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fellowshippers2004-05-04 09:32 pm
one900.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-05-04 09:32 pm
(no subject)
The Twist
PG-13
SA/OB
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lotrpschallenge challenge #3. Strange pairing, I know. I'm not sure if I did it right, but...yeah. Heh. Here's the thing:
*
“Orli!”
Orlando raises his head from between hunched shoulders and is greeted by a dimpled grin and smiling eyes.
He swivels around and slides off of the stool, accepting Sean's immediate hug. “Hey,” he mumbles into a scarf-covered neck. They thump each other on the back a few times, breaking apart just before what Elijah always calls 'the obligatory hug time for platonic friendships'.
As Orlando settles back into his seat, Sean shrugs off his coat and scarf and sits down beside him. “What are you having?” he asks while signaling at the bartender.
Orlando stares at the distinctly brown liquid that sits in front of him. “Whiskey.”
“Never would have pegged you as a whiskey kind of guy,” Sean frowns. He looks up abruptly as the bartender approaches their corner, then orders something on the rocks. Orlando doesn't really listen and taps the pads of his fingertips against his glass instead.
Sean is right. Orlando really isn't a whiskey kind of guy. But somehow, here in this hotel bar with dimmed lights, gaudily designed carpet, and cheesy live jazz piano, whiskey seems to fit right in. Orlando smirks wryly to himself as Sean focuses back on their conversation.
"So what's going on? How are you?”
Orlando takes a swig of his drink and hooks his heels over the silver footrest that encircles the middle of his chair. “We both know that I wouldn't ask to meet like this just to exchange pleasantries, so I'll get right to the point,” he blurts boldly.
A drink is set down in front of Sean, and he slowly accepts it with confusion. “Alright...”
Orlando sighs and faces Sean fully for the first time. “Tell me about love.”
The subdued noise of the bar suddenly seems to jump up a few decibels. Sean stares dubiously at Orlando, who stares right back.
“Love is...love,” Sean finally replies. He lifts his glass and draws it away again, causing the ice cubes to rattle sharply. “Wait, what?”
“Love.” Orlando waves his hand. “What is love? What's it like to be in love? Or to be loved?” He takes a noisy gulp of his whiskey. “You're a married man Sean, you ought to know, right?” he asks, words tinged with the slightest hint of something other than curiosity.
Sean starts to reach out uncertainly. “Orli, are you--“
Orlando shakes off the action and Sean stops. “I'm fine. Just...try to answer, if you don't mind.”
Sean nods, and then swigs down what seems like most of his drink in one swallow. “I figure I need to get a little oiled up before I start,” he explains. They both smile quickly at each other and then stare down at their respective counter space.
“Well, first of all, love can either be the worst thing ever or the best thing ever,” Sean begins. Orlando continues to eye the abandoned peanut shells that lay by his elbow, but he drowns out the noise of other aimless conversations.
“It's scary at first, sure. But once you know that the other person is as far in as you are, it gets better. Because, you know, you're going through it together, I guess.” Sean shakes his glass absently. “As for being in love, haven't you ever heard the quote 'love is like peeing your pants: everyone can see it, but only you can feel its warmth'?”
Orlando snorts half-heartedly. “Pulling out the cliches now, huh?”
“Yeah,” Sean chuckles. “I'm sorry, Orli. This is just so out of the blue. I don't really know how to respond...”
“No, no.” Orlando shakes his head vehemently. “You're doing a good job.” He tilts his glass around in a lazy circle, as if gauging how much liquid is left. “So what's it like to be loved?” he asks quietly.
Sean sighs. “It's nice.” He looks at Orlando, who raises his eyes to meet Sean's gaze. “It really is. It's just...really nice.” He laughs softly. “Come on, you should know. Everyone loves you.”
Orlando recognizes that this is one of those few statements that have to be answered. He pushes his drink away. “Yeah,” he replies after a beat.
Too long of a beat, it seems. Sean leans toward Orlando with an uneasy expression. “Are you sure you're ok?” he asks worriedly.
Orlando suddenly feels a familiar burning in the back of his eyes. He clenches his jaw.
“Orlando,” Sean murmurs, and Orlando almost breaks because Sean never calls him by his full name. A warm, vaguely soft hand pats his tanned forearm and just for a moment, a fleeting second, there, Orlando catches a brief glimpse of clarity.
He shoots a quick grin in response to Sean's concerned face. “I'll be ok, Sean,” he reassures, resisting the urge to lean into the touch, the protective shelter of broad shoulders and a knowing smile.
Sliding his arm out from under Sean's fingers, he skitters his hand across the counter to reach for his lukewarm glass again. “I'll be fine,” he repeats as he raises it to his lips, but Sean is already ordering another drink of his own. Orlando's words drop silently into his whiskey and he swallows them back down his throat while absently cradling the glass between his shivering hands.
*
PG-13
SA/OB
A/N: For
lotrpschallenge challenge #3. Strange pairing, I know. I'm not sure if I did it right, but...yeah. Heh. Here's the thing:*
“Orli!”
Orlando raises his head from between hunched shoulders and is greeted by a dimpled grin and smiling eyes.
He swivels around and slides off of the stool, accepting Sean's immediate hug. “Hey,” he mumbles into a scarf-covered neck. They thump each other on the back a few times, breaking apart just before what Elijah always calls 'the obligatory hug time for platonic friendships'.
As Orlando settles back into his seat, Sean shrugs off his coat and scarf and sits down beside him. “What are you having?” he asks while signaling at the bartender.
Orlando stares at the distinctly brown liquid that sits in front of him. “Whiskey.”
“Never would have pegged you as a whiskey kind of guy,” Sean frowns. He looks up abruptly as the bartender approaches their corner, then orders something on the rocks. Orlando doesn't really listen and taps the pads of his fingertips against his glass instead.
Sean is right. Orlando really isn't a whiskey kind of guy. But somehow, here in this hotel bar with dimmed lights, gaudily designed carpet, and cheesy live jazz piano, whiskey seems to fit right in. Orlando smirks wryly to himself as Sean focuses back on their conversation.
"So what's going on? How are you?”
Orlando takes a swig of his drink and hooks his heels over the silver footrest that encircles the middle of his chair. “We both know that I wouldn't ask to meet like this just to exchange pleasantries, so I'll get right to the point,” he blurts boldly.
A drink is set down in front of Sean, and he slowly accepts it with confusion. “Alright...”
Orlando sighs and faces Sean fully for the first time. “Tell me about love.”
The subdued noise of the bar suddenly seems to jump up a few decibels. Sean stares dubiously at Orlando, who stares right back.
“Love is...love,” Sean finally replies. He lifts his glass and draws it away again, causing the ice cubes to rattle sharply. “Wait, what?”
“Love.” Orlando waves his hand. “What is love? What's it like to be in love? Or to be loved?” He takes a noisy gulp of his whiskey. “You're a married man Sean, you ought to know, right?” he asks, words tinged with the slightest hint of something other than curiosity.
Sean starts to reach out uncertainly. “Orli, are you--“
Orlando shakes off the action and Sean stops. “I'm fine. Just...try to answer, if you don't mind.”
Sean nods, and then swigs down what seems like most of his drink in one swallow. “I figure I need to get a little oiled up before I start,” he explains. They both smile quickly at each other and then stare down at their respective counter space.
“Well, first of all, love can either be the worst thing ever or the best thing ever,” Sean begins. Orlando continues to eye the abandoned peanut shells that lay by his elbow, but he drowns out the noise of other aimless conversations.
“It's scary at first, sure. But once you know that the other person is as far in as you are, it gets better. Because, you know, you're going through it together, I guess.” Sean shakes his glass absently. “As for being in love, haven't you ever heard the quote 'love is like peeing your pants: everyone can see it, but only you can feel its warmth'?”
Orlando snorts half-heartedly. “Pulling out the cliches now, huh?”
“Yeah,” Sean chuckles. “I'm sorry, Orli. This is just so out of the blue. I don't really know how to respond...”
“No, no.” Orlando shakes his head vehemently. “You're doing a good job.” He tilts his glass around in a lazy circle, as if gauging how much liquid is left. “So what's it like to be loved?” he asks quietly.
Sean sighs. “It's nice.” He looks at Orlando, who raises his eyes to meet Sean's gaze. “It really is. It's just...really nice.” He laughs softly. “Come on, you should know. Everyone loves you.”
Orlando recognizes that this is one of those few statements that have to be answered. He pushes his drink away. “Yeah,” he replies after a beat.
Too long of a beat, it seems. Sean leans toward Orlando with an uneasy expression. “Are you sure you're ok?” he asks worriedly.
Orlando suddenly feels a familiar burning in the back of his eyes. He clenches his jaw.
“Orlando,” Sean murmurs, and Orlando almost breaks because Sean never calls him by his full name. A warm, vaguely soft hand pats his tanned forearm and just for a moment, a fleeting second, there, Orlando catches a brief glimpse of clarity.
He shoots a quick grin in response to Sean's concerned face. “I'll be ok, Sean,” he reassures, resisting the urge to lean into the touch, the protective shelter of broad shoulders and a knowing smile.
Sliding his arm out from under Sean's fingers, he skitters his hand across the counter to reach for his lukewarm glass again. “I'll be fine,” he repeats as he raises it to his lips, but Sean is already ordering another drink of his own. Orlando's words drop silently into his whiskey and he swallows them back down his throat while absently cradling the glass between his shivering hands.
*
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YAY!
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oh... this... it's... just...
*weeps more*
no screaming angst or pointless drama - just gentle melancholy, subtle and unsettling and perfectly true to life. i wasn't quite sure what to expect when it began, but the outcome was brutally real, without actually being brutal in its reality. if you see what i mean.
oh, shit, i'm incoherent. this was just gorgeous. mark the calendars, folks - this is the day that i actually gushed over an orlandofic XD
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i was so leaning towards orlando/david, but then the whole sean thing wouldn't get out of my head, so yeah. :) i'm glad you liked it! and gushing over orlando fic is good ;) heheh.
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"...hooks his heels over the silver footrest that encircles the middle of his chair..."
"...drowns out the noise of other aimless conversations..."
"...skitters his hand across the counter..."
It paints such a vivid picture, and that mixed with the ambiguities you leave in the storyline makes it very...atmospheric might be the right word. It feels real, I feel like I'm there.
*sigh*
I loved this.
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