Walk on By - part II
WALK ON BY
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG-13 (R/NC-17 in later chapters)
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: My dear Ana who is not only a very good friend but an inspiration - thanks, love!
Orlando took a deep breath as he opened his front door; paused a moment before going inside and slamming it shut.
“Greg, mate, you home?”
The living room seemed unnaturally tidy.
“There you are…. What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Greg looked up from where he was sitting on the sofa, an expression on his face that Orlando didn’t recognise. He smiled and was about to speak. Greg cut in.
“You know Orli, I remember a time when you would have addressed me as, let me see, love, darling, sweetheart, but certainly not ‘mate’.”
Orlando wouldn’t have believed that his lover could inject so much venom into his words. Again he opened his mouth to speak.
“No, I really don’t want to hear it, not this time. When, ‘mate’, are you going to admit that we’re through?” An expression of sadness crossed his face. “You come home to me but you don’t talk to me, we haven’t had sex for months and you’re tied up with your job. Do you know I saw more of you when you were working in Dover than I do since you transferred?”
Orlando sighed. What he found really upsetting was that he was not particularly upset. Greg was right. The relationship had been over for months. He just hadn’t been able to face this conversation. He looked at the man who he had known for the past nine years, the man who had held him when the job got too much, the man who had supported him when, after one term at drama school, he had decided that he didn’t really want to be an actor. The man who had supported him emotionally and financially through the university course he had to do in order to fast track his career.
Greg was a few years older than Orlando and they had met the summer before Orlando started at Guildhall. He had been halfway through a law degree when they had literally bumped into each other in a designer clothes shop where Orli had a summer job. Falling head over heals in love, almost at first sight, they had moved into Orlando’s tiny housing association flat in the Barbican, right in the heart of the City of London. But somewhere along the line they had parted company.
“Greg, I do love you, you know that don’t you? But yeah, I know, we haven’t been together for months. Dunno what to say really….”
Despite everything, Greg leapt to his feet and a moment later Orlando was in his arms. Holding each other tightly, they stood there for a moment.
“Look Orli, I’m going to move out soon, well tonight actually. I’ve bought a flat in Holland Park, we exchanged contracts a couple of months ago, was waiting for the decorators to finish.” He looked into the deep brown eyes which were gazing at him so sadly. “I don’t think you even noticed that I started moving my stuff last month. Or that I’ve just finished working on the biggest case of my career.”
“Look Greg, I know, it’s all my fault, but I’ve wanted the drug squad for years, you of all people know that. And let’s be honest, I’m not quite the partner you need.”
Agitated, Orlando begun to pace up and down.
Every time we get together with those knob-head “coworkers” of yours they look down at my estuary accent. They take the piss out of me and get arsy when I get hacked off when they use in front of me. I don’t fit in with your new life and the truth be told I don’t really give a flying fuck what they think.”
Pausing only to light a cigarette he continued.
“Your lot defend nonces, paeds, drug pushers and every other pond life and I’m supposed to cheer when you get the cunts off. I have to watch as they laugh at us ‘cos they know the law can’t touch them. So please, spare me this old bollocks. I’m sick to fucking death of it.”
Glaring at Greg, he sat down. His soon to be ex sat down next to him.
“Fair point, love! Pax yeah. Look I’m going to head off. There’s every chance that I’m going to get promoted and to be honest I can’t be bothered to have this conversation now. Let’s talk in a few weeks when we’re both clearer about stuff.”
He didn’t get up however, just sat looking at the younger man.
“Greg, look, this is so sudden, why don’t you stay tonight, let’s at least have a drink for old time’s sake. God, it’s been nine fucking years. And I might add, I may not have noticed that everything was going pear shaped but you sure as hell didn’t bother to bring it to my attention.”
Smiling wryly, Greg nodded.
“Point taken! OK, why don’t we be really civilised, get some takeaway and spend one last night together. I can just as easily finish off tomorrow. And Orli, there’s one other thing. Who gets custody of Pip?”
For the first time that evening Orlando felt a sick feeling come over him. Their much loved cat had adopted them shortly after they moved in together. She had flirted outrageously with them for weeks before finally deciding she would deign to join them. Both men were devoted to her, but Orlando knew what he had to do.
“I can’t look after her as well as you, so I guess that answers the question. Just do me a favour, let me get up and go to work first, when I get back I don’t want to be reminded….” He wiped away a tear. “Christ look at me mewling over a fucking cat. Think I’ll grab a shower and you can call for dinner.”
It was the end of an era.
Meanwhile in another part of the city, a man of indiscriminate age prepared to sleep for the night. Viggo had had a godawful day, despite the promising start. It had rained incessantly for most of it, a delivery van had nearly run him over, giving the driver such a fright that he had stood and yelled at Viggo, causing such a scene that he’d had to move on and lose his pitch. Then to top it all some drunken lads had kicked his meagre supper into the gutter and thrown garbage at him just for the hell of it. He sighed to himself wondering how much worse his life could get.
At one time Viggo Mortensen had been a promising photographer. He made his living as a glamour photographer working under the pseudonym of Victor Moreno whilst using his own name for his more artistic efforts. He had made the classic mistake of marrying one of his models in an attempt to beef up his image. Tina Torremelinos was an incredibly ambitious woman. She had married him knowing that he really preferred men but decided that the leg up to her career was worth the sacrifice. They looked the part. She was small, blonde and very cute and for a while they moved amongst Manhattan’s finest B-list. They lived in a fair sized apartment midtown and managed to rub along fairly well. A couple of weeks before the exhibition that may well have started Viggo’s artistic career on the right track, catastrophe struck. Tina arrived home early. She had been due to shoot some lingerie ads but the photographer had been too stoned or drunk to do much and they had all been sent home. Ironically enough, Tina wouldn’t have bothered to come back to the apartment had the proofs for Viggo’s catalogue not been delivered on her way out that morning. She had met the courier at the door and taken them with her before realising what they were.
All hell broke loose when she arrived home to find her husband in bed with a man, a man who they were both friendly with, an actor who was appearing in a very successful off-Broadway show. Even that would not have been the end of the world if the man had not been dating a friend of Tina’s. She went mad attacking both of them and swearing revenge. In the ensuing melee, Viggo was pushing her away when she tripped and knocked herself unconscious. When she awoke in a hospital bed some hours later, Tina swore that she would crucify the man who had humiliated her so badly.
Revenge is a dish best eaten cold, they say, and Tina’s dish must have come straight from the freezer. She charged Viggo with assault, hired the best divorce lawyer in town and set out to bury her husband. Viggo ended up virtually penniless. The actor who he’d been involved with refused to stand up in court and tell the jury what really happened and Viggo was sentenced to three years in jail.
When he got out, a bitter man, he flew to London. Unable to get work, he soon worked through the meagre amount of money he had and it wasn’t long before he was on the streets. His visa had long since run out and his passport had been stolen almost the first night he slept rough.
A shadow of his former self, he lived in the twilight shadows of the Metropolis. He had a permanent cough, his feet were in a terrible state and he knew he smelt like shite. What he didn’t know was that things were about to get a whole lot worse…
Tbc
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG-13 (R/NC-17 in later chapters)
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: My dear Ana who is not only a very good friend but an inspiration - thanks, love!
Orlando took a deep breath as he opened his front door; paused a moment before going inside and slamming it shut.
“Greg, mate, you home?”
The living room seemed unnaturally tidy.
“There you are…. What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Greg looked up from where he was sitting on the sofa, an expression on his face that Orlando didn’t recognise. He smiled and was about to speak. Greg cut in.
“You know Orli, I remember a time when you would have addressed me as, let me see, love, darling, sweetheart, but certainly not ‘mate’.”
Orlando wouldn’t have believed that his lover could inject so much venom into his words. Again he opened his mouth to speak.
“No, I really don’t want to hear it, not this time. When, ‘mate’, are you going to admit that we’re through?” An expression of sadness crossed his face. “You come home to me but you don’t talk to me, we haven’t had sex for months and you’re tied up with your job. Do you know I saw more of you when you were working in Dover than I do since you transferred?”
Orlando sighed. What he found really upsetting was that he was not particularly upset. Greg was right. The relationship had been over for months. He just hadn’t been able to face this conversation. He looked at the man who he had known for the past nine years, the man who had held him when the job got too much, the man who had supported him when, after one term at drama school, he had decided that he didn’t really want to be an actor. The man who had supported him emotionally and financially through the university course he had to do in order to fast track his career.
Greg was a few years older than Orlando and they had met the summer before Orlando started at Guildhall. He had been halfway through a law degree when they had literally bumped into each other in a designer clothes shop where Orli had a summer job. Falling head over heals in love, almost at first sight, they had moved into Orlando’s tiny housing association flat in the Barbican, right in the heart of the City of London. But somewhere along the line they had parted company.
“Greg, I do love you, you know that don’t you? But yeah, I know, we haven’t been together for months. Dunno what to say really….”
Despite everything, Greg leapt to his feet and a moment later Orlando was in his arms. Holding each other tightly, they stood there for a moment.
“Look Orli, I’m going to move out soon, well tonight actually. I’ve bought a flat in Holland Park, we exchanged contracts a couple of months ago, was waiting for the decorators to finish.” He looked into the deep brown eyes which were gazing at him so sadly. “I don’t think you even noticed that I started moving my stuff last month. Or that I’ve just finished working on the biggest case of my career.”
“Look Greg, I know, it’s all my fault, but I’ve wanted the drug squad for years, you of all people know that. And let’s be honest, I’m not quite the partner you need.”
Agitated, Orlando begun to pace up and down.
Every time we get together with those knob-head “coworkers” of yours they look down at my estuary accent. They take the piss out of me and get arsy when I get hacked off when they use in front of me. I don’t fit in with your new life and the truth be told I don’t really give a flying fuck what they think.”
Pausing only to light a cigarette he continued.
“Your lot defend nonces, paeds, drug pushers and every other pond life and I’m supposed to cheer when you get the cunts off. I have to watch as they laugh at us ‘cos they know the law can’t touch them. So please, spare me this old bollocks. I’m sick to fucking death of it.”
Glaring at Greg, he sat down. His soon to be ex sat down next to him.
“Fair point, love! Pax yeah. Look I’m going to head off. There’s every chance that I’m going to get promoted and to be honest I can’t be bothered to have this conversation now. Let’s talk in a few weeks when we’re both clearer about stuff.”
He didn’t get up however, just sat looking at the younger man.
“Greg, look, this is so sudden, why don’t you stay tonight, let’s at least have a drink for old time’s sake. God, it’s been nine fucking years. And I might add, I may not have noticed that everything was going pear shaped but you sure as hell didn’t bother to bring it to my attention.”
Smiling wryly, Greg nodded.
“Point taken! OK, why don’t we be really civilised, get some takeaway and spend one last night together. I can just as easily finish off tomorrow. And Orli, there’s one other thing. Who gets custody of Pip?”
For the first time that evening Orlando felt a sick feeling come over him. Their much loved cat had adopted them shortly after they moved in together. She had flirted outrageously with them for weeks before finally deciding she would deign to join them. Both men were devoted to her, but Orlando knew what he had to do.
“I can’t look after her as well as you, so I guess that answers the question. Just do me a favour, let me get up and go to work first, when I get back I don’t want to be reminded….” He wiped away a tear. “Christ look at me mewling over a fucking cat. Think I’ll grab a shower and you can call for dinner.”
It was the end of an era.
Meanwhile in another part of the city, a man of indiscriminate age prepared to sleep for the night. Viggo had had a godawful day, despite the promising start. It had rained incessantly for most of it, a delivery van had nearly run him over, giving the driver such a fright that he had stood and yelled at Viggo, causing such a scene that he’d had to move on and lose his pitch. Then to top it all some drunken lads had kicked his meagre supper into the gutter and thrown garbage at him just for the hell of it. He sighed to himself wondering how much worse his life could get.
At one time Viggo Mortensen had been a promising photographer. He made his living as a glamour photographer working under the pseudonym of Victor Moreno whilst using his own name for his more artistic efforts. He had made the classic mistake of marrying one of his models in an attempt to beef up his image. Tina Torremelinos was an incredibly ambitious woman. She had married him knowing that he really preferred men but decided that the leg up to her career was worth the sacrifice. They looked the part. She was small, blonde and very cute and for a while they moved amongst Manhattan’s finest B-list. They lived in a fair sized apartment midtown and managed to rub along fairly well. A couple of weeks before the exhibition that may well have started Viggo’s artistic career on the right track, catastrophe struck. Tina arrived home early. She had been due to shoot some lingerie ads but the photographer had been too stoned or drunk to do much and they had all been sent home. Ironically enough, Tina wouldn’t have bothered to come back to the apartment had the proofs for Viggo’s catalogue not been delivered on her way out that morning. She had met the courier at the door and taken them with her before realising what they were.
All hell broke loose when she arrived home to find her husband in bed with a man, a man who they were both friendly with, an actor who was appearing in a very successful off-Broadway show. Even that would not have been the end of the world if the man had not been dating a friend of Tina’s. She went mad attacking both of them and swearing revenge. In the ensuing melee, Viggo was pushing her away when she tripped and knocked herself unconscious. When she awoke in a hospital bed some hours later, Tina swore that she would crucify the man who had humiliated her so badly.
Revenge is a dish best eaten cold, they say, and Tina’s dish must have come straight from the freezer. She charged Viggo with assault, hired the best divorce lawyer in town and set out to bury her husband. Viggo ended up virtually penniless. The actor who he’d been involved with refused to stand up in court and tell the jury what really happened and Viggo was sentenced to three years in jail.
When he got out, a bitter man, he flew to London. Unable to get work, he soon worked through the meagre amount of money he had and it wasn’t long before he was on the streets. His visa had long since run out and his passport had been stolen almost the first night he slept rough.
A shadow of his former self, he lived in the twilight shadows of the Metropolis. He had a permanent cough, his feet were in a terrible state and he knew he smelt like shite. What he didn’t know was that things were about to get a whole lot worse…
Tbc