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[FIC] RPF: a nightingale at his window
And the longest (and the one I'm oddly proudest of, odd because of the pairing) for the last. :3
a nightingale at his window
Characters/Pairing: Sean Bean/Orlando Bloom, Dominic Monaghan
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~1100
Disclaimer: Definitely did not happen. Product of my imagination.
Summary: Orlando wants Sean to shut up about Keats’s Ode to a Nightingale already. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
afra_schatz’s prompt.
Warning: Contains spoilers, so whited out. Highlight to see: Character death.
"He just doesn't know how to shut up, you know what I mean? It's like, mate, I know you love poetry, I know you love having the chance to show that you love poetry on TV to people who think you're a Northern Neanderthal - which you aren't, because you're a Northern bastard - but do you have to quote Keats to me all day?"
*
"Darkling I listen," Sean's voice caressed Orlando's skin, skittering against the top of his spine, then stroking downwards. Orlando tipped his head back, exhaling a soft breath even as his brows creased in irritation. Again?
"Old man, if you're going to quote Keats at me again, can't you choose another poem? Or even another stanza? Seriously, I'm getting sick of this one."
Sean only chuckled. His hand was cold against Orlando's back, but Orlando's body temperature had always been higher than most. Sean had told him once that he was a living hot water bottle, and ruined the sweet sentiment by telling him that he could sell himself as that, if the acting gig didn't work out. Orlando had roared, leaping upon him and showing just how good at heating skin up he was.
"And, for many a time," Sean continued, his breath against Orlando's ear. His hair was short for the mohawk again, a call back to ten years ago. But ten years ago he didn't have Sean; didn't have an old man complaining to him that such short-cropped hair was difficult to grip on his arthritic fingers. "I have been half in love with easeful Death."
"Why don't you try being one-and-a-half in love with me instead?"
*
"He'd just go on and on. The same poem, the same damn stanza every single time. I don't mind; fuck, his voice is hella sexy, everyone knows that. I just wish that he'd say something else. Teasing him about being a sod gets really, really old after the fifth or so time."
*
"Now more than ever," Sean's fingers danced on his skin, right below the waistband of his pants. Orlando, impatient, pulled his jeans down, exposing himself. Sean laughed in his ear again, a cold waft of air, but his recitation didn't cease. "Seems it rich to die,
"To cease upon midnight with no pain," Orlando whispered, the words familiar to him now. His voice melded with Sean's, turning eerie in the room as it bounced off the white, white walls. He didn't mind; not when he could feel Sean's lips against the back of his neck. Not when Sean's body was plastered against his, the broad chest against his back, its very weight chasing away the small, nagging pain at the base of his spine. If Orlando was Sean's hot water bottle, then Sean was Orlando's all-natural painkiller.
There was never any pain when Sean was here.
(He knew that wasn't true; knew that the two of them fought and argued and more often than not things had nearly ended with screaming and slammed doors. But he also knew that Sean always came back, or always took him back when he went to him crawling with tail between his legs. Orlando wasn't much of a believer of forever - he had defied expectations and expectations had defied him too many times for that - but Sean... Sean, he could believe was forever.
He was forever.)
*
"I know the whole poem, you know. I've memorised all of Keat's poetry by now, because he won't bloody shut up about it, so I might as well read, right? I'm a good boyfriend like that. God knows why I even try, though. He always repeats the same stanza."
*
"While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad," Orlando's breath hitched. His hand was wrapped around his own cock, and Sean's hand - colder than his skin, as always - was wrapped around his own. He moved slowly, to the rhythm of the words as Sean said them, slurring, each consonant lingering on his tongue before he released them into the air. Each vowel was blended into the next, and there were no beginning or ends to every word. It was just sound; voice- Sean's voice, and Orlando swallowed a sob as his hand moved a little harder.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his head leaning back. Sean's shoulder was so solid beneath him, his arm wrapping around Orlando's waist. Safe. Orlando had never needed to feel safe, but Sean made him feel it anyway. Safe as if he was a damsel in distress in an ivory tower.
(Maybe the image was too apt. The walls were white, so goddamn white.)
"In... such... " Sean's breath hitched, and his hips jerked forward, pressing hard against Orlando's ass. His hand squeezed harder around Orlando's own, forcing the rhythm to quicken even as Orlando felt Sean's cock sliding up and down his cleft, the head brushing - barely - against his hole.
"An ecstasy!"
Orlando's lips parted as he came, hard, Sean's voice surrounding him, bouncing off the walls, filling him inside even as he felt the heat of his own come, of Sean's come, covering his skin.
*
"He visits me every day," Orlando said.
He was thin. The eyebags underneath his eyes were dark and his cheekbones were so gaunt that they seemed drawn on. His hands were barely more than bones, and Dom fought not to wince as he took them into his own.
"'Course he does, Lando," he said, and he felt his heart break, the most minute of cracks splitting open, spilling his heart's blood onto the floor at Orlando's feet.
"Of course he does."
*
"Still wouldst thou sing," Sean whispered, his voice wavering.
Orlando kept his eyes closed. He raised his hand and licked at the sticky come, tasting salt and bitterness. Like tears, but he had no reason to cry, not when Sean was here. "And I have ears in vain—"
He reached behind him and smeared his hand over his own back. There was warmth there, Sean's heat, and he followed Sean to the ground, leaning his head against the white, white walls, closing his eyes and waiting for the very last time.
"To thy high requiem become a sod."
"You silly Northern bastard," Orlando said.
Sean's laughter echoed around him.
*
British actor Sean Bean died in his London home on -- -- 20--. Autopsy confirmed the cause of death to be a brain aneurysm. He was found by his longtime boyfriend, Orlando Bloom. Bloom cannot be reached for a comment.
End
a nightingale at his window
Characters/Pairing: Sean Bean/Orlando Bloom, Dominic Monaghan
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~1100
Disclaimer: Definitely did not happen. Product of my imagination.
Summary: Orlando wants Sean to shut up about Keats’s Ode to a Nightingale already. Written for
afra_schatz’s prompt.Warning: Contains spoilers, so whited out. Highlight to see: Character death.
"He just doesn't know how to shut up, you know what I mean? It's like, mate, I know you love poetry, I know you love having the chance to show that you love poetry on TV to people who think you're a Northern Neanderthal - which you aren't, because you're a Northern bastard - but do you have to quote Keats to me all day?"
*
"Darkling I listen," Sean's voice caressed Orlando's skin, skittering against the top of his spine, then stroking downwards. Orlando tipped his head back, exhaling a soft breath even as his brows creased in irritation. Again?
"Old man, if you're going to quote Keats at me again, can't you choose another poem? Or even another stanza? Seriously, I'm getting sick of this one."
Sean only chuckled. His hand was cold against Orlando's back, but Orlando's body temperature had always been higher than most. Sean had told him once that he was a living hot water bottle, and ruined the sweet sentiment by telling him that he could sell himself as that, if the acting gig didn't work out. Orlando had roared, leaping upon him and showing just how good at heating skin up he was.
"And, for many a time," Sean continued, his breath against Orlando's ear. His hair was short for the mohawk again, a call back to ten years ago. But ten years ago he didn't have Sean; didn't have an old man complaining to him that such short-cropped hair was difficult to grip on his arthritic fingers. "I have been half in love with easeful Death."
"Why don't you try being one-and-a-half in love with me instead?"
*
"He'd just go on and on. The same poem, the same damn stanza every single time. I don't mind; fuck, his voice is hella sexy, everyone knows that. I just wish that he'd say something else. Teasing him about being a sod gets really, really old after the fifth or so time."
*
"Now more than ever," Sean's fingers danced on his skin, right below the waistband of his pants. Orlando, impatient, pulled his jeans down, exposing himself. Sean laughed in his ear again, a cold waft of air, but his recitation didn't cease. "Seems it rich to die,
"To cease upon midnight with no pain," Orlando whispered, the words familiar to him now. His voice melded with Sean's, turning eerie in the room as it bounced off the white, white walls. He didn't mind; not when he could feel Sean's lips against the back of his neck. Not when Sean's body was plastered against his, the broad chest against his back, its very weight chasing away the small, nagging pain at the base of his spine. If Orlando was Sean's hot water bottle, then Sean was Orlando's all-natural painkiller.
There was never any pain when Sean was here.
(He knew that wasn't true; knew that the two of them fought and argued and more often than not things had nearly ended with screaming and slammed doors. But he also knew that Sean always came back, or always took him back when he went to him crawling with tail between his legs. Orlando wasn't much of a believer of forever - he had defied expectations and expectations had defied him too many times for that - but Sean... Sean, he could believe was forever.
He was forever.)
*
"I know the whole poem, you know. I've memorised all of Keat's poetry by now, because he won't bloody shut up about it, so I might as well read, right? I'm a good boyfriend like that. God knows why I even try, though. He always repeats the same stanza."
*
"While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad," Orlando's breath hitched. His hand was wrapped around his own cock, and Sean's hand - colder than his skin, as always - was wrapped around his own. He moved slowly, to the rhythm of the words as Sean said them, slurring, each consonant lingering on his tongue before he released them into the air. Each vowel was blended into the next, and there were no beginning or ends to every word. It was just sound; voice- Sean's voice, and Orlando swallowed a sob as his hand moved a little harder.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his head leaning back. Sean's shoulder was so solid beneath him, his arm wrapping around Orlando's waist. Safe. Orlando had never needed to feel safe, but Sean made him feel it anyway. Safe as if he was a damsel in distress in an ivory tower.
(Maybe the image was too apt. The walls were white, so goddamn white.)
"In... such... " Sean's breath hitched, and his hips jerked forward, pressing hard against Orlando's ass. His hand squeezed harder around Orlando's own, forcing the rhythm to quicken even as Orlando felt Sean's cock sliding up and down his cleft, the head brushing - barely - against his hole.
"An ecstasy!"
Orlando's lips parted as he came, hard, Sean's voice surrounding him, bouncing off the walls, filling him inside even as he felt the heat of his own come, of Sean's come, covering his skin.
*
"He visits me every day," Orlando said.
He was thin. The eyebags underneath his eyes were dark and his cheekbones were so gaunt that they seemed drawn on. His hands were barely more than bones, and Dom fought not to wince as he took them into his own.
"'Course he does, Lando," he said, and he felt his heart break, the most minute of cracks splitting open, spilling his heart's blood onto the floor at Orlando's feet.
"Of course he does."
*
"Still wouldst thou sing," Sean whispered, his voice wavering.
Orlando kept his eyes closed. He raised his hand and licked at the sticky come, tasting salt and bitterness. Like tears, but he had no reason to cry, not when Sean was here. "And I have ears in vain—"
He reached behind him and smeared his hand over his own back. There was warmth there, Sean's heat, and he followed Sean to the ground, leaning his head against the white, white walls, closing his eyes and waiting for the very last time.
"To thy high requiem become a sod."
"You silly Northern bastard," Orlando said.
Sean's laughter echoed around him.
*
British actor Sean Bean died in his London home on -- -- 20--. Autopsy confirmed the cause of death to be a brain aneurysm. He was found by his longtime boyfriend, Orlando Bloom. Bloom cannot be reached for a comment.
End
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This line though, "Why don't you try being one-and-a-half in love with me instead?" made me smile - so very Orlando-ish. :)
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"He just doesn't know how to shut up, you know what I mean? It's like, mate, I know you love poetry, I know you love having the chance to show that you love poetry on TV to people who think you're a Northern Neanderthal - which you aren't, because you're a Northern bastard - but do you have to quote Keats to me all day?"
I had to quote this entire thing because I just couldn’t leave anything out. Your Orlando voice is perfect. Just the right mix of amusement, fondness and adoration mingled with slight annoyance, frustration and a lack of understanding that is (here already and probably not consciously picked up by Orlando himself) worrying.
His hand was cold against Orlando's back, but Orlando's body temperature had always been higher than most.
Love the hot/cold thing running through this entire story, esp. with how you introduced Orlando to us as a bit hot-tempered maybe. So, at this point of the story, Sean’s coldness – while sending a chill down my spine as it seems to be announcing something that will follow later – is also a counterbalance for Orlando, something that (quite literally) cools him down and that he needs just as much as Sean needs his warmth.
Also, I love how you make Orlando’s voice the harsh counterpart to the poetry and at the same time it still is a dialogue between lovers. The beauty of the poetry’s language that is also its weak point because it usually doesn’t have a place in every day life, is continuously pulled down to earth and grounded by Orlando’s comments, his humour and the hints of his crassness.
"Why don't you try being one-and-a-half in love with me instead?"
Love this. There is nothing sexier than a quick-witted (and mouthed) Orlando.
"He'd just go on and on. The same poem, the same damn stanza every single time. I don't mind; fuck, his voice is hella sexy, everyone knows that. I just wish that he'd say something else. Teasing him about being a sod gets really, really old after the fifth or so time."
Again I have to quote this in its entity because I love the subtle change in this. There is more annoyance in it and more worry, but at the same time Orlando automatically counterbalances it with pointing out Sean’s attractiveness, a clear sign of virility that is supposed to prove all worries, that something might not be alright, wrong.
"To cease upon midnight with no pain," Orlando whispered, the words familiar to him now.
Following what I said to the last conversation, Orlando’s reply in ‘Sean’s’ language is both sexy in a lyrical way and deeply, deeply disconcerting. There are a bunch of things worrying about this – like the fact that Orlando gives in / gives up / humours Sean and what all this could imply. It’s still sexy (now maybe even more so) but their language isn’t one of the real world anymore, it’s like Orlando is losing his footing in reality, or has lost it already (seeing this as something he tells in hindsight, as a memory) and that the easy camaraderie that makes them work is slowly being replaced by something almost other-worldly. Add to that the imagery of pain and sorrow and you have me truly worried for my boys.
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More exasperation, more worry due to this inkling feeling of something-is-wrong getting more and more persistent. More love and devotion, too, by now kind of thinly veiled by humour and self-deprecation.
(Maybe the image was too apt. The walls were white, so goddamn white.)
I don’t like this. By which I don’t mean that it isn’t perfectly written (which it is) but it is SO DAMN DISCONCERTING. Like, I don’t know what’s going on, where they are (quite literally) and like Orlando I am really losing my grasp on reality, like the only thing in the world that is left to cling to is Sean and everything else is hostile territory. Deeply troubling.
"He visits me every day," Orlando said.
Again, with the disconcerting. I am going to quote Buffy now when she stood next to a grave and asked Giles to tell her that everything is going to work out, Giles asked whether she wanted him to lie to her, and she said yes. – Again, I am not sure where or even when they are. Whether Orlando is haunted by Sean’s memory here already (no matter whether he is dead or alive at this point) whether it’s Orlando really losing his sanity and how the hell it could happen so quickly – given how eloquent he was in his last conversation with Dom still. Chills down my spine. And I demand you make it better now, damnit.
"You silly Northern bastard," Orlando said. Sean's laughter echoed around him.
Love this. And by that I mean I am close to crying. Somewhat magically, you managed to set things right here again, just with these two lines. All of a sudden I am pretty sure that this – at least this last bit here – is set in the past, is from when things were still good and Orlando would insult Sean without that lingering worry, and Sean would easily be able to slip out of the poetry and back into reality. It’s easy and loving and maybe because of that almost equally disconcerting because by now I am truly wondering whether Orlando – after Sean’s death, or even just with it being very close – even notices that he is shifting back and forth in time, or whether he hasn’t even got that grip anymore.
Now, I demand three things from you:
1 – Hand me the tissues, damnit.
2 – Explain everything to me and thus make me okay again or at least not as deeply unsettled and without orientation as Orlando.
3 – Write me happy!fic because YOU KILLED ONE OF MY BOYS AND MADE THE OTHER ONE INSANE, YOU EVIL PERSON.
In other words, I adore your way with words.
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1. Here, have a whole box, newly opened. And virtual hugs! Lots and lots of virtual hugs.
2. I can't make it entirely okay for you, but I can tell you what I meant? I wrote the parts of Orlando's monologue as part of a single conversation he's having with Dom. Just the kind of disgustingly sweet conversations you have with your friends who are attached about their significant others, you know? But Orlando's having it in his, well, in his ward, and that's where most of that takes place. The disorientation is deliberate, because Orlando's disorientated and confused. Part of Sean is his memories, another part is a very real hallucination, and the last part is just that he's completely lost his grip on reality. It's really inspired by how you and Gigi write Orlibean, honestly: that the two of them find each other and they are two halves of a whole. Without Sean, Orlando just completely breaks, especially since he's the one to find him in their bed in the end. Honestly, I can't explain this fic very well, because I wrote it all in a huge spurt and I wasn't actually thinking about what I meant at the time. I just remembered what I thought I wanted to show. >_>
3. I will! Give me a prompt. 8D Or hell, even a scenario will do.
Damn, I'm making myself sad all over again. What are you doing to me!!!!
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2 - It's relieving to hear that, if that makes any sense. Not because it's all that nice for poor confused Orlando but because I am not so confused anymore (and I am an egoist :)). It does make a lot of sense and at the same time I am glad that you didn't put any of it into the actual story - it's sort of like with 'Beds belonging to nobody' and the whole Leerstelle (in this case a gaping black hole) thing. Because we don't NEED to have this background information, no, we need to not have it, if that makes sense, in order to really feel what's going on.
Re: Gigi's and my Orlibean - I've been thinking about this as well. I wrote this deathfic once and that was just a one-off and it still totally fucked with my head for a week. I have honestly no idea how the story of my 'Doesn't paint in town' boys ends if they don't miraculously die in a car crash together. I mean, they've been together since Orlando was 16, really. I have NO idea how I could write that. As it is they just live happily ever after ;).
3 - How about a combination of these (or you just pick one :)): Abstinence, childhood, cross-eyed, anger-management (which should amount to complete crack if I wrote it *g*). - And of course it's the same for you, if you got a prompt, send it my way, whatever you want :).
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2. I don't think I left it out on purpose. It's just part of the whole 'I wrote in a huge rush' kind of feeling. I figured that it seems obvious enough, but instead I left huge gaping holes that make other people fill in their own interpretations, which is a lot more awesome, honestly. 8D This is why I love comments so much. You teach me about my own fic! 8D
Yeah, that's basically the thing. It's not a bad thing, not really, but it's a little skewed because Orlando's never really known relationships without Sean and that's bound to fuck him up. Easier (and much sweeter) to think that they live happily ever after. :P I have no idea how to write breakup fics that's no melodramatic anyway.
3. Here, have some more 'written on sudden inspiration' fic:
The phone rang. Sean nearly dropped the pan he was washing, scrambling slightly to dry his hands on the towel before he grabbed the phone and picked it up.
"Bean, I can't cross my eyes."
Sometimes Sean wondered why he needed caller-ID at all. It was really far too easy to figure out was calling him every time. But then again, both Viggo and Orlando seemed to like starting conversations in the middle without telling him the beginning, and sometimes he was far too drunk to figure out the differences in accents.
Not that he needed to. His reply was always the same.
"Wot?"
Orlando sighed. Melodramatically. "I can't cross my eyes."
"Alrigh'," Sean shoved the phone between his shoulder and jaw, holding it there while he continued washing the dishes. "Why are ya tryin'?"
"You told me to cross everything I've got for your MacBeth opening night."
"So I did."
"Well, I crossed all my fingers. Even my thumbs! But I had to stop that so I could call you. I crossed my toes too. But then when I'm waiting for you to pick up - and man, you took a hell of a long time to pick up, are you going slow in your old age? - I remembered that I can cross my eyes. So I tried. But I can't."
Sean dried the pan and placed it on the rack.
"What's the problem wi' it?"
"Apparently my eyes keep sliding away. I think. I can't tell."
"Ya can find a mirror?"
"I'm standing in front of one! Why, are you going to ask me to take off my clothes?"
Sean pretended he didn't hear that. He started to dry another dish. "Ya take one 'and off the phone. Uncross those fingers. Put yer index finger right in front o' ya. Straight in front."
"As straight as my nose and as straight as yours isn't?"
"Look, ya want me 'elp wi' this or not?"
"Shutting up now."
"Anyway," he continued. The phone was slipping off his shoulder. He shoved it back up. "Put yer finger there, and focus on it. Really concentrate."
"How hard do I have to concentrate?"
"Like ya are tryin' ta drink one of Dom's Blowjobs withou' touchin' the glass."
"Woah. That's a hell lot of effort. Okay, concentrating..."
"Feel yer eyes movin' yet?"
"Be quiet. I'm concentrating."
Sean finished with the dishes, dried his hands, and moved to the living room. He switched on the television.
"Ya can try liftin' yer 'ead up ta look inta the mirror."
"Shhhh, oh hey, I can! Hey, it worked!"
"There ya go," Sean said. He changed the channel to Sky and waited for the match to start. He concentrated very fiercely on the television.
"Wait." There was a scuffle. "Yeah, I'm literally crossing everything I've got here. Even my thumbs! And eyes!"
"Good lad," Sean drawled.
"So kick their arses or else I'll kick yours for making me do so much stupid crap."
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1 - Orlando starting conversations on his own and then expecting people to follow.
2 - Orlando AND Viggo doing this. Makes me wonder how a conversation between the two of them would pan out, given that and probably that neither of the two is particularly keen on listening to the other one's insane rambles. Good thing they have Sean.
3 - Sean having given up on caller ID. Wise man, Sean.
4 - Sean telling Orlando to cross his everything for good luck. Naaaaw.
5 - Orlando spending a vast amount of time on doing so. Naaaaaaaw.
6 - Orlando calling Sean in his moment of fail.
7 - (and this is one of my favourites) Sean taking Orlando's problem completely seriously. SO MUCH LOVE for this. And also, it makes me wonder what brought him to not even batting an eye when such a problem is presented to him. In other words: What kind of crazy shit has/have Orlando (and Viggo) put that poor man through?
8 - Sean's varying degrees of intoxication being the new black.
9 - Orlando's repeated questions on how-exactly. Because he obviously NEEDS to get this right.
10 - Sean doing his dishes while Orlando actually follows his advice. OMG, they are SO MARRIED.
Honestly, I mean I love your Vigbean and all (I truly do, it's some of the best Viggo/Bean dynamics I've read in a while, if not ever, because in your stories they feel truly, truly equal to me, but ANYWAY, back to my original point) but your Orlando/Bean dynamnics? I wish I could pay you to drop out of uni so you can just write fic for me.
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Man, I wish I can drop out of uni so I can just write fic for you too. :3 :3 :3 I wish I can get paid for writing, period. (Oh well, something to aim for! While continuing to hone my craft, I guess.) Orlibean is like a foray into something just a little bit different for me, because for some reason I can't write Vigbean humour. @_@ But awww, you, I'm just so happy that you like how I write both pairings anyway. 8D