| Title: Unhealthy Author: Jo Fandom: Black Hawk Down RPS Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Josh Hartnett Rating: PG13 Summary: Orlando's thoughts are unhealthy. Disclaimer: Nope, never happened. And if you think it did, I suggest you go look up the word "fiction" in the nearest dictionary. Notes: For the Furor Scribendi Envy challenge.
Lying there, all sprawled out in what little grass and shade they'd been able to find. And he'd taken his shirt off. Which meant he was just wearing the combat boots and fatigue trousers they'd all been shoved into for the last few weeks. Working on his tan, he said. Horseshit. If he'd been working on his tan, he'd have been out in the sun. Orlando was convinced that Josh was doing this just to fuck with Orlando's head. Which wasn't all that inconceivable given Josh's proclivity for on-set pranks. Regardless, Orlando wasn't going to stare. Nope. Not this time. No way was he going to sit here, squinting against the sun, and stare. It didn't matter that Josh's trousers rode low on his hips when he was standing, and even lower when he was lying down. Didn't matter that being prone made his belly go all concave-like at his hipbones, which jutted out just the tiniest bit over the fatigues. Didn't matter that the resulting hollow of skin and bone made Orlando's mouth go dry just thinking about it. Which he wasn't. Thinking about it. But, really. Orlando couldn't help it. Couldn't help looking at the way the shadow dipped and swelled where hollow faded into waistband. He knew he shouldn't keep staring, but he did. It wasn't healthy, man. He hated Josh's trousers. Hated them with a passion that bordered on scary. Hated them and loved them, and, oh, the dichotomy of that made his head hurt at times. Because as much as he hated those trousers, he always -- always -- wondered what it would be like to be those trousers. Wondered what it would be like to wrap around Josh's thighs and calves, what it would be like to stretch smoothly across his hips. Wondered what it would be like to caress the hollow of his hipbones. That was what Orlando really wanted. The small dip of smooth skin over hard bone and firm muscle. He wanted to touch it and caress it and taste it. Wanted to let his tongue follow it down to where it vanished into the line of dark, crisp curls. But could he have that? No. Because those damn trousers got it. He hatehatehated them. They were touching what he wanted to touch, hiding what he wanted to explore. And damn the wanker who had invented trousers, anyway. And that wasn't healthy, either. Fuck healthy. If wanting to be Josh's trousers, even if just for five minutes, wasn't healthy, then Orlando would just be as unhealthy as he damn well pleased. Not that he thought five minutes would be enough to satisfy the cravings he had. Not by a long shot. But it was a good start. If he could just work up the nerve to actually approach Josh. Oh, sure, he could come up with a million and one ways to set things in motion. His favorite one (at the moment, anyway) was to just walk over and press his fingertips to Josh's lower abdomen, let them slide slowly over silky skin until they'd vanished up to the second knuckle beneath those bloody trousers. He wanted to do that, wanted to hear the tiny hitch in Josh's breath when Orlando touched him. But he didn't. Couldn't make his limbs work well enough to get started down that path. He wanted to, though. Slowly, Orlando became aware that Josh had tipped his head back against the sparse grass and was watching Orlando with dark eyes. Orlando blinked. Caught like a rat in a cage. Or a deer in headlights, which, if Orlando had to take a guess, came much closer to his current expression. Then Josh smiled. And winked. And, suddenly, Orlando was thinking that maybe, just maybe, he might get a chance to find out what it was like to be Josh's trousers.
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