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Sidi Knows Fox-Piss Equals Romance	By : writearts2 Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 1138 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Orlando Bloom. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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FIC: Sidi Knows Fox-Piss Equals Romance (1/2) VM/OB AU R romp
Author/Email: sandyg writearts2@verizon.net
Pairing: VM/OB with the clever Sidi as their matchmaker
Rating: RPS R (for now)
Summary: The intrepid Sidi smells out hot romance for his furless, rehab-trapped friend. Always follow your nose!
Content: Coarse language (gee, my men swear? Heavens to Betsy!) and the sweaty, initial boy flirting.
Disclaimer: No money made from any wonderful delusion. If I made money from all the insane nonsense I write I’d be buying my bunnies diamond-studded collars. Well, no, first I’d move away from my piece of crap house and live in a decayed French castle. Then perhaps the buns would get those collars but in reality they’d hate them. So instead how about violet velvet-lined litter boxes complete with a personal attendant to change the velvet every day? Hmm. Yee-hah, kids. Flash and trash.

************

Orlando halted, abruptly bent forward from his lean waist and nearly deposited his light breakfast of a carrot bran muffin and Earl Gray tea directly onto the heat-wracked asphalt. After he gasped in deep breaths he shook his sweaty mane and sourly stared at faithful Sidi. "All right, you needy pooch, I’m blaming this stupidity all on you. When Dr. Bean suggested enjoying the sunny day might lighten my mood you had to wag your tail and whimper, right? Dude, come on, I thought you were on my side! Yeah, pal, this mess is all on you so if I pass out you gotta perform a heroic Lassie and get help. Got that, big boy?"

Sidi offered his gloriously smelly albeit sadly furless two-legged friend a clever doggie grin and thumped his tail on the nasty hot surface pulsating under his furry butt. All he knew was running free proved more fun than watching his poor, damaged friend sit around pouting at the nasty place’s walls. Sidi didn’t like the nasty place since being there made his friend sad. Still, at least after weeks at the nasty place at least now his friend smelled cleaner, not like chemicals and sharpness.

After inhaling in a few more life-saving lung-fulls Orlando straightened up and used his leash-free hand to rake back his wet hair from his high cheekbones. Orlando’s casual left arm-raising action released the stench festering in his neatly trimmed armpit hair. Great, not only did the young man smell like a side of maggot-infested rotted beef but, even worse, the devastated Orlando bet he looked just as appealing, which actually proved apocalyptic. "Thou Shall Look Sexy at all Times" was one of Orlando’s top personal commandants and he detested ever breaking it. OK, admittedly Orlando’s recent three day long deep depression had led to a nasty lack of personal hygiene. No wonder his armpits imitated a moldy onion stuck at the bottom of a sleazy restaurant’s dumpster!

Fuck! What moron thought jogging was good for the body? All the normally lazy Orlando knew was ridiculous ritual made him feel smelly, dripping wet and exhausted, especially since the damned Northern Idaho weather, usually far more placid and cool, suddenly imitated the sucky Sahara desert. After all, please, Orlando suffered from a bad back and wasn’t all this exertion like, well, deathly toxic for him? Orlando’s socialite mother always thought her pampered, spoiled boy should take it easy so why change the equation now? What the fuck was wrong with him? Gaaaahh!

Definitely worst of all Orlando’s tight, sexy lime-green jog shorts, damn, they had looked so clever in the dressing room’s three way mirror, continuously crawled into his sweaty ass crack. Every 30 seconds bam, right on target, Orlando’s annoyed fingers yanked the drenched material from his grasping crack. How fucking unfashionable! Shit, even his own world-class ass betrayed him!

A battered white pick-up truck pulled up, slowed then the horn’s farting blast nearly made Orlando leap into the more than likely studded with poison ivy roadside weeds. "Sheeeet, that is a man! Hey, pretty boy, nice fuckin’ outfit! Happy Halloween, faggot!" As the blue-smoke belching truck sped up mocking laughter trailed against the furious Orlando.

As he coughed in the stench, well, at least it masked his own foulness, Orlando glared an Iron Chef’s contingent of expensive knifeware at the receding bumper and sneered a retort. "Yeah, at least I’m not some ugly, slimy backwards yins local stuck in Buttfuck, Idaho." Somehow the unheard and, shit, rather lame insult didn’t make Orlando feel any better.

An unfazed by the truck’s noise Sidi patiently stared up at his panting friend and wondered when they’d move along. Suddenly a tantalizing aroma pushed past the nasty smoky scent and teased Sidi’s keen sense of smell. Wow, now he really needed to investigate the sensation!

Orlando swept his frustrated stare around the heat-shimmered mountain landscape and shook his head again. Fuck an angel, he was in rehab, not in training for the bloody Olympics! Why was he jogging? Granted Sidi seemed to enjoy this stupid effort but then again Sidi was a dog, all right, unfair, his devoted Sidi was an extremely special, unusual dog. Even now when Orlando reached down and scratched Sidi in his favorite spot behind his floppy black ears Sidi happily slammed his square head directly into Orlando’s right knee and went limp with shivery pleasure. His left back leg twitched and spasmed. Orlando knew he watched the equivalent of a whopping doggie orgasm.

That was exactly how they met. After Orlando enjoyed a dangerously wicked night in Marrakech sampling the mind-bending hash and the smooth, toffee-fleshed men he, being blasted out of his skull, bravely staggered back to his five star hotel. Suddenly an old man appeared before him carrying a scrawny but rangy black puppy. After his wise black gaze met Orlando’s wasted stare he set the puppy down. The eager mutt raced forward, slammed his head against Orlando’s right knee, crafted his profound doggie grin and began shivering.

The old man bowed and smiled in glee, he showing all four burnt umber teeth. "Finally! Sidi will bring you great luck, young one, although I wonder about his taste in saviors. But fate is fate, eh?" Once he uttered his words the old gent vanished down the nearby dark alley like some legendary genie.

For once in his selfish, pampered life Orlando didn’t think about himself, well, in a sense he did; he enjoyed how warm, fuzzy and comforting the puppy’s solid head felt lolling against his knee. When the wasted Orlando automatically reached down and patted the smooth black fur he was lost. And Sidi was found.

Once back at the hotel Orlando caused such a hilarious commotion that the best vet in all Marrakech made a 3:00AM hotel call to check on Orlando’s new pup. When Orlando wanted his way he often got it. Beside, his family owned the chain that ran the hotel so when Orlando regally barked out demands employees humored him then Orlando knew they cursed him behind his sleek back. Too fucking bad!

Dog and man had been together for a year now, but, although he loved Sidi as much as himself, Orlando certainly didn’t feel any luckier, especially since his old friend Judge Weaving ordered him to enter rehab in this God-forsaken region of Idaho. Fuck, so after a night spent partying the higher than Everest Orlando thought the pimple-faced valet had brought up his Porsche. Hey, the car was silver just like Orlando’s, right? All right, so after the valet argued with him Orlando punched the lunkhead in the jaw, jumped in, raced away down Sunset and rear-ended a slow moving Mercedes containing a German tourist who possessed one helluva spectacular bi-lingual cursing vocabulary. So Orlando made a bad judgment call, right? No one was perfect!

Shit. As his mind kicked at memories Orlando shook his wet mane again and huffed in self-mockery. Yeah, that had been his third and most damaging bad judgment call. Cranky Judge Weaving merely steepled his bony fingers, arched one thin brow and told Orlando enough was enough. He sentenced the spoiled social boy to two months rehab somewhere far over the rainbow from Los Angeles, without a license or illegal party in sight.

Orlando couldn’t decide who he hated more, his overbearing Father or that asshole Weaving. After ordering his minions to perform research dear Daddy had suggested this remote outpost of hell better known as Sandpoint, Idaho, which would be pretty for a nature lover but all the greenery just made Orlando feel trapped and beside, it encouraged the god-awful humidity that sucked life from human flesh.

Poor Mommy had protested her favorite boy’s banishment but when Daddy made up his mind he locked it in triple steel and threw away the key. The billionaire hotel owner simply had endured enough stupidity and bad press from his wild eldest heir.

Fuck.

After he finished vibrating against his friend’s wet knee the now impatient with curiosity Sidi sniffed again and released an excited yelp. The exotic, intoxicating odor wafted above his master’s savory sweat and teased his nostrils. What was that yummy smell? The normally obedient dog’s inner animal took over and demanded resolution. Sidi barked, lunged forward, yanked his $8000 silver-and-ruby studded leather Chanel leash from Orlando’s limp fingers and bounded down the narrow country road.

Orlando lunged forward and almost fell on his sculpted face. "Sidi, no! Come back! What the fuck are you doing? Look, dude, you can’t leave me here like this! Sidi!"

The lost to the world Sidi heard his beloved friend’s voice but he couldn’t halt, no, not when that untamed aroma beckoned to him.

Orlando inhaled a breath and, despite the burning pain in his lungs and quivering in his thighs, managed to break into a loping pace. Shit, this road probably contained gun-toting, right-winged nutcases who wouldn’t think twice about shooting what they considered to be a stray dog. Sidi didn’t own a vicious bone in his entire sleek body but if the large black dog ran full tilt at someone in greeting they could over-react and blam, they could…oh fuck! The dreadful thought made Orlando press his cooked spaghetti legs into faster motion.

"Siiiiiiidi, wait for me!"

************

Viggo looked up from tinkering with his sulky engine and blinked in surprise. What the hell? A large black dog barreled down his drive, barked in frantic delight, plowed through the bright marigold border and launched itself directly into his carefully-weeded, verdant zucchini patch. What the triple hell?

"Yo, pardner, hey, shoo, come on, back off from the vines! What gives with you, pal?" As he stared in confusion Viggo smacked a sweaty, greasy palm against his forehead and groaned in amusement. The dog’s attack should be no surprise, since before Viggo started fixing, or, more like ruining his truck engine, he had sprayed a fresh coat of fox piss over his vines to keep the groundhogs and other destructive varmints away. Looked like he enticed this enraptured dog to enjoy a gander. "That wicked smell did you in, eh, boy?" Now that Sidi gleefully rolled around on his back Viggo could see he was one heck of an excited boy.

After wiping his hands on a hopelessly filthy rag Viggo examined the silly situation. He stepped forward and knelt next to the writhing dog. Ah, good, a black leather leash, whoa, one helluva fancy leash, trailed off from the dog’s fine leather collar. Those interesting details told Viggo the dog belonged to a wealthy tourist, yeah, probably someone from old Mrs. Beasley’s exclusive B&B about a mile away. Then again Sean’s lonesome rehab for expensive wastrels perched closer, just a half mile up the low mountain, although the breed that ended up there usually didn’t bring pets, no, they were too caught up in their own self-misery to care about a mere animal. How Sean dealt with that pack of self-destructive, rich assholes proved beyond Viggo’s comprehension. But fuck, that over the top leash screamed decadent, self-indulgent asshole. Hmmm.

"Here boy, whoa, calm down. Look, I know the fox piss smells wonderful but could you stop mutilating my zucchini? I mean I need that shit to annoy my neighbors with my zucchini bread for the holidays so cut it out. Shhh, boy, calm down. Come on pal, let’s get you out of there. Shhhh." As he spoke in soft, measured tones Viggo reached out, gripped the leash and when the dog didn’t react in a negative manner he firmly tugged the merry pooch away from the cringing vines.

The enraptured Sidi heard a voice that at once sounded familiar yet not but the tone still caught his attention. He halted in his wiggles, let himself be hauled to his feet then he peered up at the two-legged one smiling down at him. Somewhere down in this man’s earthy smell dwelled the same delight that cleaved Sidi to his first true friend. Wow!

Sidi panted in joy, slammed his head against a jean-clad knee and waited.

Viggo cocked his head and laughed in husky appreciation. "Well, boy, you certainly changed your tune. Are you lost?" As he spoke Viggo reached down and scratched Sidi’s ears. Blessed Beavers, judging from the reaction obviously he hit this lively dog’s sweet spot! He’d never seen a dog’s back leg quiver in such delight. Viggo experimented and discovered the prime spot. Yeah, this puppy loved his special spot.

During his grueling hobble down the long, barely paved drive Orlando counted each second that didn’t contain a rifle shot as a miracle. This drive proved littered with "no trespassing" signs but that certainly didn’t halt Orlando, no, not when Sidi might be in danger! A house peeked through the trees then Orlando burst into a clearing. Oh shit, was that dude hurting Sidi or just holding his leash? Time for action!

A torrent of words gasped out in a panting British accent cut through the sullen heat. "Don’t hurt Sidi, mister, please, don’t shoot Sidi or look, listen, I’ll pay for any damage, really I will, I…just don’t hurt him, he’s harmless, really, this is the first time Sidi’s ever run from me! Sidi, are you all right?"

Viggo blinked and whipped his head up. His lower jaw loosened and almost performed what he imagined a snake might do just before swallowing prey. The lost dog slammed Viggo’s knee one last time then he tugged toward the voice. When Viggo released the leash the pooch pranced forward and ran tight circles around the naked knees displayed before Viggo’s appreciatory gaze.

Well then, definitely not the type who stayed at Mrs. B’s cloying Laura Ashley flowered and chintz cuteness. No one who actively chose to stay in her quaint Victorian fantasy would ever consider emerging in public clad in a bright orange mesh crop top and lime green silk jog shorts, no, only Land’s End or LL Bean would do for them. So this magnificently sweaty male was definitely a rehab case, yeah, and the aroused Viggo decided that part of this beauty’s rehab should take place in his bed. OK, yeah, the beauty must be a rich asshole but at least he obviously cared about his pet so despite the opulent leash Viggo cut the beautiful boy slack.

Once he realized there was no danger here Orlando blinked down at Sidi and almost felt jealous. Had he really seen his pal performing their special head butt against this man’s right knee? Then again Orlando wouldn’t mind imitating his pooch, no, not the fuck at all. When he ran down the drive littered with "No Trespassing" signs he hardly expected to see a hunky, virile male worthy of a Blue Boy centerfold gracing the terminus. Yeah, something about a sweaty, broad, mature man wearing nothing but tight, worn jeans and a bemused smile made Orlando almost begin humming the "YMCA" tune. Plus that cute grease smear on his high forehead added a cute little "me so butch" touch.

Beside, the handsome man gazed at Orlando like the walking sweat-fest was still a sexy beast so for that alone Orlando thought he deserved oh, at least a long, succulent blow job.

At least.

The ever popular TBC
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Sidi Knows Fox-Piss Equals Romance