deleerium_fic: (orlijah even god likes by crimsonhue)
[personal profile] deleerium_fic
Title: Parochial (1/3)
Author: [ profile] deleerium
Status: Complete
Type: LOTR RPS AU (catholic school boys – modern, USA, takes place in some nameless big city in the south :P)
Rating: G – PG 15 ish?
Warnings: pure, unapologetic fluffiness
Prompt: 22 – “school boys” for [ profile] orlijah_month

“Check your teeth, pumpkin.”

“Mum, seriously.” Orlando sighed and pulled down the visor, baring his teeth at the vanity mirror and giving his perfectly pressed school uniform a quick once over. “Good enough.” He flipped the visor shut and opened the car door.

His mother looked at her watch. “I’ll send the driver to pick you up at four.”

“It’s not that far.” Orlando climbed out and slung his leather messenger bag over his shoulder. He shut the door and leaned down, looking at his mother through the open window. “I'll walk.”

“But pumpkin,” she said, her bright mouth turning down at the corners, “it’s your first day.”

“Mum.” Orlando hitched his bag higher and gave a quick glance to the steady stream of students climbing out of the line of cars. “I know where we live.”

“Are you sure, pumpkin? We've only been here a week.”

“Goodbye, mum,” Orlando said, his smile full of exasperated affection as he waved her away. After waiting for her to pull away from the curb, he turned and followed the line of students up the drive. His gaze drifted over the well manicured campus as he walked.

St. Mark’s Academy was larger than most of the schools he’d attended. The massive gray stone buildings were linked by canopied archways, the grounds well kept and the landscaping extensive. “It could be worse,” he said, digging in the messenger bag for his schedule. In the past eleven years, he’d attended seven private Catholic schools. Chances were St. Mark’s was more or less like all the others. “Now I've just got to find the chapel and figure out what I have for first period,” he said, pulling a neatly folded sheet of paper from his bag.

“Yo, chapel's through the rose garden.”

Orlando turned, startled by the sound of a voice so close to his shoulder.

A stocky male student beamed at him. “Hi there,” said the student, attacking Orlando’s hand with a shake that moved both their arms up and down. “I’m Sean, Sean Astin. You must be the new guy from New Hampshire. Florist or Flower or something. I'm Sean.” He laughed. “Ha, I already said that. Anyway, Sean Astin, Student Body Vice President. Welcome to St. Mark’s. We've got assembly in the chapel - only place big enough for all of us. It’s past the rose garden, there.” He pointed. “Big steeple.”

Orlando blinked, then smiled. “I'd never have guessed. Thanks.” He looked down at his hand, still caught in a damp grip. “Could I have my hand back?”

“What? Oh yeah, sorry.” Sean let go and wiped his hand on the front of his navy jacket. “I can be a little intense during introductions. At least, that’s what Dr. K says. Debate coach. Likes single malt scotch. But I like to get a feel for a guy, you know? Feel like Dale Carnegie sort of feel, not like gay or anything.” His eyes widened and he held out both hands. “Not that I have anything against being gay, of course, it’s the 21st century – but you can tell a lot about a guy from his handshake.” He gave Orlando a quick once-over. “Your uniform is tailored. Your mom drive a Lexus? No, a Mercedes, I'll bet. Especially with that watch – that model came out just before mine.” He checked his own watch. “We should get going.” He hiked his laptop backpack onto a brawny shoulder and gestured for Orlando to follow, leading him around the main building. “Short cut is through the rose garden.” They ducked under a wide arbor and Sean pushed open a gate. “Student parking's on the other side. Only Juniors and Seniors can drive on campus, though. You’re a Senior, right? Do you have a car?”

Orlando shook his head. “No.”

“Really?” Sean’s face twisted into an expression of deep sympathy and he clapped Orlando on the shoulder. “Did you do something to piss off your ‘rents?”

Another pause. “No,” Orlando said, looking up as they emerged on the other side of the garden and stepped off the curb into the parking lot. “I won't have one until I graduate,” he said, turning his head at the unexpectedly loud rumble of an engine. His eyes widened at the sight of a motorcycle pulling into the student lot. It wasn’t the wide handlebars, the vintage leather seat, or the aged chrome that caught his attention – it was the guy riding it. A crumpled uniform tie dangled in a loose red loop around the guy’s neck, wraparound sunglasses glinting in the morning sun. His dark hair was gelled up in all directions, his jacket sleeves rolled to his elbows, a brightly colored t-shirt showed at his collar, and he had far too many shirt buttons unfastened, his shirttails flapping. The guy was haphazard, unstudied and casually thrown together.

And Orlando couldn’t stop staring. His shoulders slumped, just a little. Even if he hired a personal stylist, a fashion consultant, and a half-dozen hip, young designers he would never – not in a million years – look that cool in a high school uniform.


He was contemplating the value of investing in Marc Jacobs when Sean said, “Hey, look out,” and grabbed his arm, yanking Orlando out of the path of the oncoming bike.


Elijah leaned hard to the side, snaking the motorcycle around the spot where a fellow student had been standing a moment before. He braked, easing the bike between two parked cars and cut the engine. Putting down the kickstand, he dismounted and snagged a backpack from one of the saddlebags on the back, slinging it over his shoulder as he walked over to where Sean and Orlando were standing.

Orlando cleared his throat and resisted the urge to straighten his tie and run a hand through his hair. His grip tightened on the strap of his messenger bag and he tried not to stare at the swath of pale skin visible between the un-tucked shirt tails, or the way the guy’s trousers hung a little too low on his hips.

Stopping in front of the two boys, Elijah pushed his sunglasses up on the top of his head and turned a bright blue gaze on Orlando. “You’re new.”

Orlando sucked in a breath. Wow. Short, but really…wow. He opened his mouth to introduce himself and achieved total failure. “Ehrm.”

Lips quirking at the strange sound, Elijah stuffed his hands in his pockets as he looked at Sean and raised one eyebrow.

Sean beamed. “Yeah, so Lij, this is…” he stopped and turned to Orlando. “Sorry, Flowers, I didn't get your first name.”

“Orlando,” said Orlando, clearing his throat when the word came out an octave higher than usual. He tried again. “Orlando Bloom,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Bloom.” Sean slapped himself on the forehead. “That was it, not Flowers. Flowers was the moniker to remember Bloom.” He heaved a sigh. “I have got to start writing shit down.”

Elijah ignored Sean, his gaze sharp as he stared at Orlando. “I’m Elijah,” he said, looking down at the offered hand before he took it. “Elijah Wood.”

Orlando’s smile was wide as he shook Elijah’s hand. Elijah’s skin was warm to the touch and a little rough where their palms met. “Nice bike,” said Orlando, and promptly blushed. Nice bike? NICE BIKE? He could feel the heat wash over his cheeks and down his throat.

This time both of Elijah's eyebrows went up. He released Orlando's hand. “Thanks,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Hey, Sean.” He snapped his fingers under Sean's nose and gave Orlando a quick, inclusive glance. “Let’s go.” He turned towards the chapel. “We're gonna be late.”

Sean checked is watch. “Crap, he’s right. Come on,” he said, turning to Orlando. “Father Hern will have our asses if we miss opening assembly.”

Orlando nodded and followed slowly after Sean. He groaned under his breath. “Nice bike,” he muttered, staring down at his loafers. “And 'I carried a stupid watermelon', too. Hi, I'm Orlando, I just learned how to talk.”

Sean looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“Nothing,” Orlando said, hurrying to catch up.


Elijah's hands were still shaking as he slid into the front pew of the chapel. He'd nearly run over the guy in the parking lot and it was his own fault. He’d been staring. Staring at the long line of him as he’d pulled into the lot, wondering who the guy was. Then the guy had turned around and looked right at him. Fuck. Elijah ran a hand through the mess of his hair and let out the breath he’d been holding. He was lucky he hadn't run his bike into the wall.

That guy – Orlando – was like, crazy gorgeous. All dark eyes and coppery skin and long body and man, those curls. And that accent. Elijah shifted in his seat, tucking in his shirt and fixing his tie to distract himself. Definitely fucking British. He cleared his throat and watched out of the corner of his eye as Orlando slid into the pew on the other side of Sean. Elijah caught Orlando looking at him and watched as another deep wash of color crept across Orlando's cheeks. Elijah grinned and wondered how far down the blush went.

The opening notes of the school song jerked Elijah out of his reverie and he dropped his gaze, rummaging impatiently in his backpack for a stack of note cards. Elijah knelt with the rest of the students through the first prayer, the cards held tight as Father Hern droned through the usual blessings. The prayers finished, Father Hern glanced at him and Elijah stood up.

“Gentleman, I give you your new Student Body President, Mr. Elijah Wood,” said Father Hern.

Elijah walked to the podium.

Orlando’s mouth fell open.


“You tested out of fifth year Spanish?” Sean dropped his backpack on the cafeteria table and threw himself down in the chair.

Startled, Orlando looked up from his half-eaten sandwich and history homework. “Yeah.”

“French too?” Sean wrestled a small plastic container out of one pocket and a Red Bull out of the other.

Orlando leaned back, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, how did you know?”

“I saw your file. You must be some kind of polyglot.” Sean fumbled open the lid and spilled a collection of multicolored pills into his hand and chased them down with the energy drink. “I work in admissions during second period. Seven schools in eleven years, dude, that's a lot of moving around. What do your parents do anyway? Is it your dad's job that moves you all the time? You really should sign up to be a student tutor, it doesn’t pay but it looks good on your college resume. Traveling around must have been cool. Were you born in the UK?”

Orlando blinked, trying to keep up. “Yes, I lived there until I was six.” He watched Sean swallow the handful of pills. “What are those?”

“Supplements,” said Sean, his sigh enormous. “Mom’s got me on a special diet again.”

“That’s…too bad,” said Orlando, polite hesitation in the response. “And what’s this about being a tutor?”

“Not a lot of effort required on your part, just point them at a few exercises in the textbook, and they’ll do the rest on their own. What’s really important is that you take the opportunity to network.” Sean said, emphasizing the last word with a reverence most people reserve for deities and super stars.

Orlando blinked. “Network,” he said, his lips twitching into a smile. “Okay, who do I talk to?”

“Already done.” Sean chugged the last of his drink and belched. Loudly. The students at the next table applauded and Sean rolled his eyes. “Told Sister Mary that you’d stop by after lunch. Room 111, down in language arts.” He shoved back from the table, chair scraping the floor as he hauled his backpack to his shoulder. “Tell her you'll only take Juniors and Seniors or she'll pawn the freshman off on you.”

“Juniors and Seniors, right.”

“Oh, one more thing.” Sean pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and flapped it at Orlando until he took it. “I changed your schedule. You’re in the second session of calculus and you have econ after history now. The guy teaching the earlier session is a total tool. You'll like Father Parker better. And you have Lunch B.” He grinned. “Elijah and I are in all of those classes, too.”

Orlando gaped at him, the schedule dangling limply from one hand. “Huh?”

Sean clapped him on the shoulder. “It was Elijah’s idea. He thought it would be easier if you had class with people you know, since you’re new and stuff. I’ve got to run. Choir has rehearsal during second lunch.” And he was gone.

Orlando closed his mouth and looked down at his revised schedule. His grin was slow but stunning.


“So, do you want a ride?”

Orlando spun around so fast he stumbled. “Huh?”

Elijah looked amused. “A ride home,” he said, enunciating each word. “In fifth period I heard you tell Sean you were going to walk home.”

“Oh, sure. Yeah,” said Orlando, shrugging in a way he hoped looked causal. “If it’s no trouble.” He hiked his messenger bag up on his shoulder as he followed Elijah to the student parking lot.

“It’s no trouble,” said Elijah, glancing at Orlando as they walked. “You live a few blocks from me.”

Orlando stared at him. “You know where I live?”

“Yeah,” said Elijah, grinning as he stuffed his backpack in one of the saddlebags on the back of the bike. He held his hand out for Orlando’s bag. “Don’t you?”

“Kind of,” said Orlando, his smile shy as he handed it over. “I know the address. But how do you?“

“One guess,” said Elijah.

Orlando grinned. “Sean.”

“You learn quick,” said Elijah, rummaging in the other saddle bag.

“Hey, shouldn’t you wear a helmet when you ri—oh.” Orlando blinked as he looked at the helmet Elijah had placed in his hands. It was old fashioned, but looked serviceable enough.

Elijah backed the bike out, straddled it and put his own helmet on, buckling the strap under his chin. “Climb on.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Orlando put on the helmet and swung a leg over the back of the bike, settling gingerly on the seat behind Elijah.

“Here.” Elijah leaned down and wrapped his hand around Orlando’s ankle, lifting Orlando’s foot to rest on the metal brackets behind his own. He stood up on the starter and bounced. The engine turned over with an easy rumble.

Orlando made a suspiciously high-pitched sound and clutched Elijah’s jacket.

Elijah looked over his shoulder at him. “Have you ever ridden on one of these before?”

Eyes wide, Orlando shook his head.

Elijah tapped one of Orlando’s hands. “You’ll have to hold on a lot tighter than that if you don’t want to fall off,” he said, his grin wide. “Just lean when I lean. You’ll be alright.”

Orlando nodded and let his body slide forward, holding his breath as he wrapped his arms tight around Elijah’s narrow waist and came up snug against Elijah’s back. He swallowed hard and tightened his grip, trying to ignore the way Elijah felt warm and solid and really fucking good pressed against him. Think of England, think of England. Queen and Country. Gah. The engine roared and he squeezed his eyes shut, holding on for dear life as Elijah pulled out of the parking lot.

At least now he was too scared to be horny.


“You can open your eyes now,” said Elijah as he guided the bike around a corner.

Orlando opened his eyes and peered over Elijah’s shoulder. They were moving at a sedate pace down a wide boulevard a few blocks from the school. He relaxed a little, loosening his death grip on Elijah’s waist. “I can’t believe your parents let you have a bike,” said Orlando, loud enough to be heard over the engine.

“It was my dad’s,” said Elijah, moving over a lane to turn into Orlando’s neighborhood.

“Really? What, did he just give it to you?” Orlando asked.

“Nah, he died,” said Elijah.

Orlando stiffened. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Elijah, touching the arms still looped around his waist. “It happened a long time ago. Which house is yours?”

“The grey stone, up on the right,” said Orlando, leaning with Elijah as they turned into the wide driveway. He was getting the hang of this whole motorcycle thing. “You can pull through to the back if you want.”

Elijah drove through the portico and pulled up in front of a four car garage. He cut the engine and took off his helmet. “Holy crap, your house is huge. Do you have a really big family or something?”

“No,” said Orlando, swinging his leg over the back of the bike to get off. “It’s just me and my mum most of the time. My dad travels a lot.”

Elijah looked at him. “There are only two of you, and your place is this big?”

“Well, yeah, along with the staff.” Orlando scratched behind his ear. He looked at the house, then back at Elijah. “Do you have to be any place soon?”

Elijah shook his head. “Not really.”

“Do you want to come inside for a bit?” Orlando asked. “We could finish up that calculus homework and Chella could make us a snack or something.”

Elijah shrugged, swinging his leg off the motorcycle and putting down the stand. “Sure,” he said, retrieving their things from the saddle bag and handing Orlando his messenger bag. He followed Orlando down a flagstone path that wound between the garage and the house, then up a set of steps to the back door. “Is Chella your mom?”

“My housekeeper,” said Orlando, punching in a code on a panel next to the door. There was an electronic click and a beep and the door opened. “She’s the only one here today. The rest of the staff rotates every other.”

“Staff? Like maids and stuff?” Elijah asked, following Orlando down a bright hallway into a huge kitchen. “What does your dad do?”

“Banker,” said Orlando, the response automatic. He’d discovered early on that it was much better to be vague about his father. “Chella, I’m home,” he called, setting his bag on the built-in breakfast nook, sliding over to make room on the bench.

Elijah followed him, setting down his own bag and taking a seat. “Does your mom work?”

“She’s a philanthropist,” said Orlando. “She works with charities and stuff.”

“Oh,” said Elijah, taking a look around. “Man, my mom would freak out at this kitchen. That stove has ten burners.”

“Yeah,” said Orlando, sounding distracted. “I don’t know why Chella isn’t here.” He frowned. “That’s too bad. I really am feeling a bit peckish.”

“Peckish?” said Elijah. He moved back a little on the bench.

Orlando chuckled. “It means I’m hungry.”

“Well,” said Elijah, tilting his head as he looked at Orlando, “we are in the kitchen. Don’t you have food?”

“Of course we have food,” said Orlando, and stood up. He hesitated, teeth worrying his lower lip as he stared at the miles of cabinetry and mysterious stainless steel appliances. “I mean, I’m sure we have food. Somewhere.”

“Orlando,” said Elijah, sliding off the bench to stand next to Orlando.

Orlando turned to look at him, a worried crease drawing his dark brows together. “Yeah?”

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve never raided your own refrigerator?” Elijah asked. He looked like he wasn’t going to believe the answer.

“Well, of course not,” said Orlando, with a small frown. “Mum says it’s bad manners to interfere in the staff’s domain. She says it’s important to make them feel needed and that their jobs are secure.”

“That’s a total crock,” said Elijah. “No offense to your mom or anything, but come on,” he grabbed Orlando’s hand and pulled him around the first set of counters, heading towards a wall of stainless steel doors. “Even I can tell this is the refrigerator.” He opened the first door. “Or it could be a wine cooler, my bad. But good to know.” He grinned at Orlando and tried the next one. “Zub-zero side by sides. Nice. Okay, third time’s the charm and…bingo.” He bumped the door open with a hip and leaned forward, peering into the depths. “What’s your poison?” he asked, already rummaging.

Orlando was staring down at their joined hands, their fingers still intertwined. “Hm?”

Elijah looked up, followed the direction of Orlando’s gaze and then dropped Orlando’s hand like it was on fire. “Oh, whoa, sorry about that,” he said. “I have five brothers and sisters, all younger, so I guess it’s kind of a habit for me to drag people around.” He cleared his throat. “I can be a little touchy feely sometimes.”

Orlando blinked and looked at him. “I don’t mind.”

Elijah made an inarticulate sound, then cleared his throat and turned to the food again. “You want a sandwich or something?”

“Yeah, that’d be grand,” said Orlando, hovering as Elijah moved back and forth from fridge to counter. He watched, fascinated as Elijah expertly assembled two turkey and Swiss sandwiches with all the trimmings, then found plates, chips and two glasses which he filled with ice and soda. Within minutes, Orlando was seated in the breakfast nook again with all of it spread out before him. “Wow.”

“It’s just chips and sandwiches,” said Elijah and took a huge bite of his own sandwich. He picked up his drink and gestured at Orlando’s plate. “Eat up. Your skinny ass could use the calories.”

Orlando stopped, his sandwich halfway to his mouth, eyes wide as they stared at Elijah across the table. He opened his mouth and closed it. Then tried again. “When did you have time to check out my ass?” he finally managed, trying not to laugh when Elijah spewed soda across the table.

Elijah wiped his mouth and grinned at Orlando. “Let’s just say I’m glad I own a motorcycle.”


Orlando leaned against the doorjamb, hands shoved in his back pockets, jacket and tie gone, shirt unbuttoned at his throat, bare feet peering out from under his slacks. His hair was unusually rumpled, his voice unusually husky. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah,” said Elijah, hiking his backpack on his shoulder as he started down the steps. He paused half-way and turned to look up at Orlando. “Do you want a ride in the morning?”

Orlando nodded, his smile wide and his cheeks flushed as he looked down at Elijah. “Sure,” he said.

Elijah grinned and took the last three steps with a single jump. “Good. I’ll see you at seven.”

“Alright,” said Orlando, but Elijah was already half-way down the walk, whistling off key.

Orlando closed the door with a soft click and leaned back against it. With a small sigh, he slid down it all the way to the floor. He tapped the back of his head against the wood and grinned up at the vaulted ceiling. “It was very nice to meet you too, Elijah Wood.”

Go to Chapter 2

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