Walk on By XXII
WALK ON BY - XXII
Author: dalehead
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: NC-17
Category: AU
Disclaimer: This is fiction, not based in reality - to the best of my knowledge Viggo Mortensen has never lived rough and Orlando Bloom was never part of the Constabulary.
Beta: gattodoro at short notice and when she was very busy being domesticated but on the other hand she knows what a drama queen I am!
A/N. This is for koulagirl666 because she has commented on every part of this story and man, it’s been a long wait *hugs*
"Where’s my..."
"On the chair..."
"Oh ..." there was a pause, Viggo counted. "And my..."
"In the airing cupboard..."
Orlando chuckled. “Why is my lighter in the airing cupboard, babe?
Viggo grinned and came into the bedroom where Orlando was sprawled, stark bollock naked save for his socks. He always dressed from his socks upwards, something that both mystified and entranced his lover.
“How come you’re in such a good mood, I thought you’d be …” Viggo paused.
“You thought I’d be in a piss poor state just ‘cos I got up in the middle of the night for tea and a smoke?”
~~
When Viggo awoke, he could smell the cigarette and guessed it was Orlando’s turn to be visited by the sleep stealing gremlins. He tiptoed into the kitchen and there was his incredibly beautiful boyfriend, sitting looking lugubrious and drinking a huge mug of tea. Orlando looked up as he came into the room.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he put his cigarette out and held his hand out to Viggo, who went straight to him. Orlando wound his arms around Viggo’s waist, burying his face in his flat stomach and a very old band tee- shirt that he’d bought at the first Glastonbury Festival he went to. It smelt of Viggo and fabric conditioner.
“You know what that fucker Bick said to me once?” Orlando’s voice was muffled. “He said you should always listen to your instincts, that the moment a cop became too complacent, he lost it. He said that’s what made me a good detective, that and being a tenacious cunt,” Orlando smiled. “Then he started hating me, I still don’t really understand. What was that all about?”
The question was rhetorical.
Viggo’s fingers carded through Orlando’s hair, caressing and comforting. Shutting his eyes, Orlando relaxed a little, letting go of the worries that encroached on his consciousness and woke him up.
“Let’s go back to bed,” he yawned. “Wanna fuck me?” Orlando did most of the topping but there were times he liked to lie back and let Viggo drive into his body, take control and fuck him thoroughly. Plus, and he wasn’t going to admit this out loud, he wanted to feel the after affects of a good fuck when he met up with Greg.
“Oh yes,” Viggo breathed. He led the way, kicking the bedroom door shut and pushing Orlando backwards onto the bed…
~~
“Well yes, I guess I did,” Viggo fetched Orlando’s clothes and put them in reach. He brought him a cup of tea and the ashtray. There wasn’t a chance of him eating anything and Viggo didn’t bother to even suggest it.
“Nah, just …” he sighed. “Me and Greg are histoire, you know? And the thing is I don’t understand why he’s being so fucking mysterious…” he bit his lip. “Something is going on, something I don’t know about and I don’t like it Vig. I feel …” he paused for a long time and Viggo sat on the bed.
“You feel what?” he prompted.
“I feel like I’m being played. I’m sure of it, I wish I knew what the fuck was going on but … and this is odd Vig … no one is talking. Not even the blokes I thought were my friends…” he lit a cigarette and passed it to Viggo who shook his head. Although Orlando hadn’t noticed, he was trying to give up. “Now I come to think about it, no fucker’s been near me and it makes no fucking sense.”
“I dunno what to say,” Viggo could see how worried Orlando was. “But you’re going to find out in a few hours yes?” he looked at the clock and was surprised. “In a very few hours…”
Orlando laughed. “You’re right babe, speculation is pointless, that’s what Sherlock Holmes said yeah?” he sat up and scratched his stomach. “God my arse is on fire this morning, big boy,” thus proving that he was truly the king of non sequiteur. “I think I’ll get a shower, wanna come wash my back?”
“Fuck me first and I will,” Viggo was enjoying taking great pleasure in rediscovering the joys of sex.
“Way to go, Vig!” bouncing out of bed, Orlando farted loudly. “Since you asked me so nicely,” he ignored the look of disdain on Viggo’s face and headed for the bathroom, closely followed by Viggo.
~~
“Orlando…”
“Greg…”
Orlando had left it until the last moment, arriving just as Greg had ordered himself a glass of wine and a beer for Orlando.
Sitting down, Orlando lit up a cigarette.
“So how’s it going?”
Greg nodded.
“Good, I’m going to be made a partner next year, so yeah, it’s going well.”
“And how’s your pretty boy toy?”
“My boy toy as you put it, is a year older than you, it’s just he drinks less, smokes less, eats right and goes to the gym,” Greg sounded defensive. “But how’s your stray settling in?”
Orlando swallowed down the retort, he knew he was the Olympic champion when it came to winding Greg up but there were more important issues at stake than point scoring.
“He’s great; he’s a great bloke and it’s all going good,” their drinks arrived and Orlando took a long swallow of his beer. “But we’re not here to discuss our respective love lives are we?”
“I guess not,” Greg was looking grave.
“So tell me this,” Orlando had wanted to ask this for a long, long time. “How come Mike Roxwell walked?”
“’Mike Roxwell’ as you knew him, never existed,” Greg replied.
“You what? What the fuck are you talking about? You got him off somehow didn’t you?”
“Got him off? What the hell are you talking about?” Greg hissed. “He didn’t get off, he died; the guy was murdered; he was hanging off the top of a multi-storey car part by his fingernails. When he hit the ground his fingers were broken … do you understand me?”
~~
“What time is it?” Frank asked, tapping his fingers on the table.
“About two minutes later than when you last asked, you muppet,” George growled.
Viggo said nothing. He was becoming immured to this kind dialogue and everyone was becoming very snippy. They all felt like they’d been here for hours when in reality, it hadn’t been that long. His eyes were on the bar where he knew his Orlando was with Greg. It wasn’t so very long since Viggo was just another piece of human flotsam and jetsam and the idea of Orlando ensconced with his ex made Viggo feel a little twitchy.
“What the fuck can be taking this long?” George lit another cigarette*. Frank followed suit, Viggo didn’t.
Frank was on a very short fuse. “Now who’s the fucking muppet eh? They’re fucking well talking aren’t they. I never liked that poncey git, how can he be a man and not be interested in football?”
“How the fuck should I know, but there’s something going on and I wanna know what.” George was chain smoking and wishing Frank would shut the fuck up. “Why can’t you keep it buttoned like Vig here?”
“Look,” Viggo half stood up. “Here he comes.”
And indeed, Orlando was saying good bye to Greg, holding his hand up and watching him walk away into the crowds. Then he turned to the bar and nodded. It was clear he didn’t want to join them.
“I’m going to him,” Viggo got up, hurried over, nearly tripping over the homeless guy who was begging outside the bar.
“Orli…” and for once Orlando didn’t pick him up on it. “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” Orlando looked like death. He was as white as a sheet, white with green tinges. “I can’t go in there, can we walk down to Embankment Gardens and I’ll fill you all in,” George and Frank came out to join them. Neither of them said a word, just followed behind Orlando and Viggo.
Embankment Gardens is a tiny piece of green beloved of office workers who toiled in London WC2. Normally it was packed but on a chilly day like today, it was almost deserted.
When they had found an empty bench and sat down where no one was likely to overhear them, Orlando begun to talk.
“George, we got it so wrong, we got it so fucking wrong and I thought I was a good cop, what a load of fucking bollocks that turned out to be…”
Frank snorted. “Now that is bollocks, ‘Lan, course you’re a good copper, everyone said so, not just George…”
“If only that were true,” Orland held Viggo’s hand tightly, so tightly that he was actually hurting Viggo. “Turns out Mike Roxwell, not his real name by the way, turns out he was part of a huge investigation. Seems he was working for another part of the Met; he was part of a huge investigation into a human smuggling ring. He was married by the way, first kid on the way and they chased him up to this multi-storey car park and when he tried to escape, the let him dangle over the edge until one of them got up on the parapet and stamped on his fingers until he fell…”
Orlando’s skin was cold. Clammy.
“Roxwell was terrified of heights…”
“But …” Viggo remembered what he’d done only too well. “He murdered a man, I saw him, he murdered a man.”
“Yeah I know, but Greg said the whole incident was caught on camera, says I can view it if I like, but it seems it was self defence, Greg reckons you couldn’t see properly ‘cos you were on the ground.”
Frank frowned. “But if Roxwell was one of the good guys, who the fuck was behind the whole operation?”
“Yeah, I wanna know which scumbug masterminded the whole caboodle?” George chimed in.
The smile that appeared on Orlando’s face was entirely without mirth. He looked at Viggo who almost shivered at the expression on his face. It was like a light had gone out inside of Orlando.
“Chief Inspector Bicknall…”
(tbc)
Author: dalehead
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: NC-17
Category: AU
Disclaimer: This is fiction, not based in reality - to the best of my knowledge Viggo Mortensen has never lived rough and Orlando Bloom was never part of the Constabulary.
Beta: gattodoro at short notice and when she was very busy being domesticated but on the other hand she knows what a drama queen I am!
A/N. This is for koulagirl666 because she has commented on every part of this story and man, it’s been a long wait *hugs*
"Where’s my..."
"On the chair..."
"Oh ..." there was a pause, Viggo counted. "And my..."
"In the airing cupboard..."
Orlando chuckled. “Why is my lighter in the airing cupboard, babe?
Viggo grinned and came into the bedroom where Orlando was sprawled, stark bollock naked save for his socks. He always dressed from his socks upwards, something that both mystified and entranced his lover.
“How come you’re in such a good mood, I thought you’d be …” Viggo paused.
“You thought I’d be in a piss poor state just ‘cos I got up in the middle of the night for tea and a smoke?”
~~
When Viggo awoke, he could smell the cigarette and guessed it was Orlando’s turn to be visited by the sleep stealing gremlins. He tiptoed into the kitchen and there was his incredibly beautiful boyfriend, sitting looking lugubrious and drinking a huge mug of tea. Orlando looked up as he came into the room.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he put his cigarette out and held his hand out to Viggo, who went straight to him. Orlando wound his arms around Viggo’s waist, burying his face in his flat stomach and a very old band tee- shirt that he’d bought at the first Glastonbury Festival he went to. It smelt of Viggo and fabric conditioner.
“You know what that fucker Bick said to me once?” Orlando’s voice was muffled. “He said you should always listen to your instincts, that the moment a cop became too complacent, he lost it. He said that’s what made me a good detective, that and being a tenacious cunt,” Orlando smiled. “Then he started hating me, I still don’t really understand. What was that all about?”
The question was rhetorical.
Viggo’s fingers carded through Orlando’s hair, caressing and comforting. Shutting his eyes, Orlando relaxed a little, letting go of the worries that encroached on his consciousness and woke him up.
“Let’s go back to bed,” he yawned. “Wanna fuck me?” Orlando did most of the topping but there were times he liked to lie back and let Viggo drive into his body, take control and fuck him thoroughly. Plus, and he wasn’t going to admit this out loud, he wanted to feel the after affects of a good fuck when he met up with Greg.
“Oh yes,” Viggo breathed. He led the way, kicking the bedroom door shut and pushing Orlando backwards onto the bed…
~~
“Well yes, I guess I did,” Viggo fetched Orlando’s clothes and put them in reach. He brought him a cup of tea and the ashtray. There wasn’t a chance of him eating anything and Viggo didn’t bother to even suggest it.
“Nah, just …” he sighed. “Me and Greg are histoire, you know? And the thing is I don’t understand why he’s being so fucking mysterious…” he bit his lip. “Something is going on, something I don’t know about and I don’t like it Vig. I feel …” he paused for a long time and Viggo sat on the bed.
“You feel what?” he prompted.
“I feel like I’m being played. I’m sure of it, I wish I knew what the fuck was going on but … and this is odd Vig … no one is talking. Not even the blokes I thought were my friends…” he lit a cigarette and passed it to Viggo who shook his head. Although Orlando hadn’t noticed, he was trying to give up. “Now I come to think about it, no fucker’s been near me and it makes no fucking sense.”
“I dunno what to say,” Viggo could see how worried Orlando was. “But you’re going to find out in a few hours yes?” he looked at the clock and was surprised. “In a very few hours…”
Orlando laughed. “You’re right babe, speculation is pointless, that’s what Sherlock Holmes said yeah?” he sat up and scratched his stomach. “God my arse is on fire this morning, big boy,” thus proving that he was truly the king of non sequiteur. “I think I’ll get a shower, wanna come wash my back?”
“Fuck me first and I will,” Viggo was enjoying taking great pleasure in rediscovering the joys of sex.
“Way to go, Vig!” bouncing out of bed, Orlando farted loudly. “Since you asked me so nicely,” he ignored the look of disdain on Viggo’s face and headed for the bathroom, closely followed by Viggo.
~~
“Orlando…”
“Greg…”
Orlando had left it until the last moment, arriving just as Greg had ordered himself a glass of wine and a beer for Orlando.
Sitting down, Orlando lit up a cigarette.
“So how’s it going?”
Greg nodded.
“Good, I’m going to be made a partner next year, so yeah, it’s going well.”
“And how’s your pretty boy toy?”
“My boy toy as you put it, is a year older than you, it’s just he drinks less, smokes less, eats right and goes to the gym,” Greg sounded defensive. “But how’s your stray settling in?”
Orlando swallowed down the retort, he knew he was the Olympic champion when it came to winding Greg up but there were more important issues at stake than point scoring.
“He’s great; he’s a great bloke and it’s all going good,” their drinks arrived and Orlando took a long swallow of his beer. “But we’re not here to discuss our respective love lives are we?”
“I guess not,” Greg was looking grave.
“So tell me this,” Orlando had wanted to ask this for a long, long time. “How come Mike Roxwell walked?”
“’Mike Roxwell’ as you knew him, never existed,” Greg replied.
“You what? What the fuck are you talking about? You got him off somehow didn’t you?”
“Got him off? What the hell are you talking about?” Greg hissed. “He didn’t get off, he died; the guy was murdered; he was hanging off the top of a multi-storey car part by his fingernails. When he hit the ground his fingers were broken … do you understand me?”
~~
“What time is it?” Frank asked, tapping his fingers on the table.
“About two minutes later than when you last asked, you muppet,” George growled.
Viggo said nothing. He was becoming immured to this kind dialogue and everyone was becoming very snippy. They all felt like they’d been here for hours when in reality, it hadn’t been that long. His eyes were on the bar where he knew his Orlando was with Greg. It wasn’t so very long since Viggo was just another piece of human flotsam and jetsam and the idea of Orlando ensconced with his ex made Viggo feel a little twitchy.
“What the fuck can be taking this long?” George lit another cigarette*. Frank followed suit, Viggo didn’t.
Frank was on a very short fuse. “Now who’s the fucking muppet eh? They’re fucking well talking aren’t they. I never liked that poncey git, how can he be a man and not be interested in football?”
“How the fuck should I know, but there’s something going on and I wanna know what.” George was chain smoking and wishing Frank would shut the fuck up. “Why can’t you keep it buttoned like Vig here?”
“Look,” Viggo half stood up. “Here he comes.”
And indeed, Orlando was saying good bye to Greg, holding his hand up and watching him walk away into the crowds. Then he turned to the bar and nodded. It was clear he didn’t want to join them.
“I’m going to him,” Viggo got up, hurried over, nearly tripping over the homeless guy who was begging outside the bar.
“Orli…” and for once Orlando didn’t pick him up on it. “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” Orlando looked like death. He was as white as a sheet, white with green tinges. “I can’t go in there, can we walk down to Embankment Gardens and I’ll fill you all in,” George and Frank came out to join them. Neither of them said a word, just followed behind Orlando and Viggo.
Embankment Gardens is a tiny piece of green beloved of office workers who toiled in London WC2. Normally it was packed but on a chilly day like today, it was almost deserted.
When they had found an empty bench and sat down where no one was likely to overhear them, Orlando begun to talk.
“George, we got it so wrong, we got it so fucking wrong and I thought I was a good cop, what a load of fucking bollocks that turned out to be…”
Frank snorted. “Now that is bollocks, ‘Lan, course you’re a good copper, everyone said so, not just George…”
“If only that were true,” Orland held Viggo’s hand tightly, so tightly that he was actually hurting Viggo. “Turns out Mike Roxwell, not his real name by the way, turns out he was part of a huge investigation. Seems he was working for another part of the Met; he was part of a huge investigation into a human smuggling ring. He was married by the way, first kid on the way and they chased him up to this multi-storey car park and when he tried to escape, the let him dangle over the edge until one of them got up on the parapet and stamped on his fingers until he fell…”
Orlando’s skin was cold. Clammy.
“Roxwell was terrified of heights…”
“But …” Viggo remembered what he’d done only too well. “He murdered a man, I saw him, he murdered a man.”
“Yeah I know, but Greg said the whole incident was caught on camera, says I can view it if I like, but it seems it was self defence, Greg reckons you couldn’t see properly ‘cos you were on the ground.”
Frank frowned. “But if Roxwell was one of the good guys, who the fuck was behind the whole operation?”
“Yeah, I wanna know which scumbug masterminded the whole caboodle?” George chimed in.
The smile that appeared on Orlando’s face was entirely without mirth. He looked at Viggo who almost shivered at the expression on his face. It was like a light had gone out inside of Orlando.
“Chief Inspector Bicknall…”
(tbc)