Happy fandom swap, me_midget!
Happy fandom swap, me_midget!
Title: The Art of Loving Bitches: A Masochist's Guide to Emotional Purgatory
Author: phaballa
Fandom: RPS
Summary: So yeah, Orlando Bloom pretty much makes him hate himself with a fiery passion, and Heath is pretty sure Bloom is doing it on purpose, that little twat.
Pairing: Heath Ledger/Orlando Bloom
Rating: R-ish, for adult content and language
Comments: So, I hope you like this! Um. Didn't turn out quite how I wanted it, it's a little cracky, and not in a fun sex way, but um. Enjoy?
If there's one thing Heath hates, it's smug, heart throb of the moment types who are far too pretty for their own good, as clearly demonstrated by said smugness. Heath is a down to earth kind of guy. He's from Perth, for fuck's sake, and people just don't put on airs here, not unless they want to get the shit kicked out of them down at the pub. Which is why when Orlando Bloom shows up for the first day of shooting, Heath is fairly sure that by the end of filming, Bloom will be getting his arse kicked on a daily basis, and maybe Heath will even help, depending on the lighting at the pub and how drunk everyone is.
It's a sound plan, only it doesn't quite work out that way, because the thing about Bloom is, he's fucking charming as hell. Smug as hell, yes, but charming too, and Heath, well. He sort of. Likes him. He doesn't want to, and Naomi laughs and laughs once she figures it out, but then she'll never say anything about it (not in public, at least) on account of Heath pretending like they're fucking so no one guesses that Naomi is secretly a big gay lesbian.
Or maybe just a lesbian. 'Big' is clearly a misnomer, and 'gay' is rather redundant.
*
Bloom says shit like, "Oy, mate!" and calls him a prat and always wants to know, why must Heath constantly look as if he could do with a nice stiff drink because clearly, his puppy has just died judging by the expression on his face. Bloom is the one who sounds like an idiot and looks like a girl and shouldn't even be in this film because he is not Australian and is undeserving of acting in the legend that is Ned Kelly, and yet.
And yet Heath is the one who always feels like a complete farce, and all that accomplishes is increasing Heath's desire to see Bloom get punched in the mouth, just once. At least once. It would be cathartic, he tells himself, and has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that, well. When Bloom starts getting all high and mighty and putting on his best upper-crust voice, throwing one arm around Heath's shoulders and whispering in his ear, "Come on now, love. The world's not going to implode if you let yourself have a bit of fun, now is it?"-that's when Heath would really like to do the honors himself because really, no man's voice, no matter how girly or prim, should make him want to lay a pash on him until he can't breath well enough to form words.
It's disgusting is what it is, and not because Heath's a gay-hater, it's not like that. Some of his best friends are gay, he goes to gay Mardi Gras every year, or at least when he's not working (and not because of the free booze and drugs, either, although that helps, really adds to the whole showing his support bit, and Heath thinks that if every social liberty cause gave out free drugs, the world would be a better place, infinitely). So it's not the gay thing, although Heath is pretty sure he's straight, except for maybe Ewan McGregor, because honestly, who isn't gay for Ewan? It's the fact that it's Orlando fucking Bloom, who is too prissy for words and generally makes Heath want to punch things, mainly Bloom, especially when he's going on about how great Lord of the Rings was and how working with Viggo Mortenson is the weirdest fucking thing ever, except that there are times, like now with the whispering and the smelling of beer and the way his hair curls just so and brushes against Heath's cheek during the aforementioned whispering that Heath hates himself and his own body so much because it is a vile betrayer, getting hard for Orlando Bloom.
So yeah, Orlando Bloom pretty much makes him hate himself with a fiery passion, and Heath is pretty sure Bloom is doing it on purpose, that little twat.
*
"Stop being such a twat," Naomi tells him, sprawling out on the couch in Heath's trailer like she owns it, eating his chocolate and generally mussing herself up so that people will think they've been fucking. It's times like this that Heath really appreciates just how hard it is to be a lesbian. Right before he starts imaging what it would be like to be a lesbian in great and vivid detail, at which point his brain fizzles out and he looses all capability of conversation continuance. He really must watch Mulholland Drive again. For the acting. Because, er, Naomi was fantastic. In her acting.
"I said," Naomi repeats, rolling her eyes like she knows exactly what's going on in Heath's head, and he wouldn't actually be surprised to find out she's psychic because seriously, the woman is rather creepy, "stop being such a twat."
"Language, sweetheart. You always use such nasty words."
"You always inspire them," she says with a sweet smile. "But seriously. This Orlando obsession has got to stop. You're embarrassing yourself. And blowing my cover."
"That's not all I'd like to blow," Heath mutters, and then gets this panicked look on his face because honestly? Did he really just say that? He most definitely is not thinking about blowing, in any sense, and especially in relation to Bloom, because that prick does not deserve to get his dick sucked like, ever, or at least until he stops being so smug, except. No. Never. Heath is not thinking about this. He refuses.
Naomi just raises one eyebrow. "I'm going to ignore that bit of disgustingness. You know how I feel about dangly bits. But my point is, either get the fuck on with it, or drop the matter entirely, because I will not have you fucking things up for me, understand?"
"This isn't my fault," Heath mutters. "Why does he have to be such a little bitch?"
"Yeah, 'cos we all know what a sucker you are for little bitches. I mean honestly, man, Heather Graham? Even I wouldn't go near her."
"She's all right, and anyway, she's not a lezzie, she wouldn't have you, you big queer."
"She's a VD waiting to happen. But back to the point at hand. You like bitches. It's why we get along so famously. So stop being a twat and go get yourself laid. Or at least kick his arse. You're a man-either one will do, yeah?"
"Fuck off," Heath says, but Naomi just smiles that knowing smile and looks so self-satisfied that if Heath didn't have very strict policies about hitting women, she would so being going down right now.
*
Which is why the next time Bloom pulls his little, "I'm just trying to be a good mate" routine with the invading of personal space and the wheedling and the stupid soft hair that keeps brushing against Heath's neck, he totally looses it.
"Outside. Right fucking now, Bloom."
Bloom follows him, all wide-eyed confusion and really, how is it possible for anyone to look so ridiculously much like a kicked puppy? It is unfuckingbelievable, which only adds to Heath's anger, which then leads to Heath crowding Bloom up against the wall in the back alley behind the pub, or at least this is what Heath tells himself, and it has nothing to do with him being half-hard in his jeans, which certainly has nothing to do with Orlando Bloom at fucking all, except that it does, and that really pisses Heath off.
"I'm not gay," Heath says, and Bloom gets this smug look on his face, which can only be differentiated from his normally smug look by the extreme arrogance of it.
"Never said you were, mate. But," and again that smugness, only this time Bloom is right in his face, or maybe he's right in Bloom's but whatever, semantics, and he's doing this thing where he's biting his bottom lip and looking up at Heath through his ridiculously girly eyelashes, which only makes Heath want to be the one biting that lip, and biting is sort of like hitting, right? Right?
"But what?"
"But for a man who's not gay, you're standing awfully close to me. And mate," Bloom smirks, and Heath is half-back to wanting to punch him again before he leans in even closer to whisper in Heath's ear, "I can feel your hard-on against my thigh. So who's the bitch now?"
And then he grins and slips under Heath's arm, and he's totally walking away, but prancing really, because Bloom is an utter wanker incapable of walking like a normal human being, or possibly what he's doing could be qualified as sashaying, but whatever it is, it's in a direction that is away, which really isn't what Heath had planned. Not that he had a plan, exactly, because he has most certainly not been thinking about how pretty Bloom's lips would look around his prick, no, he's been thinking about. Er. Girls. Women. Who don't resemble Orlando Bloom in any way.
"Fuck you," Heath calls out, and Bloom turns around to give him a slow smile.
"Sorry mate. You're not my type."
Sodding Naomi and her utterly terrible advice. This is all her fault, really, and this, Heath thinks as he heads back into the pub, should be a lesson for all time: never trust a lesbian. Especially when it comes to men. No, never trust a lesbian at all.
Title: The Art of Loving Bitches: A Masochist's Guide to Emotional Purgatory
Author: phaballa
Fandom: RPS
Summary: So yeah, Orlando Bloom pretty much makes him hate himself with a fiery passion, and Heath is pretty sure Bloom is doing it on purpose, that little twat.
Pairing: Heath Ledger/Orlando Bloom
Rating: R-ish, for adult content and language
Comments: So, I hope you like this! Um. Didn't turn out quite how I wanted it, it's a little cracky, and not in a fun sex way, but um. Enjoy?
If there's one thing Heath hates, it's smug, heart throb of the moment types who are far too pretty for their own good, as clearly demonstrated by said smugness. Heath is a down to earth kind of guy. He's from Perth, for fuck's sake, and people just don't put on airs here, not unless they want to get the shit kicked out of them down at the pub. Which is why when Orlando Bloom shows up for the first day of shooting, Heath is fairly sure that by the end of filming, Bloom will be getting his arse kicked on a daily basis, and maybe Heath will even help, depending on the lighting at the pub and how drunk everyone is.
It's a sound plan, only it doesn't quite work out that way, because the thing about Bloom is, he's fucking charming as hell. Smug as hell, yes, but charming too, and Heath, well. He sort of. Likes him. He doesn't want to, and Naomi laughs and laughs once she figures it out, but then she'll never say anything about it (not in public, at least) on account of Heath pretending like they're fucking so no one guesses that Naomi is secretly a big gay lesbian.
Or maybe just a lesbian. 'Big' is clearly a misnomer, and 'gay' is rather redundant.
*
Bloom says shit like, "Oy, mate!" and calls him a prat and always wants to know, why must Heath constantly look as if he could do with a nice stiff drink because clearly, his puppy has just died judging by the expression on his face. Bloom is the one who sounds like an idiot and looks like a girl and shouldn't even be in this film because he is not Australian and is undeserving of acting in the legend that is Ned Kelly, and yet.
And yet Heath is the one who always feels like a complete farce, and all that accomplishes is increasing Heath's desire to see Bloom get punched in the mouth, just once. At least once. It would be cathartic, he tells himself, and has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that, well. When Bloom starts getting all high and mighty and putting on his best upper-crust voice, throwing one arm around Heath's shoulders and whispering in his ear, "Come on now, love. The world's not going to implode if you let yourself have a bit of fun, now is it?"-that's when Heath would really like to do the honors himself because really, no man's voice, no matter how girly or prim, should make him want to lay a pash on him until he can't breath well enough to form words.
It's disgusting is what it is, and not because Heath's a gay-hater, it's not like that. Some of his best friends are gay, he goes to gay Mardi Gras every year, or at least when he's not working (and not because of the free booze and drugs, either, although that helps, really adds to the whole showing his support bit, and Heath thinks that if every social liberty cause gave out free drugs, the world would be a better place, infinitely). So it's not the gay thing, although Heath is pretty sure he's straight, except for maybe Ewan McGregor, because honestly, who isn't gay for Ewan? It's the fact that it's Orlando fucking Bloom, who is too prissy for words and generally makes Heath want to punch things, mainly Bloom, especially when he's going on about how great Lord of the Rings was and how working with Viggo Mortenson is the weirdest fucking thing ever, except that there are times, like now with the whispering and the smelling of beer and the way his hair curls just so and brushes against Heath's cheek during the aforementioned whispering that Heath hates himself and his own body so much because it is a vile betrayer, getting hard for Orlando Bloom.
So yeah, Orlando Bloom pretty much makes him hate himself with a fiery passion, and Heath is pretty sure Bloom is doing it on purpose, that little twat.
*
"Stop being such a twat," Naomi tells him, sprawling out on the couch in Heath's trailer like she owns it, eating his chocolate and generally mussing herself up so that people will think they've been fucking. It's times like this that Heath really appreciates just how hard it is to be a lesbian. Right before he starts imaging what it would be like to be a lesbian in great and vivid detail, at which point his brain fizzles out and he looses all capability of conversation continuance. He really must watch Mulholland Drive again. For the acting. Because, er, Naomi was fantastic. In her acting.
"I said," Naomi repeats, rolling her eyes like she knows exactly what's going on in Heath's head, and he wouldn't actually be surprised to find out she's psychic because seriously, the woman is rather creepy, "stop being such a twat."
"Language, sweetheart. You always use such nasty words."
"You always inspire them," she says with a sweet smile. "But seriously. This Orlando obsession has got to stop. You're embarrassing yourself. And blowing my cover."
"That's not all I'd like to blow," Heath mutters, and then gets this panicked look on his face because honestly? Did he really just say that? He most definitely is not thinking about blowing, in any sense, and especially in relation to Bloom, because that prick does not deserve to get his dick sucked like, ever, or at least until he stops being so smug, except. No. Never. Heath is not thinking about this. He refuses.
Naomi just raises one eyebrow. "I'm going to ignore that bit of disgustingness. You know how I feel about dangly bits. But my point is, either get the fuck on with it, or drop the matter entirely, because I will not have you fucking things up for me, understand?"
"This isn't my fault," Heath mutters. "Why does he have to be such a little bitch?"
"Yeah, 'cos we all know what a sucker you are for little bitches. I mean honestly, man, Heather Graham? Even I wouldn't go near her."
"She's all right, and anyway, she's not a lezzie, she wouldn't have you, you big queer."
"She's a VD waiting to happen. But back to the point at hand. You like bitches. It's why we get along so famously. So stop being a twat and go get yourself laid. Or at least kick his arse. You're a man-either one will do, yeah?"
"Fuck off," Heath says, but Naomi just smiles that knowing smile and looks so self-satisfied that if Heath didn't have very strict policies about hitting women, she would so being going down right now.
*
Which is why the next time Bloom pulls his little, "I'm just trying to be a good mate" routine with the invading of personal space and the wheedling and the stupid soft hair that keeps brushing against Heath's neck, he totally looses it.
"Outside. Right fucking now, Bloom."
Bloom follows him, all wide-eyed confusion and really, how is it possible for anyone to look so ridiculously much like a kicked puppy? It is unfuckingbelievable, which only adds to Heath's anger, which then leads to Heath crowding Bloom up against the wall in the back alley behind the pub, or at least this is what Heath tells himself, and it has nothing to do with him being half-hard in his jeans, which certainly has nothing to do with Orlando Bloom at fucking all, except that it does, and that really pisses Heath off.
"I'm not gay," Heath says, and Bloom gets this smug look on his face, which can only be differentiated from his normally smug look by the extreme arrogance of it.
"Never said you were, mate. But," and again that smugness, only this time Bloom is right in his face, or maybe he's right in Bloom's but whatever, semantics, and he's doing this thing where he's biting his bottom lip and looking up at Heath through his ridiculously girly eyelashes, which only makes Heath want to be the one biting that lip, and biting is sort of like hitting, right? Right?
"But what?"
"But for a man who's not gay, you're standing awfully close to me. And mate," Bloom smirks, and Heath is half-back to wanting to punch him again before he leans in even closer to whisper in Heath's ear, "I can feel your hard-on against my thigh. So who's the bitch now?"
And then he grins and slips under Heath's arm, and he's totally walking away, but prancing really, because Bloom is an utter wanker incapable of walking like a normal human being, or possibly what he's doing could be qualified as sashaying, but whatever it is, it's in a direction that is away, which really isn't what Heath had planned. Not that he had a plan, exactly, because he has most certainly not been thinking about how pretty Bloom's lips would look around his prick, no, he's been thinking about. Er. Girls. Women. Who don't resemble Orlando Bloom in any way.
"Fuck you," Heath calls out, and Bloom turns around to give him a slow smile.
"Sorry mate. You're not my type."
Sodding Naomi and her utterly terrible advice. This is all her fault, really, and this, Heath thinks as he heads back into the pub, should be a lesson for all time: never trust a lesbian. Especially when it comes to men. No, never trust a lesbian at all.