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Transgression	By : IosPillowBook Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 1467 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Ch I
- 2-II
- 3-III
- 4-IV
- 1
- 2
- 3
II

Orlando lies on his bed and watches the flames slowly going out. He feels dead tired, but somehow sleep won't come. Again and again, he looks back to the painting that hangs just opposite his bed.

"You're beautiful."

Orlando's eyes shoot open. He must have dozed off. What?

"I want to see you."

Orlando presses his hand hard to his forehead. He's still alone in the room. Is he going mad now that he's hearing voices coming from out of nowhere?

"Ah no, you're not mad."

Orlando sits up quickly; his heart almost beating in his throat.

"Who is this? Where are you?"

"You know where I am."

"No, that's impossible!"

"Nothing's impossible. D'you see the mirror in front of you? Each mirror is a door. You just have to know how to open it."

Orlando stares at the portrait, then up to the mirror and back at the painting again. His mouth suddenly feels very dry. This is not real. He's still sleeping. He'll wake up any minute.

"Light the candles left and right of the mirror, and I'll come to you. Don't say it's impossible. Just do it and see what happens."

Like in a trance – this is just a dream, a dream, this is not real - Orlando gets up, finds matches and, with slightly trembling fingers, he lights the candles.

"Hush, there's no need to be nervous."

"I'm not."

"Of course, you aren't. And you don't have to be. I want you to relax now. And prepare yourself for me."

Stepping back from the mirror, Orlando shakes his head slowly. "No. You are mad."

He hears a low, husky laughter. "Are you always this shy, Orlando?"

"Shy? What's got that do with it? Who are you to think you can order me around like your servant? But I don't care, I'm not in the mood for silly games, I'll walk out of this door and …"

He turns abruptly and walks towards the door, fists clenched tightly.

There's more amused laughter. "You're headstrong, that pleases me. But come down now, let's not quarrel. I could force you, if you must know." With a small sound the locks on the door click shut. "But I don't want to."

There's a soft wind blowing through the room as if someone had left open the windows, a gentle evening breeze that drapes itself around his neck like a soft shawl and suddenly Orlando feels his uneasiness sail away with that breeze. There's no reason to get worked up, so why be cross?

"Now lie down again."

Orlando hesitates. "And what will you do then?"

"I won't do anything that you don't want. I'll only come to you if you want me to come."

Orlando takes a deep breath and shakes his head, "This is ridiculous, I can't believe that I …"

"Shhhhh, lie down. Feel at ease. See, that's better. Now open your shirt. Don't make such a face; you said you aren't shy. Ah, these modern-day sensibilities …"

Slowly, Orlando starts to unfasten his shirt, fumbling with the reluctant buttons, as his mind feverishly tries to work out what's happening. "Why? Why me?"

"Because I fancy you like I haven't fancied someone for … well, for quite a long time."

"What are you … a ghost?" His voice drops to a whisper, but at the same time he notices that something has changed. The candles burn very brightly, the mirror's gilded frame sparkles and shines, just like the eyes of the man on the portrait.

"A ghost!" The room seems to reverberate with low chuckles. "I must say that I find you very entertaining. Have you ever heard of someone who has lain with shadows and mist or with a … ghost?"

"You want to sleep with me?"

"Ah, yes. Very much so. And I can feel that the idea excites you, too."

The soft breeze wraps itself around him again, skims over his skin. There is a shift in the air; the room seems to contract and then expand itself again, the candles flicker.

For a short moment he has the vision of the peaceful summer meadow, then he's back in this room. He sees himself on this bed. Naked. And on top of him, between his spread legs, lies a man. He holds Orlando's hands above his head while kissing his neck and collarbones.

The other man's not much taller than Orlando, but more muscular in build. Orlando feels his solid weight upon him as he holds him down. Orlando can't move. Maybe he could, but he doesn't even try to free himself.

The man's hard member brushes against Orlando's stomach and against the inside of his thighs. The man looks at him intently, as if he was waiting for an answer.

Orlando opens his mouth, gasping for air like a swimmer in a rough sea. There are so many things on his mind, but there is no language for what he wants to say. No words, only a drawn-out sigh comes from his lips. Then the man kisses him and Orlando's limbs grow heavy. There's nothing he can do, nothing … but to open himself up to the stranger.

Inhaling shakily, Orlando opens his eyes. He shifts his body on the mattress.

"You're getting hard."

Orlando swallows. "Yes."

"So?"

Finally, Orlando understands. He opens his trousers and, with his eyes fixed on the painting, begins to stroke himself.

***

Not much later Miller's property was sold and the farmhouse was torn down. On the place of the enchanted, overgrown garden, terraced houses were built. Neatly cut lawns and tulips in the front garden. Liv often wondered what had happened to the books. Most likely they had been destroyed along with the rest of the interior. What a shame.

Liv's love for mysteries, however, didn't die. Soon after graduating from the local university with a B.A. in criminology, she opened her private investigation agency. Her first case was recovering a stray cat, but as more and more clients came to appreciate Liv's sharp mind and her sixth sense for finding the essential clues to solve a case, she moved on to more and more challenging tasks.

Sometimes, if special medical expertise was needed, she teamed up with her cousin Billy, who had only recently moved down from Scotland with his young family.

At first Liv had set up small ads in the local newspaper, but soon her clients found her by word of mouth propaganda. And so it came that one morning she received a phone call.

***

"You know that you're mine now," says the man with the sandy hair.

Orlando doesn't hear him. Holding onto one of the bedposts he braces himself against another assault. But instead of continuing, the other man almost pulls out, an excruciatingly slow, slick slide, and then stops. Orlando's feels the sweat pooling between his shoulder blades; the blood is pounding in his ears. The other man's hands are on Orlando's hips, holding him firmly in place. Then the stranger withdraws completely.

Pressing his eyes shut, Orlando moans quietly. "Please, please."

But instead of giving him an answer, the man starts teasing him, rubbing his erection against the back of Orlando's thighs and his arse.

"You're still so loose. My come hasn't even dried on you…"

He inserts two fingers, deliberately brushing over Orlando's sweet spot, making him shiver. Then the man pulls out his fingers and starts to rub the creamy, white fluid over Orlando's hole and perineum. "And you still can't get enough of me?"

"Please, finish me," whimpers Orlando, his voice is hoarse now. All this time, he has been close, so very close.

"Aww, yes, come for me," says the man, grabs Orlando's hips with one hand and wraps his other hand around Orlando's swollen cock. And when the stranger starts pounding into him uncontrollably, Orlando comes and comes and comes.

***

"Why do the police refuse to look into this?" Liv asks, busily taking notes.

"They say there's no evidence of a crime. Nothing was stolen. The room showed no signs of a possible fight. But it's weird …" The man on the other end of the telephone line hesitates.

"What is it? If you want me to help you I need to know everything."

***

When Orlando opens his eyes, it's already dawn. A pale light steals itself inside the room from under the drawn curtains. The man with the sandy hair lies next to him, propped up on one elbow, watching him.

"You're still here?"

The man twirls a lock of Orlando's hair around his finger. "Did you think I'd go up in smoke with the first rays of light?"

"Yeah, maybe. Actually, I thought that I'd wake up to find that I only dreamed all this."

The stranger smiles, "Maybe you did."

"No, I didn't. You made sure I'd remember you in the morning."

"I just gave you what you wanted."

Orlando nods. "Yes, you did." He pulls the stranger in for a long, slow kiss. "Though I still don't understand, how you …"

The man places a finger over Orlando's mouth.

"Hush, very soon you will."

"What happens next?"

"But didn't you see that coming, Orlando? I'll take you with me. To the other side."
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Transgression