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Compromising Himself	By : Dhvana Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 1445 -:- 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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- 1-Compromising Himself
- 1
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no harm intended, no profit made. There’s no truth to this story whatsoever, but I’d have sold my soul to have witnessed it.

Compromising Himself

Orlando Bloom was bored.

Ass-numbing, mind-fucking, wrist-slitting bored.

Suppressing another sigh, he tried to stare inconspicuously out the window to where the sky was clear and blue, where the touch of a breeze was rippling the cloth overhangs of storefronts and cafes, where the sun graced everything with its warmth and light.

Unlike here, in this room, where the light also came from above, but in the form of fluorescent bulbs that were too bright, too white, and illuminated just how tired everyone looked, deepening the new lines that formed on their faces with each passing hour.

Shifting in his seat, he watched the people outside passing by. They were all talking--to each other, to their mobiles, to themselves.

The man currently speaking inside the room liked to talk to himself. Or at least, he liked the sound of his voice enough not to care that no one was listening. Why should they? Every person in this room had been having the same conversation for the past three weeks. Nothing was going to change. Ever. So why did they have to keep having this same fucking discussion?

Why did he have to give up hours of his youth for something he couldn’t control?

Why did he even have to be there?

As far as he could tell, he didn’t.

Orlando Bloom stood up.

The man who had been speaking suddenly stopped, his jaw still hanging open in mid-sentence. He watched as Orlando breezed past him and out the door, powerless to prevent him.

Not giving a damn about what they would think, Orlando let the door close on the silence he’d created. Without bothering to look back, he made his way down the hall to the exit that would lead him to the waiting fresh air.

He stepped outside and, tapping a cigarette out of the pack, raised it to his lips. Lighting the end, he inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine wash over him.

Better, a little. But what he really wanted was a drink.

Leaving behind the corporate offices that dominated the street, he walked down the sidewalk, heading straight for the first window darkened against the intrusion of prying eyes and natural light. He was quite aware of the irony--one false light for another, but at least this one would bring him some small amount of comfort.

He never even made it inside.

The attraction was mutual and instantaneous.

The man stepped through the door just as Orlando reached for the handle, and they froze, standing in the other’s way. They didn’t bother to apologize or excuse themselves, they didn’t try to move. They just stared at each other, blue eyes holding brown, a dozen silent communications passing between them.

It was a negotiation of lust.

First, they analyzed the situation.

One was a young man, late twenties, deep brown eyes, thick chestnut curls, olive skin, a face too beautiful for words, and a tight body draped in clothes that could be considered business casual if it wasn’t for the worn sneakers on his feet.

The other, a few years older, taller, slightly mussed sandy-brown hair, burning blue eyes, angular features that came together to make a remarkably handsome face with surprisingly lush lips, and a fit body dressed in black with a black leather jacket covering broad shoulders.

Recognizing each other as worthy opponents, the negotiations began in earnest.

They bargained, made concessions, made demands, agreed to an exchange of hostages, signed a treaty, shook hands, and smiled for the press, all in the space of a few seconds.

The door to the bar closed and the two men headed down the street.

The growing tension between them made the glass in the windows ripple as they walked by. The air around them trembled, the wind shivering as it danced over their increasing lust. People they passed refused to look directly at them, at most allowing themselves to notice a slight disturbance in the corner of their eyes. Men and women maneuvered to walk around the two as if an invisible bubble of temptation surrounded the pair and the rest of the world was afraid of being tainted.

Though the expressions on the faces of some made it clear that they did, in fact, want to be tainted, and would have given anything to possess the strength to pop that bubble.

Orlando followed the man around a corner and down a few blocks until they were out of the corporate area and in an old warehouse district which had been renovated into trendy and expensive lofts.

Without saying a word, he followed the man inside one of these converted warehouses and into the caged elevator. Up they went to the top floor where the man opened the door to his loft. Walking into the airy space with its walls of stone and floor of wood, its expensive glass tables and furniture covered in Italian leather, it never once occurred to Orlando to be nervous, or worried, or anxious for his safety. Not because of the rich furnishings or a reassuring word from the man, but simply because it never occurred to him to be nervous, or worried, or anxious for his safety. Not anymore.

This was the reason for the endless meetings--and not just this month, but also two months before, and three months before that. He was growing careless. He wasn’t being careful.

The truth was, he just didn’t care. Not anymore.

He was tired of living their life. One of the reasons he went into this business was so he could live the life he chose, but once he became famous, they wanted to mold him into this person they could wave in front of the world as a heartthrob, a sweetheart, a heterosexual. This was one act he was growing tired of, just as they were growing tired of spinning all the incidents where he’d been caught in what they considered to be compromising situations--compromising their view of him, and the world’s view of him.

He considered those to be among the few times when he wasn’t actually compromising himself.

As the door closed behind them, the man walked deeper into the loft, shedding the leather jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. This was followed by his shirt, and then his pants, leaving him completely naked. After a few seconds of shameless gazing at the smooth, creamy skin undulating over the strong back and down the straight spine to the perfectly curved ass, Orlando gave a little shrug and turned around. He quickly took off all his clothes, folded them, and placed them in a neat pile on the table, kicking his shoes under a chair where they’d be out of the way.

Facing forward, his eyes widened a little to see the other man standing directly before him. He hadn’t heard a sound, but there he was, a perfect picture of unabashed temptation.

Orlando’s heart skipped a beat as all the blood rushed between his legs.

The man smirked, noticing the response he’d received, and quickly closed the remaining two steps between them.

His kiss was one of possession. Orlando had never been possessed like that, not by a single kiss, but it was clear then and there that for the amount of time he was going to be in the loft, Orlando’s body, inside and out, belonged to the man.

Orlando was okay with that.

Their bodies twirled in a slow dance towards the bed as they tried to keep as much skin in contact as possible while attempting to walk at the same time. Orlando’s shins hit solid mass and his eyes widened with surprise as he fell backwards onto the mattress, the man, the god, falling with him.

Rubbing together, they slithered their way up until their legs were no longer dangling over the edge. He allowed himself to be rolled over, the hands on his hips guiding him onto his knees so that his balls were dangling in mid-air while his ass sat up and begged to be taken.

A quick tear of foil and a snap prepared the man for invasion on his end, while knowing fingers and a quick smear of cold gel was all that was needed to prepare Orlando. His hands fisted in the sheets as he waited for the plunge. He didn’t have to wait long.

The thick head was eased past the rings of muscle, and once the head was embedded inside of him, the rest was soon to follow. And follow. And follow. A thick head and a long, smooth shaft--the man really was a god, and Orlando couldn’t remember the last time when he’d felt so full, half expecting to feel a nudge at the back of his throat.

And then the god began to move.

He rocked back and forth in and out of Orlando with a rhythm perfected by experience, each motion so smooth, so ideal, so hypnotically dizzying, Orlando wondered if he should have taken quinine beforehand.

Heavy balls smacked against each other as the man began to move faster, but never once did he lose his self-assurance. He remained in complete control, each thrust designed to bring the most amount of pleasure to them both. Orlando’s prostate never had a moment to recover as it was stroked continuously by the head of the man’s cock. His body was quivering all over, his muscles threatening to give out at the electric flashes of pleasure constantly jarring his system. Just as he thought his mind was going to explode, the familiar pressure began to build in his lower abdomen and he moaned softly.

He sensed the man’s amusement, amusement which turned into a groan as Orlando deliberately tightened his inner muscles around him. But this pleased the man even more and his teeth scraped lovingly at the base of Orlando’s neck. Orlando clenched his jaw shut, trying not to scream, but the titillation of the thrill combined with the pain was too much. He couldn’t resist shouting as came in hot spurts over the silk indigo bedspread, stars sparking before his eyes.

He fought to stay conscious as he felt the man erupt inside of him, and managed to keep his eyes open, but only just. After the man pulled out, they both collapsed onto the bed, too spent to do much more than lie there, listening to each other breathe. A hand came to rest on his hip, the fingers idly stroking his skin, his skin tingling at the touch. It was the only moment of tenderness between them.

And now came the part he usually hated, the part where he stood up, got dressed, and fended off pleas for an exchange of numbers, a chance to meet again, a promise not to tell anyone.

He never accepted.

The man, though, the god--he was different. The man had known from the beginning how this was going to work. He’d never had any illusions about what would happen between them. Considering his godlike abilities, he was probably used to hearing the same irritating routine of pleas Orlando received. It might have even been a relief to him when Orlando got up and dressed without a word.

Still, he couldn’t resist stealing a farewell kiss, a kiss that left his body keening for more, but it was already too late--it was over. Slowly drawing his lips away from the lush mouth, he smiled and walked out of the loft without a second glance.

Why couldn’t they all be like this? he wondered as he wandered back out into the sunshine and fresh air, digging through his pockets for his lighter and cigarettes.

He didn’t dare hold out for the hope that there would one day be more.

Inhaling the nicotine rush, he exhaled the cloud of smoke and headed back towards the business district, wishing he could remember how far away his hotel was. Oh, well. He’d just have to keep an eye out for a cab.

[Completed April 30, 2004]
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Compromising Himself