Walk on By - part XIII
Finally! Sorry guys, no excuses...
So sorry for the long delay! Will try not to keep you waiting so long next time.
WALK ON BY - XIII
Author: Lottie Lenya
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: Ana, who understands much of the sentiment behind this chapter!
A/N. This chapter is for the rather special Nitw1t who gave me the courage to actually post this and to Lexi, ‘cos when I whined to her that we were gonna lose to Arsenal, she told me we were gonna win. We were chatting when Mellor scored that goal. I love you, baby. Finally to all the Arsenal fans who may be reading this, chill guys! Have you any idea just how difficult it is to support Liverpool!
~~~
“Hallo?”
“Vig, is that you?”
“Well who else is gonna be answering your phone?
“Good point….”
“Well?”
“Well what?
“Did you ring for anything in particular?”
“Ring … ring who? Oh yeah, yeah, just to let you know that we’ve had the worse fucking afternoon of our entire lives and we’re gonna take our humiliation to the pub and try ‘n drown it. Okay?”
“Um, sure, what time….”
“So expect me when you see me, yeah?”
Viggo looked at the table set for two, at the wine sitting in the cooler, at the polished crystal glass - a relic from Greg’s days. The aroma of roasting chicken permeated the flat; he sighed and turned the oven down. The vegetables could be saved, as long as Orlando was back before 7.
By 10pm Viggo had given up. Everything apart from the chicken was ruined. He cleared up and tried not to cry. Only yesterday he had asked Orlando if there was anything he could do to make life easier.
~~~~~
“Oooh matron.” Teased Orlando, but when he saw Viggo’s face he stopped and considered. “If you could bear to do the shopping, I’d be really grateful. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve poured something green and evil into my coffee.” He put his hand in his pocket and gave Viggo a handful of notes. “Here you go mate, when you run out, let me know.”
Viggo beamed and Orlando felt that familiar twisty feeling once more. He stroked Viggo’s face, running his thumb over the other man’s bottom lip. “You’re a funny fish aren’t you babe?”
Wanting to lean into the touch so badly, Viggo couldn’t quite summon up the courage, and as usual Orlando was running late so the moment was lost. For himself, Orlando was fighting his feelings every inch of the way. He couldn’t help feeling a new relationship would complicate his life but equally he acknowledged to himself at least that he wanted something more.
~~~~~
Viggo threw the vegetables away and cleared the table away, he knew he was being ridiculous but he couldn’t help it. After he’d taken his final round of meds, he went to bed, feeling for all the world like a wronged lover.
He’d been in bed for about an hour when he heard the door slam and the sound of men’s voices. Sliding out of bed he grabbed a pair of sweats and picked up a book end, promptly precipitating an avalanche of books. Cursing quietly he headed towards the kitchen where the noise was coming from.
“Fuck me backwards.” He heard a voice exclaim. “There’s a fucking roast chicken in the fridge. Where did that come from?”
“Well, clearly you didn’t cook it ‘Lan”
“How’d you know I didn’t?”
“Cos you’re crap in the kitchen, son.”
“No, I’m not, I’m fucking brilliant in the kitchen, and come to that, in the bathroom, the bedroom, the hall….”
“Oh for fuck’s sake someone stuff his mouth with something.”
“Fuck, don’t you start Tel.”
“I meant some fucking chicken, George. You really are obsessed aren’t you?”
Viggo peered round the door. The sight that met his eyes might have made him laugh if he hadn’t been so upset. The chicken that he’s slaved over was sitting in the middle of the table whilst Terry, Orlando and George attacked it with a rather blunt knife. All three looked the worse for wear and the smell of beer and cigarettes was overwhelming. Viggo begun to cough.
“Put that fucking fag out, you cunt.” Yelled Orlando, before he realised no one was smoking. “Where’s the bowl? Fuck…” He got up and promptly tripped over his own feet landing in a heap on the floor.
“Vig, babe, we was fucking robbed. The ref must’ve been blind. I can’t believe we went down to fucking Liverpool, 2-1. I mean, Liverpool….”
Terry was in a more charitable mood. “Be fair, Lan, they played a fucking good game. Gerrard and Alonso are fucking scary.”
But Orlando was not in the mood. “We fucking lost, to fucking Liverpool, Vig, at home. Come on, the match is on the telly, come and sit down and we’ll explain it to you. If you’re gonna be living here you have to understand…”
Grabbing a chicken leg in one hand and Viggo in the other he headed for the living room and put the TV on. Letting go of Viggo long enough to fiddle with the remote, he sat them both down and began a diatribe against referees and the unfairness of losing at Anfield. George and Terry came in bringing a plate of cold chicken and several beers. They sat down, nudged Orlando until he was on the floor and sat down next to Viggo.
Orlando didn’t seem noticeably concerned at finding himself on the floor. Getting up he took a chunk of chicken and sat himself down in Viggo’s lap.
Viggo was horrified. He could feel himself getting harder and was terrified that Orlando would notice. Luckily George and Terry were arguing and Orlando seemed blithely unaware of the effect he was having…
“See Vig…” His voice was thick as he had a mouthful of chicken. “We were drawing, 1-1, it was gonna be okay, well sort of, when that cunt Mellor scored in the cunting ninetieth minute! Fuck….”
All three men groaned simultaneously as they saw Mellor’s perfect 25 yard shot hit the back of the net. Viggo was completely at a loss. He gathered that it was very serious and that Orlando was seriously upset. He knew this by the forlorn _expression on his face and a slightly lost look that made Viggo itch to hold him tightly.
“I’m going outside; I need a fucking smoke and another beer.” Getting up, Orlando was weaving his way to the front door when they heard a terrific crash.
“Don’t look so worried, Vig.” Advised Tel. “This is standard Flower behaviour. We’ll get him to bed, otherwise he’ll stay where he is all night.”
“Be warned,” interrupted George, “he’ll have a sudden burst of energy then he’ll collapse and be comatose until the morning. You better be ready with a vat of instant coffee and a ton of toast.”
The two men dragged Orlando to the bedroom and pushed him unceremoniously on the bed.
“Can you manage to undress him a bit Vig?” asked Tel, his face completely deadpan. “And another warning, when he’s this pissed he farts like a trooper. You might be better off sleeping on the sofa.”
“Come on Tel, I wanna get home. ‘Night Vig.”
“Right then George, let’s get moving. See ya Vig.”
The two men stumbled out of the flat, slamming the door. Viggo was exhausted. He cleared up in the kitchen, again, put the remains of the chicken back in the fridge and took a big glass of water into the bedroom.
Orlando was lying on his side, mouth open, breathing very heavily. Viggo carefully undid his jeans, pulling them and his boxers down. Tel and George had helpfully got rid of his t shirt, socks and shoes. Trying not to stare at the beautiful naked body in front of him, he covered Orlando up. Sighing, he turned the lights out and lay down in his usual place, balanced near the edge of the bed.
Orlando scooted over to him.
“C’mere Vig.’ He mumbled. Viggo wriggled his way to the middle of the bed and allowed Orlando to wrap himself around him. Warm breath tickled the back of his neck and he relaxed into the feeling of being held. For the first time in years, he felt completely secure. It was a feeling that didn’t last. Orlando let out the loudest fart Viggo had ever heard, chuckled loudly, then pulled the duvet over Viggo’s head, thus giving him a noseful of a most pungent scent.
“That was a ripe ‘un, eh mate.” Orlando’s words were slurred, and a moment later he was snoring loudly.
Coughing, Viggo resigned himself to the fact that it was going to be a very long night. The only thing that kept him going was knowing that Orlando had forgotten he was posing for Gary’s art class the following afternoon.
TBC
So sorry for the long delay! Will try not to keep you waiting so long next time.
WALK ON BY - XIII
Author: Lottie Lenya
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: Ana, who understands much of the sentiment behind this chapter!
A/N. This chapter is for the rather special Nitw1t who gave me the courage to actually post this and to Lexi, ‘cos when I whined to her that we were gonna lose to Arsenal, she told me we were gonna win. We were chatting when Mellor scored that goal. I love you, baby. Finally to all the Arsenal fans who may be reading this, chill guys! Have you any idea just how difficult it is to support Liverpool!
~~~
“Hallo?”
“Vig, is that you?”
“Well who else is gonna be answering your phone?
“Good point….”
“Well?”
“Well what?
“Did you ring for anything in particular?”
“Ring … ring who? Oh yeah, yeah, just to let you know that we’ve had the worse fucking afternoon of our entire lives and we’re gonna take our humiliation to the pub and try ‘n drown it. Okay?”
“Um, sure, what time….”
“So expect me when you see me, yeah?”
Viggo looked at the table set for two, at the wine sitting in the cooler, at the polished crystal glass - a relic from Greg’s days. The aroma of roasting chicken permeated the flat; he sighed and turned the oven down. The vegetables could be saved, as long as Orlando was back before 7.
By 10pm Viggo had given up. Everything apart from the chicken was ruined. He cleared up and tried not to cry. Only yesterday he had asked Orlando if there was anything he could do to make life easier.
~~~~~
“Oooh matron.” Teased Orlando, but when he saw Viggo’s face he stopped and considered. “If you could bear to do the shopping, I’d be really grateful. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve poured something green and evil into my coffee.” He put his hand in his pocket and gave Viggo a handful of notes. “Here you go mate, when you run out, let me know.”
Viggo beamed and Orlando felt that familiar twisty feeling once more. He stroked Viggo’s face, running his thumb over the other man’s bottom lip. “You’re a funny fish aren’t you babe?”
Wanting to lean into the touch so badly, Viggo couldn’t quite summon up the courage, and as usual Orlando was running late so the moment was lost. For himself, Orlando was fighting his feelings every inch of the way. He couldn’t help feeling a new relationship would complicate his life but equally he acknowledged to himself at least that he wanted something more.
~~~~~
Viggo threw the vegetables away and cleared the table away, he knew he was being ridiculous but he couldn’t help it. After he’d taken his final round of meds, he went to bed, feeling for all the world like a wronged lover.
He’d been in bed for about an hour when he heard the door slam and the sound of men’s voices. Sliding out of bed he grabbed a pair of sweats and picked up a book end, promptly precipitating an avalanche of books. Cursing quietly he headed towards the kitchen where the noise was coming from.
“Fuck me backwards.” He heard a voice exclaim. “There’s a fucking roast chicken in the fridge. Where did that come from?”
“Well, clearly you didn’t cook it ‘Lan”
“How’d you know I didn’t?”
“Cos you’re crap in the kitchen, son.”
“No, I’m not, I’m fucking brilliant in the kitchen, and come to that, in the bathroom, the bedroom, the hall….”
“Oh for fuck’s sake someone stuff his mouth with something.”
“Fuck, don’t you start Tel.”
“I meant some fucking chicken, George. You really are obsessed aren’t you?”
Viggo peered round the door. The sight that met his eyes might have made him laugh if he hadn’t been so upset. The chicken that he’s slaved over was sitting in the middle of the table whilst Terry, Orlando and George attacked it with a rather blunt knife. All three looked the worse for wear and the smell of beer and cigarettes was overwhelming. Viggo begun to cough.
“Put that fucking fag out, you cunt.” Yelled Orlando, before he realised no one was smoking. “Where’s the bowl? Fuck…” He got up and promptly tripped over his own feet landing in a heap on the floor.
“Vig, babe, we was fucking robbed. The ref must’ve been blind. I can’t believe we went down to fucking Liverpool, 2-1. I mean, Liverpool….”
Terry was in a more charitable mood. “Be fair, Lan, they played a fucking good game. Gerrard and Alonso are fucking scary.”
But Orlando was not in the mood. “We fucking lost, to fucking Liverpool, Vig, at home. Come on, the match is on the telly, come and sit down and we’ll explain it to you. If you’re gonna be living here you have to understand…”
Grabbing a chicken leg in one hand and Viggo in the other he headed for the living room and put the TV on. Letting go of Viggo long enough to fiddle with the remote, he sat them both down and began a diatribe against referees and the unfairness of losing at Anfield. George and Terry came in bringing a plate of cold chicken and several beers. They sat down, nudged Orlando until he was on the floor and sat down next to Viggo.
Orlando didn’t seem noticeably concerned at finding himself on the floor. Getting up he took a chunk of chicken and sat himself down in Viggo’s lap.
Viggo was horrified. He could feel himself getting harder and was terrified that Orlando would notice. Luckily George and Terry were arguing and Orlando seemed blithely unaware of the effect he was having…
“See Vig…” His voice was thick as he had a mouthful of chicken. “We were drawing, 1-1, it was gonna be okay, well sort of, when that cunt Mellor scored in the cunting ninetieth minute! Fuck….”
All three men groaned simultaneously as they saw Mellor’s perfect 25 yard shot hit the back of the net. Viggo was completely at a loss. He gathered that it was very serious and that Orlando was seriously upset. He knew this by the forlorn _expression on his face and a slightly lost look that made Viggo itch to hold him tightly.
“I’m going outside; I need a fucking smoke and another beer.” Getting up, Orlando was weaving his way to the front door when they heard a terrific crash.
“Don’t look so worried, Vig.” Advised Tel. “This is standard Flower behaviour. We’ll get him to bed, otherwise he’ll stay where he is all night.”
“Be warned,” interrupted George, “he’ll have a sudden burst of energy then he’ll collapse and be comatose until the morning. You better be ready with a vat of instant coffee and a ton of toast.”
The two men dragged Orlando to the bedroom and pushed him unceremoniously on the bed.
“Can you manage to undress him a bit Vig?” asked Tel, his face completely deadpan. “And another warning, when he’s this pissed he farts like a trooper. You might be better off sleeping on the sofa.”
“Come on Tel, I wanna get home. ‘Night Vig.”
“Right then George, let’s get moving. See ya Vig.”
The two men stumbled out of the flat, slamming the door. Viggo was exhausted. He cleared up in the kitchen, again, put the remains of the chicken back in the fridge and took a big glass of water into the bedroom.
Orlando was lying on his side, mouth open, breathing very heavily. Viggo carefully undid his jeans, pulling them and his boxers down. Tel and George had helpfully got rid of his t shirt, socks and shoes. Trying not to stare at the beautiful naked body in front of him, he covered Orlando up. Sighing, he turned the lights out and lay down in his usual place, balanced near the edge of the bed.
Orlando scooted over to him.
“C’mere Vig.’ He mumbled. Viggo wriggled his way to the middle of the bed and allowed Orlando to wrap himself around him. Warm breath tickled the back of his neck and he relaxed into the feeling of being held. For the first time in years, he felt completely secure. It was a feeling that didn’t last. Orlando let out the loudest fart Viggo had ever heard, chuckled loudly, then pulled the duvet over Viggo’s head, thus giving him a noseful of a most pungent scent.
“That was a ripe ‘un, eh mate.” Orlando’s words were slurred, and a moment later he was snoring loudly.
Coughing, Viggo resigned himself to the fact that it was going to be a very long night. The only thing that kept him going was knowing that Orlando had forgotten he was posing for Gary’s art class the following afternoon.
TBC