Walk on By XVI
Author: Lottie Lenya
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: blueskydancers - thank you very much for being so prompt!
A/N: This is for my Flist. I am so lucky to have the support of such a great bunch of people.
**
At some point in the night, Orlando awoke and crawled off the couch to bed. Getting in, he found Viggo was already there; wrapping himself around the warm body, Orlando was asleep within minutes.
When the alarm went off he extricated himself from Viggo’s arms and shut it off, yawning loudly and scratching his arse. He found Viggo was looking at him, smiling.
“Good morning, Orlando…” The smile lit his face up but Orlando wasn’t in the mood and barely registered the greeting. Grunting he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom and his morning piss before putting the kettle on. A burst of harsh coughing told Vig that the first cigarette of the day had been lit.
Ten minutes later Orlando placed a mug of tea and a plate of toast on the bedside table and, returning to the kitchen, bolted down a bowl of rice crispies before lighting another cigarette. When Viggo came to see what was up, he was staring into space, ash about to drip into the remains of his breakfast.
“Are you okay, my love?”
At this Orlando blinked and looked a little awkward. When Viggo leaned over to kiss him, he moved out of his chair, quickly.
“Yeah, I’m fine, mate. Look…” He paused. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Vig … just keep the hearts and flowers down, yeah?”
Then lighting up another cigarette, he grabbed his jacket and made for the door.
“See ya later, Vig…”
Viggo listened to his departing steps and cursed his inability to read Orlando. The signals were so … contradictory. He knew the guy had put his job on the line for him and he hoped this was a sign that Orlando felt something for him. Surely he must feel something? Surely he wouldn’t have done all that he’d done without feeling something?
Meanwhile Orlando was on his way to work, a feeling of impending doom hanging over him. Walking through the station he couldn’t help but feel that people were looking at him oddly. He arrived at the incident room and went to his desk.
It was clear.
Someone had tidied it. All his stuff was in a cardboard box. The rest of the team suddenly seemed very interested in the floor, looking anywhere but at Orlando. His lips thinned dangerously and the sparks flew off him.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
“D S Bloom, please come into my office... Now.”
Glaring at his colleagues, Orlando did as D I Bicknall said.
He slouched in a chair, staring at Bicknall, not saying a word.
Bicknall wasn’t in the least bit bothered.
“Well Bloom, as I told you, your career is over but as you insist on hanging on by your fingernails, I have organised a transfer to the Fraud Squad. You’re gonna love investigating white collar crimes.” His voice sounded cool, self-satisfied. He leant back in his seat and smirked.
“And there are lots of shirt lifters like you in Fraud, I’m sure you’ll feel right at home there.” He held his hands up, as Orlando made to reply.
“No don’t thank me. Just fuck off. I don’t ever wanna see you again… Get out of here, you dirty little poofter…”
Orlando felt sick but he said nothing. Just nodded and headed out of Bicknall’s office to collect his stuff. Prejudice of all sorts was very common in the Force and it didn’t bother him. But the transfer to Fraud. He’d go mad, he just knew he’d go mad…
Opening the box, he picked out a couple of bits that meant something to him and dumped the rest by the nearest bin. Nodding at the remnants of his team, he walked out of the building, noticing a couple of beggars sitting in the doorway of a shop. Thinking that this was where it all started to go wrong, Orlando gave them both some money and walked on, heading towards New Scotland Yard.
****
Meanwhile the news of Orlando’s demise had already spread like wildfire. Everyone knew that Bicknall has set out to bury his DS and had evidently succeeded. George had been one of the first to find out and he thought it was his duty to go and warn Viggo that Orlando was going to arrive home in a foul mood.
“So what’s new?” retorted Viggo and to his shame, he began to cry a little. George looked embarrassed and shuffled from one foot to the other. Like most men of his generation, he couldn’t really cope with another man’s tears. “There, there mate, it’ll all come out in the wash…
Then he remembered there was something else he needed to talk to Viggo about.
“Vig, I was talking to Frank this morning. He was saying he could use another pair of hands in the pub. You know, to collect the glasses and empty the ashtrays. The pay wouldn’t be great mind, but at least you’d get out of the fucking house for a bit. Anyway, see what Lan says about it, whether or not they’ll let you do it, then let me know, yeah?”
Viggo nodded. He couldn’t imagine that he’d be allowed to go and work for Frank but the thought was definitely appealing. He was so bored being stuck indoors all the time. And if Orlando was going to be in such a bad mood, maybe it would be better if he was out the way. He sighed to himself, wondering just how bad it was going to get. He almost wished he was still… but no, nothing, however bad it got it could ever make him wish he was still on the streets, could it?
**
Meanwhile Orlando was standing outside New Scotland Yard. He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone tapped him on the back. Turning round he found himself looking up at Greg, his ex.
“What the fuck… Christ, Greg, you nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!”
Greg rolled his eyes. “I see your language hasn’t improved, babe! And by the way, what are you doing here? Bit off your patch isn’t it?”
The mirth in Orlando’s face dissipated speedily. “Believe me, mate, you don’t wanna know…”
Giving him a quick glance, Greg frowned. “Look, babe, I have to go now, I’m due in a meeting ten minutes ago, give me a call and let’s go out to dinner or for drinks soon, then you can tell me all about it.”
Orlando nodded and watched as Greg strolled off. Suddenly he yearned for those easy days when both work and his private life had run so smoothly. But then he thought of Viggo, and despite himself smiled softly. Deep down, buried behind much mental flotsam and jetsam, Orlando cared deeply about Viggo, may possibly even… but no, this wasn’t the time to be thinking about stuff like that. He took a deep breath and headed towards the entrance of the building.
Following the directions, all too soon, he found himself outside his new office. Resolutely, he entered the room. The first thing that struck him was just how quiet it was. There appeared to be none of the banter and buzz that he was used to. And what appalled him, was just how well dressed everyone appeared to be. A quick head count revealed several Armani suits and at least three Paul Smith’s. And he was wearing ripped jeans, a tight t-shirt and a battered leather jacket that used to belong to his best friend.
One of the suits, detached himself from his computer and made his way over, his expression both oily and condescending.
“D S Bloom, I presume? I am D S Rothbury. Um … without being rude, I would like to remind you that today is not Friday so you needn’t have dressed down. We’ll expect you to be suited and booted tomorrow…”
Orlando’s heart sank. He’d known this was going to be a crap gig but…
“Now the boss is away on a course today but you’ll be meeting her tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll start showing you the ropes…”
Realising he still hadn’t said a word and wasn’t required to, Orlando nodded. It was going to be a very long day.
**
By the time Orlando wearily made his way home, he’d forgotten he’d been off with Viggo, forgotten his biting tone and cruel words. When he turned the key in the door and stepped inside, the smell of chilli greeted him. Slumping on the sofa, he smiled gratefully as Viggo appeared bringing a cold beer, which he downed gratefully before lighting a cigarette.
Viggo sat next to him, his presence offering silent comfort and sympathy. Words were not needed here. Gazing at nothing, Orlando smoked his cigarette, before stubbing it out and reaching for Viggo. Pushing him down, Orlando carefully undid his shirt then unzipped his jeans and skilfully removed them. He smiled as he began kissing Viggo, their tongues moving together. Viggo murmured something and Orlando stopped and looked at him.
“Problem, babe?”
“I said, it’s not fair, I’m naked and you haven’t even taken your coat off.”
Smiling lasciviously, Orlando stood up, and stripped quickly. He needed this too much to tease. Grabbing a condom from under the sofa, along with some lube, he climbed back between Viggo’s legs.
“Better?” He asked and resumed kissing, letting his hands explore skin that was finally beginning to look healthy.
“I need to be inside you, Vig…” He tore open the condom, rolled it on his already weeping cock, slicking some lube over it. “Now…”
Lining his cock up at Viggo’s hole, he paused in case his attentions were unwanted. Hearing no objection, he began to push into the hot, tight heat.
Viggo couldn’t help whimpering, it seemed to him that Orlando had never wanted him so badly. Now for the first time, there was passion, as if Orlando had finally given in to his feelings.
He began thrusting in and out of him quickly. Taking Viggo’s cock in his hand and beginning to stroke it, he matched their rhythms, never taking his eyes off Viggo’s.
They came one after the other, leaving each other’s skin sticky with sweat and come. Orlando leaned over and kissed Viggo who kissed him back with equal ferocity.
They dragged themselves off the couch, still kissing and headed for the bedroom. Snuggling under the duvet, Orlando yawned. “We’ll have the chilli later, gotta nap now yeah?”
“’kay” was the sleepy response as Viggo was just dropping off. He was wide awake a moment later.
“Love you, babe…”
Smiling to himself, Viggo began to understand that his new lover only let himself go at very specific times and that by the morning, he would have locked that side of his nature away again.
Viggo was almost sure he could live with that.
TBC
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: blueskydancers - thank you very much for being so prompt!
A/N: This is for my Flist. I am so lucky to have the support of such a great bunch of people.
**
At some point in the night, Orlando awoke and crawled off the couch to bed. Getting in, he found Viggo was already there; wrapping himself around the warm body, Orlando was asleep within minutes.
When the alarm went off he extricated himself from Viggo’s arms and shut it off, yawning loudly and scratching his arse. He found Viggo was looking at him, smiling.
“Good morning, Orlando…” The smile lit his face up but Orlando wasn’t in the mood and barely registered the greeting. Grunting he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom and his morning piss before putting the kettle on. A burst of harsh coughing told Vig that the first cigarette of the day had been lit.
Ten minutes later Orlando placed a mug of tea and a plate of toast on the bedside table and, returning to the kitchen, bolted down a bowl of rice crispies before lighting another cigarette. When Viggo came to see what was up, he was staring into space, ash about to drip into the remains of his breakfast.
“Are you okay, my love?”
At this Orlando blinked and looked a little awkward. When Viggo leaned over to kiss him, he moved out of his chair, quickly.
“Yeah, I’m fine, mate. Look…” He paused. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Vig … just keep the hearts and flowers down, yeah?”
Then lighting up another cigarette, he grabbed his jacket and made for the door.
“See ya later, Vig…”
Viggo listened to his departing steps and cursed his inability to read Orlando. The signals were so … contradictory. He knew the guy had put his job on the line for him and he hoped this was a sign that Orlando felt something for him. Surely he must feel something? Surely he wouldn’t have done all that he’d done without feeling something?
Meanwhile Orlando was on his way to work, a feeling of impending doom hanging over him. Walking through the station he couldn’t help but feel that people were looking at him oddly. He arrived at the incident room and went to his desk.
It was clear.
Someone had tidied it. All his stuff was in a cardboard box. The rest of the team suddenly seemed very interested in the floor, looking anywhere but at Orlando. His lips thinned dangerously and the sparks flew off him.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
“D S Bloom, please come into my office... Now.”
Glaring at his colleagues, Orlando did as D I Bicknall said.
He slouched in a chair, staring at Bicknall, not saying a word.
Bicknall wasn’t in the least bit bothered.
“Well Bloom, as I told you, your career is over but as you insist on hanging on by your fingernails, I have organised a transfer to the Fraud Squad. You’re gonna love investigating white collar crimes.” His voice sounded cool, self-satisfied. He leant back in his seat and smirked.
“And there are lots of shirt lifters like you in Fraud, I’m sure you’ll feel right at home there.” He held his hands up, as Orlando made to reply.
“No don’t thank me. Just fuck off. I don’t ever wanna see you again… Get out of here, you dirty little poofter…”
Orlando felt sick but he said nothing. Just nodded and headed out of Bicknall’s office to collect his stuff. Prejudice of all sorts was very common in the Force and it didn’t bother him. But the transfer to Fraud. He’d go mad, he just knew he’d go mad…
Opening the box, he picked out a couple of bits that meant something to him and dumped the rest by the nearest bin. Nodding at the remnants of his team, he walked out of the building, noticing a couple of beggars sitting in the doorway of a shop. Thinking that this was where it all started to go wrong, Orlando gave them both some money and walked on, heading towards New Scotland Yard.
****
Meanwhile the news of Orlando’s demise had already spread like wildfire. Everyone knew that Bicknall has set out to bury his DS and had evidently succeeded. George had been one of the first to find out and he thought it was his duty to go and warn Viggo that Orlando was going to arrive home in a foul mood.
“So what’s new?” retorted Viggo and to his shame, he began to cry a little. George looked embarrassed and shuffled from one foot to the other. Like most men of his generation, he couldn’t really cope with another man’s tears. “There, there mate, it’ll all come out in the wash…
Then he remembered there was something else he needed to talk to Viggo about.
“Vig, I was talking to Frank this morning. He was saying he could use another pair of hands in the pub. You know, to collect the glasses and empty the ashtrays. The pay wouldn’t be great mind, but at least you’d get out of the fucking house for a bit. Anyway, see what Lan says about it, whether or not they’ll let you do it, then let me know, yeah?”
Viggo nodded. He couldn’t imagine that he’d be allowed to go and work for Frank but the thought was definitely appealing. He was so bored being stuck indoors all the time. And if Orlando was going to be in such a bad mood, maybe it would be better if he was out the way. He sighed to himself, wondering just how bad it was going to get. He almost wished he was still… but no, nothing, however bad it got it could ever make him wish he was still on the streets, could it?
**
Meanwhile Orlando was standing outside New Scotland Yard. He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone tapped him on the back. Turning round he found himself looking up at Greg, his ex.
“What the fuck… Christ, Greg, you nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!”
Greg rolled his eyes. “I see your language hasn’t improved, babe! And by the way, what are you doing here? Bit off your patch isn’t it?”
The mirth in Orlando’s face dissipated speedily. “Believe me, mate, you don’t wanna know…”
Giving him a quick glance, Greg frowned. “Look, babe, I have to go now, I’m due in a meeting ten minutes ago, give me a call and let’s go out to dinner or for drinks soon, then you can tell me all about it.”
Orlando nodded and watched as Greg strolled off. Suddenly he yearned for those easy days when both work and his private life had run so smoothly. But then he thought of Viggo, and despite himself smiled softly. Deep down, buried behind much mental flotsam and jetsam, Orlando cared deeply about Viggo, may possibly even… but no, this wasn’t the time to be thinking about stuff like that. He took a deep breath and headed towards the entrance of the building.
Following the directions, all too soon, he found himself outside his new office. Resolutely, he entered the room. The first thing that struck him was just how quiet it was. There appeared to be none of the banter and buzz that he was used to. And what appalled him, was just how well dressed everyone appeared to be. A quick head count revealed several Armani suits and at least three Paul Smith’s. And he was wearing ripped jeans, a tight t-shirt and a battered leather jacket that used to belong to his best friend.
One of the suits, detached himself from his computer and made his way over, his expression both oily and condescending.
“D S Bloom, I presume? I am D S Rothbury. Um … without being rude, I would like to remind you that today is not Friday so you needn’t have dressed down. We’ll expect you to be suited and booted tomorrow…”
Orlando’s heart sank. He’d known this was going to be a crap gig but…
“Now the boss is away on a course today but you’ll be meeting her tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll start showing you the ropes…”
Realising he still hadn’t said a word and wasn’t required to, Orlando nodded. It was going to be a very long day.
**
By the time Orlando wearily made his way home, he’d forgotten he’d been off with Viggo, forgotten his biting tone and cruel words. When he turned the key in the door and stepped inside, the smell of chilli greeted him. Slumping on the sofa, he smiled gratefully as Viggo appeared bringing a cold beer, which he downed gratefully before lighting a cigarette.
Viggo sat next to him, his presence offering silent comfort and sympathy. Words were not needed here. Gazing at nothing, Orlando smoked his cigarette, before stubbing it out and reaching for Viggo. Pushing him down, Orlando carefully undid his shirt then unzipped his jeans and skilfully removed them. He smiled as he began kissing Viggo, their tongues moving together. Viggo murmured something and Orlando stopped and looked at him.
“Problem, babe?”
“I said, it’s not fair, I’m naked and you haven’t even taken your coat off.”
Smiling lasciviously, Orlando stood up, and stripped quickly. He needed this too much to tease. Grabbing a condom from under the sofa, along with some lube, he climbed back between Viggo’s legs.
“Better?” He asked and resumed kissing, letting his hands explore skin that was finally beginning to look healthy.
“I need to be inside you, Vig…” He tore open the condom, rolled it on his already weeping cock, slicking some lube over it. “Now…”
Lining his cock up at Viggo’s hole, he paused in case his attentions were unwanted. Hearing no objection, he began to push into the hot, tight heat.
Viggo couldn’t help whimpering, it seemed to him that Orlando had never wanted him so badly. Now for the first time, there was passion, as if Orlando had finally given in to his feelings.
He began thrusting in and out of him quickly. Taking Viggo’s cock in his hand and beginning to stroke it, he matched their rhythms, never taking his eyes off Viggo’s.
They came one after the other, leaving each other’s skin sticky with sweat and come. Orlando leaned over and kissed Viggo who kissed him back with equal ferocity.
They dragged themselves off the couch, still kissing and headed for the bedroom. Snuggling under the duvet, Orlando yawned. “We’ll have the chilli later, gotta nap now yeah?”
“’kay” was the sleepy response as Viggo was just dropping off. He was wide awake a moment later.
“Love you, babe…”
Smiling to himself, Viggo began to understand that his new lover only let himself go at very specific times and that by the morning, he would have locked that side of his nature away again.
Viggo was almost sure he could live with that.
TBC