cup to his lips. Tried to picture himself and Karl as James Bond types with the guns and gadgets and girls and whatnot, and had to smile. Only Karl, man. The biggest, sexiest kid he'd ever met. "You have a fucked imagination, anyone ever tell you that?"
"Harry used to, constantly. Although, he's one to talk, the filthy pervert. Speaking of, he says you were wanting a few introductions around to some of the local ladies."
"Yeah, I guess," Orlando shrugged. Figured that Harry would have told Karl. Harry told Karl everything. Sure, and all, Orlando tried to maintain good relationships with his exes, but those two were a whole different kettle of fish. "I mean, if it's not too much trouble."
"Women are always trouble. It's why I'm taking a break from them."
"Lucky Sean," Orlando said, and meant it. From the moment Karl had introduced himself, he'd been like the big brother that Orlando'd never had.
One day in New Zealand and Karl had sat across from him at breakfast, looking all gorgeous and manly and, most importantly, awake, even at the ungodly hour, and all Orlando had done was stare.
"You're Karl fucking Urban, mate."
Karl had made a point of giving Orlando the biggest, shit-eating grin on the planet. "You've heard of me?"
Orlando had been too amazed to care that he'd been making an ass of himself. "You played Caesar and Cupid. Holy fuck. Hey, you still have the wings?" he'd asked, coffee, for once in his life, completely forgotten.
Karl'd cocked an eyebrow, but had shrugged friendly enough. "Sure, but I only model them when I'm pissed."
Orlando'd nodded, and had given the matter a bit of thought. "The first bottle after training's on me, then."
Karl's booming, answering laugh could have been heard from space. "Oh, yes, Orlando Bloom, we're going to get on just fine," he'd declared, and had shaken Orlando's hand to seal the deal.
They'd gotten rotten drunk that night, and the night after, and there might have been an incident involving a cow pasture that was still a little fuzzy around the edges of Orlando's memory, although he'd read about the incident in the paper the next day, and that had been that. He and Karl had done everything except do the whole blood exchange to announce their fraternal-type loyalty to the other.
Of course, gaining Karl meant that Orlando also gained Sean, and their rather spectacularly easy, laid-back relationship. Which was amazing, if slightly odd at times. Orlando was thrilled that two of the best men he knew were so compatible, even if he was slightly envious at how easily they'd both said it had happened. Orlando'd never had an easy time of relationships.
"Remind him that he's a damn lucky bastard next time you see him, would you?" Karl stole another piece of bacon with an unrepentant grin.
"I'll set him straight, don't worry." Orlando batted at Karl's hand. Brotherhood was all well and good, but honestly, there were limits. "And get your own breakfast. This shite is bad enough, and if you touch my coffee, you're a dead man."
"Spoilsport."
"I told you I don't share."
***
The problem, however, with having all of these new-found best friends that were looking out for him was that they actually followed through on their promises. Which was how Orlando found himself trudging up the road to this barbecue thingymabob or whatever at Harry's, even though he really, truly did not want to be around people at the moment. It had been a fuck of a long day and he was tired, sore from running about and fighting, and not a little bit cranky.
But, Priscilla had gone through a lot of trouble to invite some of her friends, and had, rumor had it, cooked all day and such - and Orlando liked her. Liked Harry too, and didn't want to see him in the doghouse with his sister if Orlando, the guest of honor, so to speak, didn't show. He knew how his own sister got when she was in a strop about a slight, either real or imagined, and it was never pretty.
So, here he was, trundling up to Harry's place - showered, obligatory bottle of wine in tow - and trying not to think too longingly of his pajamas and his sofa and the six-pack of bitter in his icebox and the game of footie he could be watching with Sean and Karl and Dom. This whole get out, be sociable, and explore his options was his idea. Mostly. Sort of. Alright, it was Viggo's idea, but he'd gone along with it, set the ball in motion, so to speak. Least he could do was meet some people.
Harry, bless him, had figured that, rather than put Orlando completely on the spot, he'd turn the occasion into an actual gathering, and had invited the other cast and crew. Which was nice in that Orlando didn't feel like an exhibit at a zoo, but not so excellent in the way that Billy, the sly fox, was trying to horn in on all of the best-looking birds. With Dom's help, of course. Orlando bet they really did tag-team, and the idea of it was enough to make him slightly freaked.
"You know you want to be the filling in our hot Hobbit sandwich," Dom grinned in passing, brows waggling in amusement.
"Seriously, Dommie, that is never an image I ever needed in my head." Of course, which begged the question of if Elijah and Astin were condiments, and honestly, was it any wonder that Orlando drank as much as he did?
"He wants us," Billy pronounced, with his own grin, and clapped Orlando on the back. "It's alright, you can come to us when you're ready."
Orlando merely groaned and left in search of more beer. Or something stronger. He wondered if Viggo dealt in heroin as well as pot.
Priscilla'd done her best to introduce him around, like some sort of society matron for her daughter at a debutante ball. Which left Orlando wondering if he should have worn a corsage instead of shorts, his favorite bright yellow tee, and his Birks. And if he was still expected to lead at the first dance, and if that really did make Harry his father-figure, which was honestly just not right at all.
Still, a couple of hours later, pleasantly stuffed on Harry's excellent short ribs and some broccoli bake Viggo'd whipped together (that was actually edible, for a change, and had been made with ingredients that Orlando recognized - a near miracle where Viggo was concerned), Orlando stood, trapped, in a loose circle of women. All of whom were, he had no doubt, lovely people. And all of them so completely boring. So completely obvious. Orlando was positive they didn't even see him - just an opportunity to get with a member of the Rings cast. Bragging rights for later years.
Well, he had news for these ladies; he was no one's trophy fuck. No matter what Viggo always said about selling him in a white slavery trade for a harem of sloe-eyed girls to fetch for him and paint his toenails.
"So, there was this houseful of guests and my father with his bum back and my brother's graduation the next day..." Andrea - at least, Orlando thought her name was Andrea, he was just as shite with names - paused for effect. She batted pretty eyelashes and sidled closer to his side. It was a move that he knew was calculated. Orlando could see the lace edges of her bra if he looked straight down. A glimpse, a tantalization, of things to come. Not that Orlando was interested. Her laugh sounded too much like his Jemma's. Petty of him, but he couldn't get over it. It was eerie, in a really creepy, not cool, sort of way.
"Go on," he said, pasting a fake smile on his face. Please, by all means, bore me some more, I'm dying to hear it.
She beamed at him. "Well, anyways, there I was -"
"Sorry to interrupt, Annie. Orlando, have you got a minute? I've got a dilemma only you can solve, I'm afraid."
Saying a quick prayer of gratitude to every saint he knew, Orlando turned and gave an honest to God real grin to his savior. Tall, rangy body, green, friendly eyes surrounded by laugh lines and an angular face. Two-day old stubble hiding a stubborn chin.
Sean.
(To Be Continued)