"The Master Plan" (VM/OB) (PG-13)

[k-leale.livejournal.com]

Title: The Master Plan
Author: Leale
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: VM/OB
Summary: The Master Plan doesn't sound quite as masterful when spoken aloud.
Feedback: Would be...masterful. ;)
Archive: Sure, just let me know.
Author's Note: Thanks, as always, to valour for the beta and the cheering squad. Part of the "Stupid Bar Tricks" series available on my LJ. Loose association, none dependant on the other just yet. For reference sake, this one goes after Oral Fixation and before Cherry Bomb, at one of the showings of Fellowship of the Ring. There must have been SOME reason for those awful shirts.

Disclaimer: I have never met the men mentioned in this story and I have no knowledge of their sexuality. Everything in this story has come completely from my imagination.



The Master Plan

"What the fuck are you wearing, Orli?"

Elijah's entertaining when he's horrified and right now he is definitely horrified. He gives Orlando an extra shake for emphasis and stares--definitely horrified--at the ruffles that threaten to swallow Orlando's chest.

"It's all part of my Master Plan," Orlando explains, detaching himself carefully from Elijah's hands.

"Your master plan to what? Blind New Zealand with the ruffles that ate Wellington?"

"Orlando!" The cry has a lightness that could only be Liv. Orlando turns in time to catch her flying hug, but she stops short before they make contact. She surveys his shirt from a safe distance as if his Bad Fashion might possibly be contagious and when she speaks, her voice carries a noticeable tinge of despair. "Orlando." Her hands go first to his hair, trying to push it back into some semblance of order, then to his shirtfront.

"It's no use," Elijah says sadly, shaking his head. "There's no time to run to Zeke's Crabshack and back for a t-shirt. I'm two steps ahead of you, Liv."

"There...there must be something," Liv laments, her fingers already working at the buttons of Orlando's shirt. "What do you have on under this?"

"Hey!" Orlando yelps, batting her fingers away. "What are you doing? How cheap do you think I am?"

"Is that a question that really deserves an answer?" This time it's Dominic, coming around from the side. He's biting his lower lip. Orlando suspects it's an attempt to keep a straight face and it's failing miserably.

"You got something to say?" Orlando asks, buttoning his shirt back up.

"Nope," Dominic says, shaking his head. "Not a thing."

"Good."

"Billy! Your eyes! Watch your eyes!"

Orlando glares fiercely. "Not a thing, my arse."

"How was I to know that Billy was on his way?" Dominic asked with a helpless shrug.

"Fuck me," Billy gasps, tilting his head. "Why on God's green earth am I not yet blind?"

"It's part of his Master Plan," Elijah volunteers.

"Billy is not part of my Master Plan," Orlando says, pushing his hair back into disorder. "And neither are you."

"You needed a plan for that shirt?" Liv asks fearfully.

"No," Orlando says calmly. "I needed the shirt for the plan."

"He's taking over the world--domination through The One Shirt," Elijah says solemnly.

"Oh, go wank yourself," Orlando tells him, brushing imaginary dust from a ruffle.

"Red carpet time," Peter says, poking his head in the door. He pauses, raising his eyebrows at the grouping. "Has everyone ragged on Orlando's shirt already?"

"Yes, but we haven't started on the tie," Elijah announces.

"Ok, then." Peter nods, then leaves, still looking somewhat bemused.

"You heard the man," Dominic calls, flinging the door of the Green Room open. "Let's get to it!"

"Where is everyone else?" Orlando asks Liv as they file out of the room.

"They'll be here," she assures him, absently fiddling with one of his ruffles on her way out. "They're in the hallway or coming in or already on the carpet."

"Ok." Orlando nods. "Good."

"Anxious about seeing Viggo again?" she asks softly, trying again to smooth down a piece of his hair.

"Shh."

"Is that what that outfit's all about?" she asks incredulously.

"It's part of the Master Plan," he hisses back.

"Oh my gosh," Liv sighs, tilting her eyes heavenward. "I so hope this Master Plan has more to it than, 'I'm going to wear the most hideous shirt ever designed.'"

"It does," Orlando says. "I'm going to wear the most hideous shirt ever designed and hope Viggo's sufficiently offended that he feels the need to rip it off me."

"Orlando." Liv wheels around in front of him and stops his forward motion with both hands. "What. If. It. Doesn't. Work?"

Orlando shifts under her scrutiny and feels his face flush.

"Then I--wear a completely hideous shirt all night long and...get no sex. From anyone."

Liv sighs and presses her hand to his cheek. "All right," she says seriously. "As long as you've accepted the risks." Then she emits a very un-Arwen-like snort of totally unconcealed laughter and walks off.

Orlando sighs, anticipation a heavy weight in his stomach.

Fuck.

***

There are cookies sitting out after the showing and Orlando takes a chocolate chip one to dip in his White Russian. He's gotten a raised eyebrow from Viggo and a brief, macho-type hug on the red carpet, but so far, no clothes torn off. He tells himself not to be too disappointed--the night is young and the liquor is flowing.

"You know, that really is the fucking scariest shirt I've ever seen. What the FUCK were you thinking?"

Elijah again, sliding onto the barstool next to the section of bar Orlando has staked out for lounging. Orlando gives him a very British two-fingered salute and takes another bite of his cookie.

"It's part of--"

"The Master Plan," Elijah finishes. "Please tell me the Master Plan involves you taking off that shirt sometime in the next five minutes, or I'm going to have to find a new place to sit."

"It's your call," Orlando says calmly. "The Master Plan will work much better without you sitting there."

"Oh, really?" That interests Elijah and he moves closer.

Orlando wishes, briefly, that it was Elijah he'd fallen in love with, rather than Viggo.

"C'mon. Spill. What's the Master Plan?"

The Master Plan doesn't sound quite as masterful when spoken aloud.

"Figured I'd turn up in something so completely revolting, so completely offensive to Viggo's artistic sensibilities, that he'd be forced to tear it off me."

Elijah stares at him for so long, Orlando starts to think that maybe he understands, or maybe he just isn't going to fall over laughing.

Orlando's wrong.

Just when he thinks he's off the hook, Elijah lets out a shout of laughter that draws the attention of the entire half of the room. Elijah has a beautiful laugh, bell-like peals that tumble over each other as he chortles, holding his stomach and actually tumbling off his chair.

Orlando gives him a sour look and washes the rest of his cookie down with his drink.

"Ok, ok," Elijah gasps when he has some semblance of control. "I'll leave you alone so--" He breaks into another bout of laughter, but manages to regain control relatively quickly. "Ahem, so Viggo can y'know, come over and be offended."

"Thanks," Orlando murmurs, glaring at his empty glass.

Elijah slaps him on the shoulder as he leaves, and Orlando knows it's meant to be comforting, or at least demonstrate solidarity.

It tells Orlando that not only is Elijah drunk, but he's having way too much fun at Orlando's expense.

"Nice shirt."

It's Viggo and Orlando's relieved and dizzy. He's thrilled to finally see Viggo and nervous that his Master Plan may be a load of hooey. Well, that he already knows.

But that doesn't necessarily mean it won't work.

"You like?" Orlando asks, twisting to fully show off his outfit. He holds out his arms and awaits judgment.

"You know...." Viggo regards him carefully, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "You know, I think I do. It's got that whole, 'I don't give a fuck what my friends think' kind of air to it."

"Really?" Orlando asks, feeling his Master Plan crumbling around his ruffles. "You don't think it's...hideous? Blinding? Offending to your artistic sensibilities?"

"I think it's ugly as sin," Viggo assures him, offering a small grin. "But I like it. It's like those trolls they had, what, ten, fifteen years ago? Those little naked ones with colored hair? Ugly as sin but everyone wanted one."

"You included?"

"Yeah, I think I had one sitting around somewhere. Probably up in the attic now."

This was looking increasingly bad for Orlando's Master Plan.

"I'm taking off," Viggos says, disrupting Orlando's frantic ideas for salvaging his Master Plan. "These parties--not really my thing." He stands and leans across the bar to pass the bartender some local currency folded in a piece of white paper. He smiles briefly and turns back to Orlando. "Catch up with you next time?"

"Sure," Orlando answers hollowly. The Master Plan has failed. Miserably. "Have a good trip."

"You, too."

Orlando stands reluctantly and hugs Viggo around the shoulders, feeling the other man's arms clap against him in return. It's a brief hug, and an awkward one, with so many people around.

Maybe some things really do change.

Viggo leans back in to Orlando. "I can't wait to see the next shirt." He whispers it, his breath warm along Orlando's ear. Orlando shivers and Viggo winks, backing off into the crowd.

Orlando sighs in frustration as he sits back down and yanks at the tie around his neck. Fucking hideous shirt, fucking awful necktie, and no shag in sight.

"Drink from the gentleman." The bartender interrupts politely and sets a glass of what looks like Bailey's in front of Orlando.

"Thanks," Orlando answers, looking at the glass curiously. "From Viggo?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is it?" Orlando asks, taking a sip and licking the white froth from his upper lip.

The bartender makes a valiant effort not to smile as he replies, but some things are beyond anyone's control.

"Orgasm a la Denmark."