FIC: "Temporary Monogamy" (Part Four) (Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean, Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Title: "Temporary Monogamy" (4/27)
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) |
It still amazed Orlando that he'd fallen into such an easy friendship with Sean. The great Sean Bean, England's favorite bit of rough onscreen, and favorite Lothario in real life. Orlando'd been watching Sean's work for years, had always admired him and his considerable skill, but he always imagined that Sean would be gruff and impatient in his personal dealings with people. Orlando'd always thought Sean would be like an old man chasing people off his lawn with a cane, shouting on about back in his day, young whippersnappers like him wouldn't have been let near a film like this (which Orlando happened to privately agree with).
The real Sean couldn't have been further from Orlando's imaginings. For one, the only gruff things about Sean were his voice and his beard. For another, the man was absolutely devoted to his daughters, and it was hard to imagine anyone could be hard as nails when they spent every other day or so cooing nonsense into the phone about whatever it is that little girls found important.
Sean never tried to talk down to Orlando or made him feel like his opinions were less important, even though Orlando was terrified of fucking this all up. This was such a big role, such a big film. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many ways he could bollocks up the whole thing. It was enough to send a man to drink. Which Orlando did. Frequently.
And Sean was always there, dropping by the house at odd times with a tumbler of whiskey or a spot of tea, with ready wit and a ready ear whenever Orlando thought he felt he was drowning under the weight of his responsibilities and expectations. Sean claimed it was because there was too much at stake for any one of them to quietly go down, and that filming was like being in the military and no one got left behind, so he was just doing it out of professional kinship. Sean, so he was always saying, knew what it was like to be new. Of course, the fact that Sean was there for Orlando at all was one helluva surprise.
But then, few things about New Zealand surprised Orlando as much as Sean.
***
(Six Months Earlier)
Fucking hell, Orlando thought, but he was the most teenie of all teenage girls on the planet. He'd have his fucking hair in braids next and start drawing hearts in notebooks and giggling like Elijah. Honestly. It was just Sean Bean.
And this was just another film he was making. Sell him another one.
He knocked on the door before he could change his mind, and rocked back on his heels. He should have never acted on the knowledge that Sean lived two doors down from his place. This was silly, introducing himself like this; he could just wait until the cast gathering the next day...
Too late. The door opened. Sean Bean - The Sean Bean - stood there, looking rugged and muscled, with tousled baby-fine, blond hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and the warmest green eyes Orlando had ever seen.
"Uh, hullo." Orlando took one hand out of his back pocket, waved. He steadfastly ignored the fact that his hand was trembling. "I'm, uh..."
"Orlando Bloom." The long, drawn-out way Sean said his name was just short of indecent.
Orlando blinked. Sean leaned against the doorjamb, at ease. Orlando blinked again. "Oi, um, how'd you know that, then?" He'd only been in the country for about 24 hours and, as far as he knew, hadn't gotten into any trouble that would require The Sean Bean knowing his name.
"Peter passed around headshots of you and Billy, said you'd both be here today or so, said you and I would be neighbors." Sean's perusal - which started at Orlando's Birks and beat to hell jeans and went up to his favorite purple and plaid shirt all the way to his (he knew) enflamed face - was thorough, curious. Orlando felt like a Thoroughbred at an auction. "Yer much better looking than your picture."
Fucking hell, what was it with him and compliments and blushing, anyway? "Uh. T-thanks. Thank you."
"Even Karl sung your praises and he's not easily impressed."
Oh, well, if Karl thought he was a bit of alright, then... "Wait, what?? Karl thought I was good-looking?"
Sean's smile crinkled his eyes and mouth. Orlando blinked again at the force of it. "I believe he used the phrase 'tasty morsel', but don't worry, your virtue is safe. He tends to go after the older set."
"Lucky you," Orlando murmured, and meant it. For some odd reason, he felt unaccountably pleased that both of them thought he was attractive. Christ, he wanted to call Jemma straight away and crow about it.
"Anyway, come on in." Sean straightened, gestured inside. "I was just getting ready to watch the match. Fancy a beer?"
"Uh, sure." Orlando stepped over the threshold, and resisted the urge to pinch himself. He was getting ready to watch football with The Sean Bean (who thought he was a good-looking bloke, had said so himself, thank you very much, and Sean's lover - who'd played Cupid, Cupid - also thought he was good-looking, as well) and drink beer like proper mates.
He was going to fucking love New Zealand.
***
(Six months later, back at the party)
"How'd you do that, then?" Orlando asked a few minutes later, when he and Sean were out on Harry's porch, sharing a cigarette and a very nice bottle of port (in all likelihood, it was also Harry's - fuck knew Orlando was familiar enough with it) and watching the garden do whatever it was gardens did at night.
Sean took a deep drag from the cigarette. His voice was a husky rasp of smoke. "Do what?"
"Finesse that bird like that. I don't think she even knew she was being dismissed."
Sean tapped the ashes into a saucer, the motion flexing the muscles in his forearm, and passed the cigarette on to Orlando. "Dunno, really. It's all in pretending to give people what they want while doing exactly what you want to do."
"And you wanted to rescue me?" For all that he and Sean were thick as the proverbial thieves, full-on acts of charity weren't exactly in Sean's nature. Not that he was as Machiavellian as Craig, mind, but Orlando knew that Sean enjoyed a good laugh as well as the next bloke, and was just as capable of winding someone up. Of course, it was normally Viggo that Sean focused on, given that Sean was the only person that could figure out what in sweet fuck made Viggo tick, but it wasn't unheard of for Sean to find another victim of sorts.
"You looked like you needed it," Sean replied, evenly, taking the cigarette back with a murmured thanks. "Besides, I don't think anyone's up for taking on Anvil Annie, especially someone in your predicament. Thought I'd be a good mate."
Anvil Annie? Orlando decided not to ask. "Thank you," he said, instead.
Bright green eyes twinkled with some sort of private joke. "Thank Karl. He heard all about her from Lawrence."
Of course. Orlando should have known. If there was salacious gossip about anyone in the greater Wellington area, Lawrence knew all about it. Better than the rags, he was. "Speaking of your sexier half, where is Karl, anyway?"
"Inside, I think. Probably helping Viggo hogtie the Hobbits or summat. You know how those two get around each other."
Indeed. Orlando still found himself vacillating between awe at their imagination and sheer terror that he'd be the next victim again. In fact, the only person they hadn't gotten to was Bernard, but that was because, for whatever reason, Viggo had decided that Bernard was off-limits to pranks. Personally, Orlando thought it was because Bernard was the one person in the world who scared Viggo, but he knew better than to bring it up. They'd only gotten him the once so far and the crew was still finding random bits of Orlando's clothing scattered across the sets.
He was still living down the candy-cane striped boxers. Dom had especially gotten quite the laugh. Fucker. Like Orlando didn't know about Dom's propensity for wearing frilly panties under his Meriadoc costume.
Sean blew another stream of smoke, studied Orlando through the haze. "Feel like cutting out, heading to the pub to play some darts, have a proper pint?"
Orlando's grin was the first real one he'd had all night. "I'd love to. You sure Karl won't mind?"
"We're good friends who fuck, Orlando," Sean replied, mildly. "I'm not on a leash, as much as that might appeal to Karl's sense of humor."
"Right." One day, he'd learn the art of not putting his foot in it. Of course, now he was scarred for life at the mental image Sean had conjured up. "In that case, lead on, MacDuff."
"It's lay on, MacDuff."
Orlando stopped at the front steps. He still held the bottle of port loosely in one hand. It was a bit of a walk to the pub, after all. They might get thirsty. "Sounds a bit salacious when you put it like that, yeah? All of that laying about."
Sean clapped him on the back in a friendly gesture, and neatly stole the bottle. "Well, this is Shakespeare, now, isn't it?"
"True enough," Orlando nodded. When a man had a point, a man had a point. "Lay on, then."
Orlando wound up having a bit of a flirt with one of the waitresses and beating Sean at darts. Twice. He couldn't wait to tell Dom about it.
(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) |
It still amazed Orlando that he'd fallen into such an easy friendship with Sean. The great Sean Bean, England's favorite bit of rough onscreen, and favorite Lothario in real life. Orlando'd been watching Sean's work for years, had always admired him and his considerable skill, but he always imagined that Sean would be gruff and impatient in his personal dealings with people. Orlando'd always thought Sean would be like an old man chasing people off his lawn with a cane, shouting on about back in his day, young whippersnappers like him wouldn't have been let near a film like this (which Orlando happened to privately agree with).
The real Sean couldn't have been further from Orlando's imaginings. For one, the only gruff things about Sean were his voice and his beard. For another, the man was absolutely devoted to his daughters, and it was hard to imagine anyone could be hard as nails when they spent every other day or so cooing nonsense into the phone about whatever it is that little girls found important.
Sean never tried to talk down to Orlando or made him feel like his opinions were less important, even though Orlando was terrified of fucking this all up. This was such a big role, such a big film. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many ways he could bollocks up the whole thing. It was enough to send a man to drink. Which Orlando did. Frequently.
And Sean was always there, dropping by the house at odd times with a tumbler of whiskey or a spot of tea, with ready wit and a ready ear whenever Orlando thought he felt he was drowning under the weight of his responsibilities and expectations. Sean claimed it was because there was too much at stake for any one of them to quietly go down, and that filming was like being in the military and no one got left behind, so he was just doing it out of professional kinship. Sean, so he was always saying, knew what it was like to be new. Of course, the fact that Sean was there for Orlando at all was one helluva surprise.
But then, few things about New Zealand surprised Orlando as much as Sean.
***
(Six Months Earlier)
Fucking hell, Orlando thought, but he was the most teenie of all teenage girls on the planet. He'd have his fucking hair in braids next and start drawing hearts in notebooks and giggling like Elijah. Honestly. It was just Sean Bean.
And this was just another film he was making. Sell him another one.
He knocked on the door before he could change his mind, and rocked back on his heels. He should have never acted on the knowledge that Sean lived two doors down from his place. This was silly, introducing himself like this; he could just wait until the cast gathering the next day...
Too late. The door opened. Sean Bean - The Sean Bean - stood there, looking rugged and muscled, with tousled baby-fine, blond hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and the warmest green eyes Orlando had ever seen.
"Uh, hullo." Orlando took one hand out of his back pocket, waved. He steadfastly ignored the fact that his hand was trembling. "I'm, uh..."
"Orlando Bloom." The long, drawn-out way Sean said his name was just short of indecent.
Orlando blinked. Sean leaned against the doorjamb, at ease. Orlando blinked again. "Oi, um, how'd you know that, then?" He'd only been in the country for about 24 hours and, as far as he knew, hadn't gotten into any trouble that would require The Sean Bean knowing his name.
"Peter passed around headshots of you and Billy, said you'd both be here today or so, said you and I would be neighbors." Sean's perusal - which started at Orlando's Birks and beat to hell jeans and went up to his favorite purple and plaid shirt all the way to his (he knew) enflamed face - was thorough, curious. Orlando felt like a Thoroughbred at an auction. "Yer much better looking than your picture."
Fucking hell, what was it with him and compliments and blushing, anyway? "Uh. T-thanks. Thank you."
"Even Karl sung your praises and he's not easily impressed."
Oh, well, if Karl thought he was a bit of alright, then... "Wait, what?? Karl thought I was good-looking?"
Sean's smile crinkled his eyes and mouth. Orlando blinked again at the force of it. "I believe he used the phrase 'tasty morsel', but don't worry, your virtue is safe. He tends to go after the older set."
"Lucky you," Orlando murmured, and meant it. For some odd reason, he felt unaccountably pleased that both of them thought he was attractive. Christ, he wanted to call Jemma straight away and crow about it.
"Anyway, come on in." Sean straightened, gestured inside. "I was just getting ready to watch the match. Fancy a beer?"
"Uh, sure." Orlando stepped over the threshold, and resisted the urge to pinch himself. He was getting ready to watch football with The Sean Bean (who thought he was a good-looking bloke, had said so himself, thank you very much, and Sean's lover - who'd played Cupid, Cupid - also thought he was good-looking, as well) and drink beer like proper mates.
He was going to fucking love New Zealand.
***
(Six months later, back at the party)
"How'd you do that, then?" Orlando asked a few minutes later, when he and Sean were out on Harry's porch, sharing a cigarette and a very nice bottle of port (in all likelihood, it was also Harry's - fuck knew Orlando was familiar enough with it) and watching the garden do whatever it was gardens did at night.
Sean took a deep drag from the cigarette. His voice was a husky rasp of smoke. "Do what?"
"Finesse that bird like that. I don't think she even knew she was being dismissed."
Sean tapped the ashes into a saucer, the motion flexing the muscles in his forearm, and passed the cigarette on to Orlando. "Dunno, really. It's all in pretending to give people what they want while doing exactly what you want to do."
"And you wanted to rescue me?" For all that he and Sean were thick as the proverbial thieves, full-on acts of charity weren't exactly in Sean's nature. Not that he was as Machiavellian as Craig, mind, but Orlando knew that Sean enjoyed a good laugh as well as the next bloke, and was just as capable of winding someone up. Of course, it was normally Viggo that Sean focused on, given that Sean was the only person that could figure out what in sweet fuck made Viggo tick, but it wasn't unheard of for Sean to find another victim of sorts.
"You looked like you needed it," Sean replied, evenly, taking the cigarette back with a murmured thanks. "Besides, I don't think anyone's up for taking on Anvil Annie, especially someone in your predicament. Thought I'd be a good mate."
Anvil Annie? Orlando decided not to ask. "Thank you," he said, instead.
Bright green eyes twinkled with some sort of private joke. "Thank Karl. He heard all about her from Lawrence."
Of course. Orlando should have known. If there was salacious gossip about anyone in the greater Wellington area, Lawrence knew all about it. Better than the rags, he was. "Speaking of your sexier half, where is Karl, anyway?"
"Inside, I think. Probably helping Viggo hogtie the Hobbits or summat. You know how those two get around each other."
Indeed. Orlando still found himself vacillating between awe at their imagination and sheer terror that he'd be the next victim again. In fact, the only person they hadn't gotten to was Bernard, but that was because, for whatever reason, Viggo had decided that Bernard was off-limits to pranks. Personally, Orlando thought it was because Bernard was the one person in the world who scared Viggo, but he knew better than to bring it up. They'd only gotten him the once so far and the crew was still finding random bits of Orlando's clothing scattered across the sets.
He was still living down the candy-cane striped boxers. Dom had especially gotten quite the laugh. Fucker. Like Orlando didn't know about Dom's propensity for wearing frilly panties under his Meriadoc costume.
Sean blew another stream of smoke, studied Orlando through the haze. "Feel like cutting out, heading to the pub to play some darts, have a proper pint?"
Orlando's grin was the first real one he'd had all night. "I'd love to. You sure Karl won't mind?"
"We're good friends who fuck, Orlando," Sean replied, mildly. "I'm not on a leash, as much as that might appeal to Karl's sense of humor."
"Right." One day, he'd learn the art of not putting his foot in it. Of course, now he was scarred for life at the mental image Sean had conjured up. "In that case, lead on, MacDuff."
"It's lay on, MacDuff."
Orlando stopped at the front steps. He still held the bottle of port loosely in one hand. It was a bit of a walk to the pub, after all. They might get thirsty. "Sounds a bit salacious when you put it like that, yeah? All of that laying about."
Sean clapped him on the back in a friendly gesture, and neatly stole the bottle. "Well, this is Shakespeare, now, isn't it?"
"True enough," Orlando nodded. When a man had a point, a man had a point. "Lay on, then."
Orlando wound up having a bit of a flirt with one of the waitresses and beating Sean at darts. Twice. He couldn't wait to tell Dom about it.
(To Be Continued)