Walk on By - RPS
Well here is my second slash fic...
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG (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: Dearest Ana, who was sort of inveigled into it - thanks sweetie, the first bottle’s on me…
Viggo woke with a start. For a moment he was back in his opulent house in midtown Manhattan, and Tina, his bitch of a wife was yelling for whatever. A moment later, reality kicked in and it was another cold, wet morning in London with some other bitch shouting at him.
"I am sick to death of you scum bugs pissing in my doorway, putting my customers off with your vile fucking stench. Can't you find some other place to doss? Jesus Christ the amount I pay to West-fucking-minster Council you'd have thought they could get rid of you, any-fucking-where as long as it's not in my shop doorway. Now clear off, you fucking piece of shit! I'm gonna go get my cleaning stuff and if you're not out of the way so help me god, I'll fucking ram…”
The tirade ground to a halt. Viggo had automatically curled into a foetal position and was shaking slightly whilst the well dressed woman with a cut glass accent railed at him. It wasn't a particularly unusual scenario, but one that Viggo usually avoided by being up and out of the way by the time the shop staff came in. He wasn't feeling very well, actually he never felt very well these days, a result of poor diet, living on the streets and never really being warm. This coupled with the recent death of his beloved dog, Hobbit, had left the man in a bad place. Wondering what was coming next and, expecting a kick to at least one part of his body, he dared to look up. A uniformed police officer was glaring at the irate woman.
"I think you've said quite enough madam, any more and you'll be creating a disturbance. You, mate" this addressed to Viggo, "get your stuff together and be on your way."
The officer stepped forward and begun talking in an undertone to the woman who had visibly calmed down. Viggo slowly got to his feet, gathered up his pitiful collection of belongings and begun to shuffle down the street, intending to go to the Gents near Berwick Street Market for a bit of a clean up. A moment later he noticed he had company.
"Hey mate, are you ok? You look like shit!"
A tall man, wearing the ubiquitous cargo pants, hoodie and beanie had fallen into step with him. Viggo barely looked at him, just another one of the endless line of "meeja" babes who worked in the area. They passed a café with a few desultory tables and chairs outside. Viggo jumped as the man touched his arm. "Wait up, sit yourself down and I'll get us some breakfast." This time the older man dared to steal a nervous glance, maybe the guy was still pissed or worse from the night before. He couldn't remember the last time someone had voluntarily touched him. The face which was smiling into his own was breathtakingly beautiful. The beanie merely served to draw his attention to deep brown eyes set in a face that, even Viggo could recognise as more than just pretty.
He had barely sat down when a waiter shot out of the café.
"Hey you, what the fuck do you think you're doing? These tables are
reserved for customers, you wanna sit down you piss off and…" Viggo begun to get up when another voice interjected.
"He's with me Steve, so just get your arse into gear and bring two full English-es and two mugs of tea, yeah?"
The waiter did a double take and backed off a little. Viggo cleared his throat and spoke in a voice that sounded like it got little use these days
"Could I get a double espresso rather than tea d'you think?"
The younger man grinned. "You heard the gentleman Steve, now bugger off and get cooking. I could eat a scabby horse!"
Muttering under his breath Steve did as he was bid. The young man was a regular, very popular with all the staff, not a person that Steve wanted to piss off; he tipped really well.
"Right, mate, well my name is Dave Wood, I work around the corner. I've done extensive research and this kaff does the best breakfasts in Soho." He extended his hand to the older man.
"Vic Moreton" replied Viggo, he had long since given up on his own name; invariably it took people three or four attempts to get it. And besides he didn't want anyone to connect him to the man he once was. He hesitated, looking at the proffered hand.
"'S'alright Vic, I don't bite.” And as Viggo took the warm hand and shook it. “There that wasn't so hard was it?"
Steve arrived with their drinks; his eyebrows nearly shot through the top of his head when he saw Viggo's hand in Dave's. One look at Dave's face was enough. He said nothing, just laid the cutlery out and went back inside. The younger man pulled a packet of Marlboro Lights out of his pocket, took one out, lit it and pushed the carton towards Viggo.
"Help yourself." He said, noticing how the man wouldn't look him in the eye if he could help it. Viggo took a cigarette and Dave lit it for him, their hands brushed and Viggo shivered. He was confused. Why was this boy buying him breakfast, why was he being so kind? After many years living on the streets Viggo was unable to process these actions. He was used to being verbally abused, spat at and more usually ignored. He was used to people looking straight through him as if they couldn't see him, as if he didn't exist. Was beginning to think, especially since Hobbit had died peacefully in his sleep, that he was fading from reality. He coughed and realised that the young man was talking to him. He blinked
"I was saying, keep the packet mate, plenty more where that came from!" He
was interrupted as the waiter came out bearing two plates of steaming food
which he placed in front of the two men, along with some extra toast.
"About time, Steve, my stomach was beginning to think me throat was cut!
Come on Vic, eat up, I've gotta get going soon" Dave watched sympathetically as Viggo tried not to wolf his breakfast down too quickly. The man clearly hadn't eaten a decent meal for some time. He sighed, there were so many Vic's living on the streets, most of whom had a story to tell. Before he could begin his own breakfast, his mobile rung.
"Bollocks" he said when he saw who was calling. "Yep, right, shit, are you sure? I'll be there in ten. Yeah, you prat, you too" chuckling he ended the call "that's the end of my breakfast. There you go Vic, you have it. I'll go settle up then I'm gone. I'll make sure you're not hassled so take your time." He headed inside reappearing shortly after holding something wrapped in a paper bag. "There you go, there's a bit of lunch for you." He smiled, though had he been looking, Viggo would have noticed that it didn't reach his eyes. "Be safe" he added and a moment later was gone.
Dave Wood, aka Detective Sergeant Orlando Bloom, was working undercover in a
small post-production house in the heart of Soho. This seemingly respectable business was camouflaging a drugs factory. He had recently transferred from Dover where he had been heavily involved with Immigration. This new posting with the Drugs Squad was a big opportunity for Orlando and he had thrown himself into his undercover role with what his colleagues soon realised was his usual gusto. The phone call told him that the net was closing in and he wanted to be there for the kill. Then. following this very intense three months of work, he would be able to get back to his own flat in the Barbican and to Greg, his partner of nine years.
Viggo, on the other hand, was able to relax, eat both breakfasts and have more coffee before heading for as much of a wash as he could manage. When he sat down in his accustomed place it was with a feeling of being well-fed, something that he had almost forgotten. With a sigh he prepared himself and as the first suit walked by.
"Spare some change?"
tbc
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG (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: Dearest Ana, who was sort of inveigled into it - thanks sweetie, the first bottle’s on me…
Viggo woke with a start. For a moment he was back in his opulent house in midtown Manhattan, and Tina, his bitch of a wife was yelling for whatever. A moment later, reality kicked in and it was another cold, wet morning in London with some other bitch shouting at him.
"I am sick to death of you scum bugs pissing in my doorway, putting my customers off with your vile fucking stench. Can't you find some other place to doss? Jesus Christ the amount I pay to West-fucking-minster Council you'd have thought they could get rid of you, any-fucking-where as long as it's not in my shop doorway. Now clear off, you fucking piece of shit! I'm gonna go get my cleaning stuff and if you're not out of the way so help me god, I'll fucking ram…”
The tirade ground to a halt. Viggo had automatically curled into a foetal position and was shaking slightly whilst the well dressed woman with a cut glass accent railed at him. It wasn't a particularly unusual scenario, but one that Viggo usually avoided by being up and out of the way by the time the shop staff came in. He wasn't feeling very well, actually he never felt very well these days, a result of poor diet, living on the streets and never really being warm. This coupled with the recent death of his beloved dog, Hobbit, had left the man in a bad place. Wondering what was coming next and, expecting a kick to at least one part of his body, he dared to look up. A uniformed police officer was glaring at the irate woman.
"I think you've said quite enough madam, any more and you'll be creating a disturbance. You, mate" this addressed to Viggo, "get your stuff together and be on your way."
The officer stepped forward and begun talking in an undertone to the woman who had visibly calmed down. Viggo slowly got to his feet, gathered up his pitiful collection of belongings and begun to shuffle down the street, intending to go to the Gents near Berwick Street Market for a bit of a clean up. A moment later he noticed he had company.
"Hey mate, are you ok? You look like shit!"
A tall man, wearing the ubiquitous cargo pants, hoodie and beanie had fallen into step with him. Viggo barely looked at him, just another one of the endless line of "meeja" babes who worked in the area. They passed a café with a few desultory tables and chairs outside. Viggo jumped as the man touched his arm. "Wait up, sit yourself down and I'll get us some breakfast." This time the older man dared to steal a nervous glance, maybe the guy was still pissed or worse from the night before. He couldn't remember the last time someone had voluntarily touched him. The face which was smiling into his own was breathtakingly beautiful. The beanie merely served to draw his attention to deep brown eyes set in a face that, even Viggo could recognise as more than just pretty.
He had barely sat down when a waiter shot out of the café.
"Hey you, what the fuck do you think you're doing? These tables are
reserved for customers, you wanna sit down you piss off and…" Viggo begun to get up when another voice interjected.
"He's with me Steve, so just get your arse into gear and bring two full English-es and two mugs of tea, yeah?"
The waiter did a double take and backed off a little. Viggo cleared his throat and spoke in a voice that sounded like it got little use these days
"Could I get a double espresso rather than tea d'you think?"
The younger man grinned. "You heard the gentleman Steve, now bugger off and get cooking. I could eat a scabby horse!"
Muttering under his breath Steve did as he was bid. The young man was a regular, very popular with all the staff, not a person that Steve wanted to piss off; he tipped really well.
"Right, mate, well my name is Dave Wood, I work around the corner. I've done extensive research and this kaff does the best breakfasts in Soho." He extended his hand to the older man.
"Vic Moreton" replied Viggo, he had long since given up on his own name; invariably it took people three or four attempts to get it. And besides he didn't want anyone to connect him to the man he once was. He hesitated, looking at the proffered hand.
"'S'alright Vic, I don't bite.” And as Viggo took the warm hand and shook it. “There that wasn't so hard was it?"
Steve arrived with their drinks; his eyebrows nearly shot through the top of his head when he saw Viggo's hand in Dave's. One look at Dave's face was enough. He said nothing, just laid the cutlery out and went back inside. The younger man pulled a packet of Marlboro Lights out of his pocket, took one out, lit it and pushed the carton towards Viggo.
"Help yourself." He said, noticing how the man wouldn't look him in the eye if he could help it. Viggo took a cigarette and Dave lit it for him, their hands brushed and Viggo shivered. He was confused. Why was this boy buying him breakfast, why was he being so kind? After many years living on the streets Viggo was unable to process these actions. He was used to being verbally abused, spat at and more usually ignored. He was used to people looking straight through him as if they couldn't see him, as if he didn't exist. Was beginning to think, especially since Hobbit had died peacefully in his sleep, that he was fading from reality. He coughed and realised that the young man was talking to him. He blinked
"I was saying, keep the packet mate, plenty more where that came from!" He
was interrupted as the waiter came out bearing two plates of steaming food
which he placed in front of the two men, along with some extra toast.
"About time, Steve, my stomach was beginning to think me throat was cut!
Come on Vic, eat up, I've gotta get going soon" Dave watched sympathetically as Viggo tried not to wolf his breakfast down too quickly. The man clearly hadn't eaten a decent meal for some time. He sighed, there were so many Vic's living on the streets, most of whom had a story to tell. Before he could begin his own breakfast, his mobile rung.
"Bollocks" he said when he saw who was calling. "Yep, right, shit, are you sure? I'll be there in ten. Yeah, you prat, you too" chuckling he ended the call "that's the end of my breakfast. There you go Vic, you have it. I'll go settle up then I'm gone. I'll make sure you're not hassled so take your time." He headed inside reappearing shortly after holding something wrapped in a paper bag. "There you go, there's a bit of lunch for you." He smiled, though had he been looking, Viggo would have noticed that it didn't reach his eyes. "Be safe" he added and a moment later was gone.
Dave Wood, aka Detective Sergeant Orlando Bloom, was working undercover in a
small post-production house in the heart of Soho. This seemingly respectable business was camouflaging a drugs factory. He had recently transferred from Dover where he had been heavily involved with Immigration. This new posting with the Drugs Squad was a big opportunity for Orlando and he had thrown himself into his undercover role with what his colleagues soon realised was his usual gusto. The phone call told him that the net was closing in and he wanted to be there for the kill. Then. following this very intense three months of work, he would be able to get back to his own flat in the Barbican and to Greg, his partner of nine years.
Viggo, on the other hand, was able to relax, eat both breakfasts and have more coffee before heading for as much of a wash as he could manage. When he sat down in his accustomed place it was with a feeling of being well-fed, something that he had almost forgotten. With a sigh he prepared himself and as the first suit walked by.
"Spare some change?"
tbc