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FIC: Why Waste Your Time Writing a Bean Fic?
Title: Why Waste Your Time Writing a Bean Fic?
Author: Arianne (cynical_terror), but rethinking given name for snazzy new PEN NAME involving underscores and witty usage of LOTR related events or characters. Trying on for size, Gollumz_gurl and or the happenin’ handle Lego_My_Ass.
And Darcy (undrockroll), who is quite satisfied with her given name, but wouldn't mind underscoring the ENTIRE thing, _D_A_R_C_Y_. Oh, and also maybe the Elvish version of it too. Or maybe dwarvish?.... Can anyone out there *speak* dwarvish?
Rating: Err... Hard R.
Pairing: Viggorli. Stuart/self. Domlijah. Billy/NAWT REALLEH ANYONE! Don't be a tinhat now!
Archive: Go ahead, matey mate. Other than that... various Livejournal communities. Also, DOMLIJAH FEVER!!!!!
Summary: It kind of goes... Orli wakes up one morning and realizes he's gay. But he isn't exactly SLEEPING when he realizes it. Hilarity ensues. Ever wonder just HOW MUCH of a fiend Stuart Townsend was before he got himself fired?
A/N: Hi.



*****

In the midst of going down on his girlfriend, one blustery Canterbury night, Orlando Bloom realized it really wasn't for him. Not oral sex, for he could think of something else he'd much rather be sucking on, but women in general.

Realizing his sudden homosexuality, he decided immediately to stay in the closet, and continued sucking on the leggy brunette's clit, in hopes of a quid pro quo after her messy, fake orgasm.

"Oh, yes, oh, come on, Orli," she squealed, writhing around in delight.

Orli rolled his eyes, very bored and disturbed by his sudden realization, but continued on the muffing. He nearly leapt for joy as the phone rang.

"I should get this," he told his girl in a hopefully important tone. She flopped onto the bed in frustration, and leafed through a magazine, glaring at Orli as he scrambled to the phone.

"Hello?" Orli said quietly, very aware of the Look of Death being cast upon him.

"Bloom? That you?" Orli smiled.

"Peter!" he exclaimed, a little too excited for someone who had just been interrupted during oral sex.

"I hope I'm not bothering you or anything," Peter Jackson said in an apologetic tone.

"No, no, you weren't bothering me at all," Orli assured him. His girlfriend heaved a very large, offended sigh, and began putting her clothes back on. Orli ignored her.

"Well, good, because I have some news," Peter continued. Orli could hear the excited sparkle in PJ's voice, and he liked it.

"Well, what is it?"

"I want you to come to New Zealand right away to start working on the Lord of the Rings trilogy as Legolas!"

"Oh, wow," Orli replied, feeling pretty excited himself. "That's... incredible. Thank you so much! When?"

"My plane leaves tomorrow morning," Peter told him. "I was thinking you could get a flight tomorrow morning and meet up with a wee fellow who I've cast to play Pippin in Heathrow? I've already told him about it. He thinks that sounds perfect. Name’s Billy Boyd."

"That sounds marvelous, I'll get right on that," Orli chattered excitedly. "Cheers!"

"Till tomorrow."

Orli hung up the phone feeling more jazzed than he'd felt since... well, ever. He turned to his girlfriend and shrugged apologetically.

"Well, I guess this is it, yeah?" Orli said casually, hoping mock ‘bedroom eyes’ had reverted to normal ‘fat chance’ gleam. "Just was cast in that crazy trilogy in New Zealand… so…" He began whistling, and started putting on his pants.

"Whatever," she growled, and stormed out of the flat.

"Touchy," he muttered, and began packing.

Attempting to pack nothing of the "gay" variety into his Louis Vuitton luggage, Orlando ended up tossing out half of his wardrobe, and was left with only highly unfashionable Nike active wear. He thanked his grandmum and his overactive thyroid for such horrendously tacky attire.

"This overpriced sport’s wear will be perfect for hiding my keen fashion sense," he decided, bemoaning the loss of his three piece, cerulean blue pant’s suit. He fingered a pair of button up Nike snap pants, and sighed. "Good for jumping off buildings and breaking my back, bad for my extremely lithe and desirable figure." He slipped on the pants, and indeed it did nothing for his extremely well toned arse.

After packing and securing his ticket for the morrow, he sat back, stared nostalgically at his pile of Armani in the corner, and wondered why he hadn’t realized how gay he was before.

"Like, all the signs were there," he spoke aloud, daintily sipping on a cup of tea, heavily laced with gin. "What am I going to do, eh? I’m going out into the wilderness tomorrow to rough it up with eight manly men, and I’m sure they’ll see right through me. It’s like, now that I know I’m gay, I’m sure to slip up, unlike before when I was in a cunning state of denial."

Then he recalled a few summers ago at his father’s cabin, when his mother was gently attempting to explain that his dead father wasn’t really his father, and that he now had to call the gardener his papa. He hadn’t known what to do with all of his pent up anger and grief, and had immediately rushed off with inheritance from faux daddy, and splurged on emergency year supply of Ben and Jerry’s, and cleaned out "Movie Palace’s" in house stock of "Pretty Woman".

Whilst gorging himself on "Chunky Monkey", and bawling over the scene in which Julia Roberts threatens to leave Richard Gere in skanky prostitute garb, he promised himself that he’d never leave a man with an arse that fit.

"So, I missed some subtle warning signs," he told himself, sipping on loaded brew. He then promptly passed out for the night, with dances of sugar plums sashaying around in his head. The only trouble with that was that if you looked close enough, Orli was the sugarplum.

*****

The next morning, Orli woke up quite excited for his trip and very hung over from last night’s endeavors. The good outweighed the bad, and he soon found himself on a train to Heathrow. He was as excited as could be, and had already written three letters home, even though he was still only an hour on the rail. He was also very much looking forward to meeting this Hobbit character; his mental picture of him was very amusing.

The train soon reached Heathrow, and Orli stepped off in a movie star fashion, secretly imagining what it would be like to someday be swamped by hundreds of fans before even getting off the stairs of the platform. It made him excited.

He walked freely through the station, keeping a sharp eye out for a Hobbit-like person to be roaming around. He saw nothing. He then felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Excuse me, you look kind of... Elf-like," said a voice from behind him. Orli whizzed around and found a wee man standing there, looking hopeful and travel-weary.

"I beg your pardon?" Orli asked him, and then something clicked in his mind. "Oh! Oh my god, you’re a Hobbit!"

The Hobbit grinned widely and the two had a huge embrace. Orli was happily hugging the smaller man when he realized that his Gay might be showing, so he casually stepped away from him and extended his hand forward.

"I’m, er, Orlando Bloom," Orli said in his deepest voice. The Hobbit accepted his hand and shook it wildly. ‘Firm grip,’ Orli found himself thinking. ‘What a manly Hobbit.’

"Billy Boyd," the Hobbit introduced himself. "It’s my birthday today!"

"No kidding," Orli replied, marveling inwardly at his new manly friend. "We’ll have to, uh, get you drunk! Yeah, that’s what we GUYS do. Hah."

And so they did exactly that.

Sometime later, stumbling drunkenly off the airplane, Orli had a rather unfortunate incident involving his snap pants coming unsnapped, and in his intoxicated state quite gayly propositioned Billy into buttoning them back up… with his teeth.

"I’d thought you’d never ask," Billy said, hiccupping, and getting to his knees. Luckily, Peter arrived barefooted, big beer belly hanging out of his stretch shorts, just in time and saved both Orli and Billy from an embarrassing situation. As a result, Orli threw up in Billy’s hoodie, so all was lost.

Waking up in a drunken stupor the next morning, Orli was relieved to realize he remembered nothing of the last few days, and not even a wicked hangover and a shifty pair of "Kiss me, I’m Irish" boxers which he found crazily enough *on* his person could dissuade his cheery mood.

"Weird," Orli thought, retching into the toilet. "I’m not even *part* Irish."

‘But maybe you had a part of Irish in you last night,’ his booze-addled mind taunted.

"Stupid brain," he moaned, and threw up some more.

Later that day, Orli met back up with Billy, who was mumbling something odd about waking up in frilly lady’s knickers, and the two drove down to the studio together to go to costume fittings.

Orli had to mentally kick himself after being so openly pleased about the prospect of wearing spandex-esque leggings for eighteen months.

"I’m not sure if they’re tight enough," a burly costume lady pondered aloud. "Then again, any tighter, and you might lose circulation in your manhood."

"Yes," Orli replied, gruffly, shooting Billy a wary look. "For I need said manhood for producing multiple offspring in the coming years. Strapping young boys." He added what he thought was a manly grunt for effect, and patted himself on the back, literally, for a job well done.

"Alright, then," the large lady replied, letting the leggings issue drop. "You’ll make a fine fairy."

Orli spit out his non-fat latte cooler all over Billy, and the costume fitter.

"What do you mean?" he asked, malice in his voice. "I’m no fairy! Why would you think that? It’s the hair, isn’t it? Too long? Too much SHINE?!?" He started hyperventilating.

"No, no!" the costume lady soothed, handing him a paper bag she kept in her pocket for trying moments such as these for him to huff and wheeze into. "I meant elf, if you follow me. Same difference, right?"

Orli rolled his eyes, and tossed the bag to the floor.

"Not at *all* the same," he said crossly. "See, fairies scamper about in leotards fulfilling wishes and what not, and elves tear cross country slaughtering various fell beasts."

Billy, highly disturbed to realize he didn’t quite mind being drenched in Orli’s spit, especially since it was low fat, readily agreed.

"And as for you, Mr. Hobbit, well, you’re going to be mostly in prosthetics anyway," the large lady babbled on. "Hmm, you’re going to need a wig... and some britches. How do you feel about pointed ears?"

"Just fine," Billy replied dazedly, yawning.

Just then, the door to the costume room opened, and Peter Jackson came bouncing in with two short men next to him.

"I’ve brought you two more Hobbits," PJ explained. "This is Elijah Wood, and Sean Astin. I hope you’ll all get to know each other and get to be lifelong friends." He paused. "Or else."

Exit Peter Jackson.

Elijah and Sean stood around awkwardly, rocking back and forth on the heels of their feet. Billy stepped forward and stuck out a hand.

"Pleased to meet ya," he said with a large grin. "Name’s Billy Boyd. I’ll be Pippin. This here is Orlando Bloom... Legolas."

"Hi," replied Elijah, immediately enchanted by Billy’s accent. "Very NICE to meet you two."

Sean was too busy checking out the safety aspects of the room.

"So..." Orli started, glancing around the room. "You’re um... you’re all pretty wee, yeah?"

The look of defiance on each of the other guys’ faces was Orli’s first clue that he had offended them.

"Ah, not that I notice that kind of thing," Orli said quickly. He then panicked. "Not that I noticed, like, anything at all! I mean, come on man, look how tall I am... anyone is bound to be wee compared to me." He took a deep breath. "Ohhh, dear... here we all are... and I just broke it off with a girlfriend. Yup. My girlfriend... who is now an ex. My ex-girlfreind. As it were."

"Sucks," mumbled Sean, Elijah, and Billy.

"Sure does. Cryin’ shame, man," agreed Orli. "Tragedy even. But that’s the price you pay. It’s the way it goes. Sacrifices happen."

Billy, Elijah, and Sean gave him an odd look.

"If you say so, dude," said Elijah. Orli sighed with relief that the guys had believed his feigned sorrow.

"WELL STONE THE CROWS, LOOK WHO’S HERE!!" came a voice from in the hallway. Everyone looked up with mild interest as Dominic Monaghan walked into the room, his presence louder than anything any of them could imagine. He hugged and kissed everyone in the room, leaving everyone completely shocked.

"Alright, now, my name is Dom. Let’s go in a circle and each state our names and role and or business," Dom said gaily. "Merry, by the way."

"Sean Astin," Sean stated. "Samwise Gamgee."

"Frodo," stammered Elijah. "Uh, Elijah Wood."

"INDEEEEED," boomed Dom.

"Orlando Bloom," Orli said in what he hoped was a lumberjack voice. "Legolas the Fairy." He clapped a hand over his mouth. "AAHH!! Elf! I meant ELF."

Billy grinned widely. "Billy Boyd. Peregrin Took."

"Excellent," said Dom loudly. "Super."

The costume lady then attacked Dom, measuring his whole body for a costume, prosthetics, and Feet.

"Careful down there with the family goods, love," Dom warned when the woman got sort of close to his crotch. "SO! When did everyone get here?"

"This morning," they all replied. "Not too long ago," added Elijah, gazing at Dom in awe.

‘Wow,’ thought Orli. ‘That Dom guy and Elijah fellow really seem openly into each other. Hah. Their clever technique of acting gay just to get me to admit that I am gay won’t work. Never. I better stick close to Billy, he seems to be the manliest and least shifty one.’

"Orlando, if you would please remove your pants so we can get more accurate leg measurements," the fat costume lady requested.

"Oh, sure," said Orli without thinking, but as he unbuttoned one side of his warm-up pants, he became all too aware of male eyes glued to him. "Heh, um. Can we go behind that wall? Perhaps?"

"Cut the crap, Orlando, and just do it," the lady fussed impatiently. Orli shrugged apologetically at his new lifelong friends as if to say, ‘Well, I tried to ward off the gay, guys’. He easily ripped his pants off in one graceful swipe, causing Billy to blush a bit.

In fact, the entire room went silent.

‘Oh God,’ he thought. ‘They’re trying to get a reaction out of me.’

"I had no idea you were Irish," the wardrobe troll commented, motioning to his boxers.

"Of course I’m not," Orli said, half laughing.

"Dude," Lij said, staring openly at Orli’s goods. "That’s not what your underwear says." Billy, left eye twitching madly, took that moment to excuse himself to vomit in the loo, and Dom approached Orli very slowly. Orli gave him a look, and Dom motioned to the boxers. Orli was getting pretty sick and tired of people pointing at his crotch, and sighed. Meanwhile, Dom was definitely stepping into his personal "closet" space.

"If you insist," Dom mumbled, and grabbed Orli by a fist full of his glossy, shiny, curly, gorgeous, woman hair, and forced the brunette’s lips to his own. Orli made a muffled sound, and tried clawing his way out of his first real man to man kiss. After much kicking, Dom let Orli go, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"What in the fuck did you do that for?!" Orli asked, freaking out in true Orli style. Dom laughed, and pinched Orli’s arse.

"First off, I always listen to sage advice of undergarments, ole’ chap," Dom slurred. "Secondly, I’m a bit pissed out of my mind and thirdly, can I molest you again?" Orli frowned, and snapped his pants back up as quickly as he could, mis-aligning half of the snaps, resulting in bunchy uneven trousers. Elijah let out a sad whimper, muttering, "bummer".

"I need to go to hair and makeup," Orli proclaimed, backing out of the scene like some sort of gay euphemism.

"Peace out, dude," Lij chortled, his American showing in disgusting proportions as he flashed Orli the peace sign. Orli, being just a tad bit dyslexic, thought Elijah was flipping him off for his flaming antics, and ran from the building crying, pants snapping off, wrapping around his long, runner’s legs and tripping him up.

Dom tried to help him off the floor, but got distracted by the boxers and attempted to take them off.

"IneedtoleavepleasegetoffmeDom," Orli cried, forcing the smaller man off him. ‘Good thing he’s wee,’ Orli thought as he ran from the room.

Standing in the changing rooms after Orli left, Dom ventured aloud, "Now, when he said wee, was he talking about my cock?"

As Orli bounded across the lot, he met up with a man that seemed about his age. Feeling a little out of sorts, and half naked, Orli attempted to avoid the man by covering his face with his snap pants.

But to no avail.

"Hullo, there!" the dark haired man called in a distinct Irish accent.

"Urm... hey," Orli replied. The man suddenly embraced him, and kissed him in a "I’m posh" manner.

"Fellow Irishman!" the man proclaimed.

"Urm," Orli blathered. "No... English actually... just pay not attention to my shorts."

"Oh," the man replied, giving him a mistrusting look. "I see." There was a hint of lust in his eyes.

"Or don’t see," Orli said, covering his crotch. "I’m Orlando Bloom." He would have extended his hand, but decided the prior mauling was as much of a welcome the Irish man would ever get. Even if he was rather fit. ‘Not Gere-esque at all,’ he reminded himself.

"Ah, the elf!" the man said with a smile, and an oddly placed wink. "I’m playing Aragorn, you know, big time roll, laddy."

"Oh?" Orli asked, eyeing up the man. ‘He looks a bit young...’

"Yeah, I’m Stuart Townsend," he said, in a way that seemed cocky, as if that was supposed to mean something. "Stick around me, and you’ll get along fine, kid," he said, leading Orli into makeup. "I know the ropes of this buiz. Doubtless, you have seen my many films...

Orli decided he should have stayed with the Hobbits.

"Cat got yer tongue, aye?" Stuart said jauntily, clapping Orli hardly on the back. "Oh, that’s alright, boyo. Ye’d as like have angels fly out of yer arse than come face to face with a star like me everyday, ye know."

Orli coughed, wondering when the cocky Irishman would get his potato-drunken paws the HELL off of him.

"More the silent type, I see, aye," Stuart commented.

"N-No," Orli stuttered. "J-just a bit p-preoccupied."

"With what? Lines? Costuming? Maybe I can help! I’m quite good at this show buiz thing." Stuart gave a winning (yet losing) smile.

"Aren’t you a bit... young to play Aragorn?" choked out Orli, at a loss for ANYTHING to say. He checked behind the man. ‘But what an arse.’

"That’s what they all say, aye," Stuart agreed heartily. "But I’m gunna knock their Sassenach socks off. You’ll all see. And when I’m raking in all the awards for this trilogy someday... well, then you’ll all be singing a different tune.”"

"Raking,"Orli repeated, feeling dry-mouth approach. He was overwhelmed at how much of a homosexual vibe he was getting from Stuart. He wasn’t sure which was more disturbing: that he got the vibe, or that the vibe had its arm around him tightly.

"Sure," Stuart agreed to nothing in particular, but just loved hearing his own voice. "You know, I already have all of my lines memorized, some of yours, and some of Gimli’s!"

Orli tried to roll out of his clutches. "But what about rewrites?"

Stuart stopped in his tracks. "Damn! Who else needs a hug?"

Orli broke free and ran like hell for the hair and makeup studio. He didn’t care that he had just probably offended Aragorn, and didn’t feel like Stuart actually understood that he was being deserted. Orli composed himself outside of the hair and makeup studio, straightened out his pants, straightened out his sexuality, and sauntered in.

"Ah, there’s our Elf," greeted the makeup lady.

Orli jerked his head over to her and nodded in acknowledgment. He realized that he would have to get VERY used to being referred to as the “elf”. He rather liked the label, as he had read some Tolkien as a wee and remembered the elves as being a particularly beautiful race, even the males. Yes, he could deal with that. He knew admitting to himself that he liked being an Elf meant that the gay had take over him a bit more, but he could deal with that, too.

Like, at least he had his gorgeous hair and bedroom eyes, still.

"Orlando, come over here for a contact fitting, please," called the makeup mistress, waving a packet of deep blue contacts around.

Orli coughed. "Excuse me, I thought you said *my* name."

"I did." Eye roll.

"Ah." Orli crept over to the contact lady and sat down in the chair next to her. "So... contacts, eh?"

"That’s right," she said flatly, holding one of Orli’s eyes firmly open and shoving a blue contact into his eyeball much to his anguish and dismay. Before he could react, she held his other eyeball wide open, and stuck the contact squarely into that eyeball, too.

Orli looked around the room with blurred vision, blinking dumbly as to find some focus. He kept blinking as a huge figure walked toward him.

"And if this isn’t the Elf," a deep, gravelly voice spoke slowly, friendly. Orli blinked three more times as the face of John Rhys-Davies came into focus.

"Yes," he replied. "And you’re... the dwarf?"

"The very same," John replied proudly. "I’m being fitted for prosthetics. It’s a nasty business, but I am willing to wear anything for the goodness of the movie."

"Who’s that?" asked Orli, pointing. "That your son?"

John turned around and shook his head quickly. "No, it grieves me to think you even thought that." He sighed. "That is my scale double. We will be working rather intimately over the next couple years..."

"Excellent," replied Orli, still blinking things into focus. "Well, I should probably get over to... you know, more makeup and hair."

Orli walked away from the dwarf and his double, and stopped in front of a mirror. He peered at himself with new blue eyes, and decided that it was such a vivid and beautiful blue that he was still some pretty sexy stuff.

Over at hair, he sat down in a chair, prepared to just have a simple bobby-pinning job. When the hair ladies began fussing over him in a way that they were waving scissors at his locks, he began to get very worried.

"It’s always bad news when they whip the scissors out," said a high pitched voice next to Orli. Orli looked to his right and saw Liv Tyler sitting in the next chair over, getting her hair worked on by three stylists. Orli tilted his head in wonderment at how lovely her hair and skin were.

"Yes," he mumbled, staring.

Liv giggled. "But hair grows back, and you’ll be wearing an Elven wig the whole time anyway."

Orli snapped out of it. "Oh, no," he told her. "I’m not cutting my hair."

Liv gave him a funny look. "Okay."

"Actually, love, you are," said a fussy hair stylist, the one that was waving the scissors around earlier.

"I am what?" Orli asked, trying to play dumb.

"Cutting your hair."

"A Mohawk would look really hot," Liv spoke up helpfully.

Orli, pretty aware that his gay was showing hardcore, sent Liv a winning (and not so losing) smile. "Scare up a Mohawk for the pretty lady," he boomed in his manliest voice.

"Are you sure, sir?" the hair stylist frowned.

"I’m sure, Liv said so. Do it now, woman," Orli ordered.

And before he knew it, he had a full-fledged Mohawk perching on his head. And blue eyes.

Orli cried all night, alone in his apartment... which was a gay thing to do. Hence, why it occurred in the confines of his apartment.

After having a good cry, he unpacked all of his clothes and had another. He then drank a third of vodka, and passed out in his closet.

He was very unhappy to get out of it in the morning.

The next day the entirety of the cast would be starting some sword and boat training. Orli, though excited about deadly weapons, worried if lugging around a large sword would appear purposely phallic, and give away his game.

After being handed two little knives and a bow and arrow set later that morning, he felt a little more at ease.

He was immediately paired off with an elderly chap who, once tricking Orli into false security by hacking his lungs out, proceeded to whip his arse all across the gymnasium, and just in time for Stuart and an even larger man to walk in and view said whipping.

"Hey, look!" Stuart called, decked out in a large fur coat and a bedazzled do-rag. "The elf just got his arse stomped by a corpse of a man!" He started laughing, and would have laughed more, if said corpse hadn’t hobbled on over and broke three of his fingers... upon shaking his hands.

"’Ello," the older man mumbled in some strange sort of accent that no one in the entire building could quite discern. "Ize am Bob Anderson, and Ize am yer stunt coordinator, and Ize to wzip ye tossers into shape."

"Fuck!" Stuart screamed, jumping up in down in what was an extremely homosexual fashion, Orli later decided. "I’m this movie’s fucking meal ticket and you just crushed my fingers! I’ll sue!" And Stuart immediately rung up Peter and started bitching. "Listen to me fat man, I’m all you have for this fucking role, so you better jump when I fucking say JUMP!"

Orli decided he liked Bob, even if the old man had bruised his kidneys, resulting in pissing up blood for the next three weeks.

Before another sound whipping, the taller man beside a then screaming Stuart, extended his hand to Orli and muttered something incomprehensible involving a pack of wild game hen’s, and Sean Bean.

"I’m Orlando Bloom," Orli replied, hoping the response was appropriate. The man smiled, and then told an extremely hilarious story of his rugby days, which Bob seemed to find *extremely* hilarious, but Orli found *extremely* hard to follow.

"And swiserhnar look arounme and therhewas like BANG!" Bean commented, receiving a jolly laugh from Bob.

"Ize very yes, onm the side hah, ya know, of ze humor," Bob replied.

"Heheh, and like, then outofnowhere and I was all like and then BANG, again, and he’s all ya know like, man, and then BANG once again more," Bean smuggled.

"Yes, yes, very," Bob agreed.

"Haha, yes, extremely hilarious," Orli added with a chuckle. Both Bob and Bean looked at him with a scowl. Orli let out a few more forced chuckles, and Bean walked away muttering.

"To work!" Bob called, waltzing over to Stuart from behind, and scaring him shitless.

Literally.

Orli could tell this was going to be a long shoot.

"I’ll uh, just... be a second," Stuart announced, backing out of the gymnasium quickly. Orli crinkled his nose in distaste as a horrid smell invaded his nasal cavity.

"Cheers, poopypants!" Dom screeched, sending himself into the crazy fit of giggles. He then proceeded to jump onto Elijah’s back, horsie-style, and rode him around the gym.

Billy stepped over to Orli. "Quite a crew we got here," he commented, chuckling.

"I can’t imagine any of this being taken seriously," Orli muttered, surveying the scene of incoherent men babbling, Hobbits riding each other, and rangers shitting themselves. "What the hell does PJ think he’s doing?"

"It’ll all come together," Billy assured him. Sean Astin wandered by, practicing his helicopter traffic directing hand motions, silently mumbling the rules of First Aid to himself. "Then again..."

Orli did something that was halfway between laughing and crying, but he later passed it off as an allergy to John Rhys-Davies prosthetics.

Suddenly, Orli was accosted by a camera crew.

"We’re filming Behind the Scenes footage for the Fellowship of the Ring Extended Edition DVD, and we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions," demanded the cameraman as a woman shined a light right into Orli’s face.

Orli cringed from the light. "Extended what?" ‘Why are they assuming that I know all about things that extend?’ Orli thought to himself indignantly.

"There’s the theatrical version... and then there’s the extended version. We are going around, collecting footage for the extended. Behind the scenes work, interviews, cast gatherings, just... LIFE, as it happens, behind the camera. You see?" The cameraman peeked out from behind the camera lens.

Orli nodded. "It’s brilliant how you managed to say all that and not explain one thing about what you’re doing. And furthermore, I don’t appreciate you people displaying my sexuality like this for all to see. If you want flaming, go find the smelly Irishman. He’ll be happy to give you his closeup!" Orli stormed away from the camera crew. And that, folks, is precisely why there is not a lot of Orlando Bloom on the FOTR DVD.

Orli wandered to the far side of the gym, looking to be completely alone. He was all too annoyed to realize that his mouth was beginning to hurt, as it had been all day. ‘Oh, great,’ he thought cryptically. ‘Now I’m going to have a cold sore or something, and everyone will think it’s a really gay disease. Beauty.’

Orli pressed his lips tightly closed, only to find out that doing that made his mouth throb even more, particularly his tongue. He stopped in his tracks and attempted to discretely hang his tongue out of his mouth, but he found that even that felt like death.

"Hey, Bloom, what’s wrong with yer tongue?" Astin asked, wandering over to the tall man.

"I dot now," Orli slurred, his tongue hurting with every crash against his teeth. "What doz it loo’ ligh’?"

Astin peered into Orli’s mouth and grimaced. He then pulled out his Pocket Medical Journal and leafed through a few pages. "Okay, Mr. Elf, I think I have you diagnosed."

"Uh??"

"Sure," Astin said amicably. "It looks like a case of Oral Candidiasis. Early stages. Nothing that can’t be cured!"

"Wha ah hell ith Oraw Ca’idiseas?" Orli mumbled.

"Well, okay, it’s nicknamed Thrush," Astin consulted his little book. "Wow, Orli. Looks like you must have the AIDS."

"WHA?" Orli shrieked, grabbing the book from the fat Hobbit’s hands. "Are you saying that since I have AIDS, that I’m GAY???"

"Why, no, Orli, I was just merely trying to diagnose you and warn you of the greater and more dangerous possibilities! You can never be too careful, you know," Astin explained as Orli ripped the Pocket Medical Journal out of his chubby grips.

Orli read. "Wai’ a min, thith ith a yeatht infucthun!!"

"Wow, Orli," Astin marveled. "How’d you get a yeast infection in your mouth?"

Orli then realized that this Thrush might be exactly what he was looking for, as far as his sexuality was concerned.

"Oh, you know me, thucking off every girl that cometh along," Orli lisped. "It wath only a matteh of timeb befo’ I’d get a yeatht infucthun."

"You have a yeast infection, boyo?" Stuart said, walking past him. "Isn’t that a girl thing?"

Orli facepalmed himself.

He decided that things would have to start getting better after time. Two weeks and five cases of Absolut later, things were worse.

His doom came in the form of a wild looking man one brisk Monday morning.

He was sitting in his trailer, which he shared with Stuart, popping a few Vicodin as Bob had torn his left arm out of the socket, and his Thrush was still raging on (though only sporadically now), when the door swung open with a loud BANG and a dark stranger crept in.

The man was mumbling to himself, and clutching a copy of the trilogy. Thinking that another one of the sound guys had wandered accidentally into his trailer, Orli dropped for cover behind his makeup chair, and watched as the shifty man plopped down on the nearby sofa.

Orli was shocked to see the ragged man, who smelled distinctly of Old Spice and even older leather, was carrying Stuart’s sword.

Orli, thinking on his drugged up toes, brandished a blow dryer, and sprung up at the man, screaming, "Dwop the swod!". The burly man yelped as a gust of warm air from the dryer blew his hair to and fro, and dropped the sword at the sight of the drooling, mohawked young man.

"Don, mooth!" Orli ordered, picking up the sword. ‘Must be some deranged fan here to ravish me,’ he thought, eyeing up the man’s goods. ‘I mustn’t trust to hope, though.’

The man attempted to explain what he was doing on set, holding up his VIP pass, but Orli, fearing the worst, ‘He caught me with hair care products!’, conked him over the head with the blow dryer. The man promptly passed out.

Just as the man rolled onto the floor, Orli heard the annoying and high pitched demanding voice of Stuart right out the door.

‘Must hide the corpse!’ Orli thought, drool dripping onto the man from his swollen tongue. He bent over his attacker, trying to force his conscious form under the sofa, when Stuart stormed into the room, chucking his palm pilot at the mirror. He let out a string of profanities, and then looked down at Orli, his rockin’ do-rag askew.

"Orlando," Stuart said, in a lilting Irish accent. "Why are you hulking and drooling over an unconscious man’s body?"

"Iz not what it looths lithe!" Orli cried, realizing what a gay position he was in, and drooling some more. "Wait, what doth it looth lithe?"

"It looks like you knocked a man unconscious and are trying to hide the body," Stuart proclaimed, starting part of the trailer on fire.

"Yeth," Orli said, relieved that Stuart didn’t think he was doing something homosexual. "Thath iz ezactly whath I’m doin!"

"Enough of your petty problems," Stuart groused, breaking a few mirrors, for he was enraged beyond belief. "I’ve just been FIRED, FUCKING FIRED! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? They cast some older, lesser, actor over me... and the bloke’s supposed to show up here any minute!"

Orli looked down at the unconscious man, and gulped.

"Shit."

Later, after the fire brigade hosed down the trailer, and Stuart was hauled away by the feds kicking and screaming, his fur jacket shedding everywhere, Viggo, the man cast to play Aragorn, awoke from his unconscious state.

Peter and Orli hovered over him nervously at the hospital, and he greeted them with a, "I knew I shouldn’t have flown to fucking New Zealand."

"Now you’ve done it, Orlando," Peter scolded. "We’re going to have to recast Aragorn!"

"Sowwy," Orli said, blushing. He then realized the trash that PJ had cast for Aragorn the first time, and decided that perhaps this second Aragorn was a pretty okay guy, and pretty sexy, too. "Yeth, yeth. Lithen, Peej, I don’ think thith guy ith dead okay."

"Well, of course I’m NOT," bemoaned the man in traction called Viggo. "I dropped everything to fly out here and be this Aragorn guy, and I’m going to fucking do it. I’m not letting my son down for no one."

He then passed out again.

Peter Jackson and Orli’s eyes watered upon hearing that statement.

"Oh, Peej," Orli whispered, gazing at the bruised man. "No offense, but now THIS is how you cast Aragorn."

"Couldn’t have said it better myself," whispered Peter Jackson, careful not to scare the man away. He stood up to go bribe the head nurse for some discharge papers.

Orli inched a little closer to Viggo. "I don’t know if you can hear me," Orli said softly, confessing, his Thrush absent for the moment. "But I have something to confess. You see, I realized that I was gay right before I came here. Not the hospital, but New Zealand. I realized I was gay while I was eating my girlfriend out."

Viggo stirred, but didn’t appear to have awaken.

Orli leaned an elbow on the hospital bed. "And not that there’s anything wrong with that." He paused, staring tenderly at the unconscious man. "It’s just a lot to realize for someone who thought they had their life figured out for twenty-something years."

Orli scratched his head.

"Actually, I guess I always new on some level. You know, the Richard Gere Addition." Orli chuckled to himself, finally feeling 100% accepting of himself. "Like I remember one time with my sister-.."

"Ruurrr," Viggo moaned, stirring.

"Woah," Orli said, backing off a bit. Viggo seemed to be quiet again after a moment, so Orli leaned an elbow back on his bed. "Like I was saying. My sister Samantha and I used to pretend to be-..."

"Quiet," muttered Viggo, turning his head slightly back and forth.

"I beg your pardon?" Orli replied, putting a hand on his hip.

Viggo’s eyes blinked open. "Kid, I would have been able to tell how homosexual you were even unconscious. I didn’t need to listen to that whole spiel."

"Oh," Orli said carefully. "Well, next time, you should let someone know before you just listen freely to their private spiel. Okay?"

"Okay," agreed Viggo.

They were silent for a few moments.

"So you could tell, huh?"

"From a mile away."

"That’s not fair, Viggo."

"Well then you shouldn’t display it so obviously."

"No one else could ever tell!"

Viggo raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

"Oh," Orli replied dumbly.

Silence for a few moments.

"And just so you know, Viggo, you need to work a little harder at hiding yours, too."

"Ahh... shit."

"No, it’s cool, man."

"Not for my son."

"I won’t go there."

"I’ll thank you for that."

Peter Jackson came bustling back, waving discharge papers at Viggo. "Oh, good! Yer awake! Come on, let’s get out of here and start your TRAINING."

He began walking out of the hospital room, with Orli and Viggo close in tow.

"You know," Viggo said quietly. "He seemed shorter on the phone."

"Funny," Orli mused. "You seemed sexier unconscious."

"Really?"

"Oh ho, yes."

"Hmm."

EPILOGUE

From that day forth Viggo and Orli were inseparable. The gay brought them together. As the two gay men made their way out into the world they never forgot the day when Orli flamboyantly smashed Viggo over the head with a blow dryer, and when Stuart tried burning them both alive.

"Life’s funny like that," Orli said, the night the ROTK premiered in New Zealand.

"Yeah," Viggo replied, settling himself into the theater seats. "I still find it crazy that no one discovered our gay, and that your thrush mysteriously disappeared the moment you spoke to me at the hospital."

"It was meant to be," Orli whispered, as the lights went down. "Besides, I was just faking the thrush so everyone would think I was straight."

"Then you drooled all over me on *purpose*?"

"Well, the simple answer to that is yes."

"Leash in your gay, Orli, you’re drooling on me right now."


FIN