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Revelations	By : Dhvana Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 1817 -:- 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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DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no harm intended, no profit made.

Revelations

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

That afternoon, Colin Farrell’s vocabulary had been reduced to a single word as he looked frantically between the hastily scribbled notes on the paper in front of him and the plastic clock in the shape of Italy they’d brought back from their meager vacation that summer. Colin had bought the clock and hung it in the bungalow solely to irritate Orlando, who, being the paragon of taste in their relationship--which really wasn’t saying much considering that a blind man had more fashion sense than the two of them combined--had declared it to be one of the most hideous things he’d ever seen. As the Irishman had been feeling more than a little spiteful that day after being dragged by Orlando out to the island of Murano to witness the exact same glass demonstration they’d seen in Venice proper and gotten seasick for his troubles--fucking boats--he’d bought the clock from the vendor right then and there and declared it to be his most treasured souvenir ever.

It was a piece of crap, consisting of poorly made plastic covered in postcard snapshots of various scenes of Italian life. Colin hated the very sight of it, but he’d be damned if he’d take it down.

Unless, of course, after the major way he’d fucked up that day, it might smooth things over a bit between him and Orlando.

Probably not. The clock had might as well stay.

“FUCK!”

Colin looked at the four pans in front of him and wondered just what the hell he was doing wrong. He’d followed the instructions the old bag had given him to the letter, and all he’d ended up with was a pan each of what could best be described of as ‘goo’, one of a substance that was as hard as a rock, one that looked as if he’d mixed a pile sand in with the rest of ingredients, and one that, quite frankly, was joining the rubbish before he the contents of his stomach all over the kitchen floor. He had no idea what went wrong with that one, but the sooner it left his sight, the better.

What it all came down to was that Orlando was going to kill him. He was a dead man. A living, breathing, walking, talking dead man. He’d be lucky if he could sneak in one final kiss before Orlando ripped his larynx out.

With a sigh, he dumped the rest of the pans into the rubbish bin, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and retreated to his favorite chair in the living room. He figured that if he drank enough, at least it wouldn’t hurt quite as much when Orlando tore him to shreds.

If only he’d shown the tiniest bit of self-control. If only he’d stopped at one bite, he would have lived to see tomorrow, to see his nieces and nephews grow up, to see James off to university. Now, all he could think of was all those hours lost to the grave he would have spent making love to Orlando.

But his lover wasn’t entirely without blame. If he hadn’t made it sound so good, Colin might have been able to resist opening it at all, but Orlando had been going on and on for weeks about how it was heaven in a Christmas decorated tin. The moment the box arrived, it started calling out to Colin, singing his name, tempting him towards it, until finally he’d broken down and ripped the box open. But even then, all he’d done was look at the tin. He’d stared at the peaceful scene of a snow-covered cabin with golden lights shining through the windows hung with garland and thought what was inside had to be better than what was outside. He’d pried off the metal lid, saw the smooth, caramel-colored mass and laughed. This was what all the fuss was about? Orlando had been bouncing off the walls for weeks for. . . this?

The only answer was to taste it and see for himself if it had all been a giant prank on his lover’s part.

One taste had led to another, and then another, and another, until the next thing he knew, he was reaching into a tin filled with air and crumbs.

“FUCK.”

Orlando looked from the empty tin to his guilt-ridden lover, eyes wide with emotions wavering between astonishment and fury, and began to shake.

“You ate it all?!”

“Looks like.”

“At once?”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“An entire tin of my grandmother’s peanut butter fudge--GONE?!”

“Sorry.”

“SORRY?!”

“There’s no need to yell,” he muttered, trying to sink further into his chair as Orlando’s face turned an unnatural shade of red.

“NO NEED TO YELL?! My grandmother makes her peanut butter fudge once every year--ONCE! I spend the entire goddamn year waiting for her fudge to arrive at my doorstep. I savor it for weeks, eating only a small piece at a time so it will last even longer, and YOU ATE IT ALL!!!” Orlando took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I could kill you. I should kill you. I should tear out your insides and retrieve every fucking ounce of fudge from your body.”

Colin grimaced. “I don’t think you’d want to eat it after that.”

“Who said anything about eating it?! I just don’t want your dead body enjoying the fruits of my grandmother’s heartfelt labor, you selfish son of a bitch!”

“Orlando, look, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“HOW?! Where are you going to find a tin of my grandmother’s patented peanut butter fudge to replace the one you greedily shoved down your throat? Because that’s the only way you’ll make it up to me.”

“Look, I tried!” Colin snapped. “I called the old bag and humiliated myself by telling her the whole story and then begged her to give me the recipe, but I can’t make the fucking thing work. I’ve gone through half of dozen batches of that fucking fudge and it never comes out right! I think the old bag tricked me. It makes sense--you know she hates me.”

“Wait a minute,” Orlando said, giving his lover an odd look. “You called my grandmother and she gave you the recipe to her peanut butter fudge?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Her top secret, award winning, ‘I’ll carry it to my grave before I give it to you ungrateful brats’ peanut butter fudge?”

“That’s the one, though she never referred to it in those terms.”

His legs threatening to give out beneath him, Orlando sat down on the sofa. “But she hates you!”

“I know. She’s tried to get cars to run me over. She loses her balance near me while carrying sharp objects in her hands.”

“That was an accident,” Orlando hastily intervened on his grandmother’s behalf, and Colin gave him a skeptical look.

“Sure it was. She never did think I was good enough for you.”

“Then why would she give you the recipe?”

Colin shrugged. “Because she loves you? And she got off on my groveling.”

Orlando shook his head. “My mother has begged her for that recipe. My sister has gone through every one of her cookbooks. One aunt offered her a Caribbean cruise. But you. . . you she gave it to.”

“So she claims, but like I said, it comes out all wrong.”

“There are lots of things that can go wrong with making fudge. If you don’t cook it just the right amount of time at the right temperature. . . do we even own a candy thermometer?”

“A what?” Colin blinked, staring at his lover. Candy needed a thermometer? Where the fuck would he stick it?

“I didn’t think so,” Orlando sighed. “You’ve probably got all the ingredients right, but you’re messing up the actual cooking part.”

“The cooking part. . .” The significance of this revelation was slowly dawning on Colin. “So what you’re saying is you think she gave me the real deal?”

“I think so,” Orlando nodded, his lips slightly curling at the corners.

“Then. . . she doesn’t hate me?”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I think you might have finally won her grudging acceptance.”

A huge grin settled on Colin’s face. “She likes me. The old bag really likes me.”

Chuckling, Orlando walked over to the Irishman and sat down on his lap, a pair of arms instantly wrapping around his waist. “I guess this means you’re officially part of the family now. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“But I’m still angry about the fudge.”

“I’ll get it right, I promise. I’ll even go out and buy one of those thermometer things, and then you’ll be able to have it all year round.”

“Once a year is enough,” Orlando said, resting his head on Colin’s shoulder. “Well, twice. Three times, at the very most.”

“Now who’s the greedy bastard,” Colin teased, a hand coming to rest on the inside of Orlando’s thigh.

“You are. I can’t believe you ate the entire tin.”

“You were right. It was heaven.”

Orlando groaned. “Don’t remind me. You’d better learn that recipe fast.”

“Just as soon as you get off my lap.”

“Well, not that fast,” he smiled, lips brushing over Colin’s neck. “I bet you still taste of peanut butter.”

“Peanut butter and beer.”

“Mmm. . . my favorite combination.”

“This has got to be the best Christmas ever,” Colin said as Orlando rearranged himself so that he was straddling his legs. “I eat all your fudge and I still get lucky.”

“Only if you shut up about the fudge,” Orlando growled, then moaned into Colin’s mouth as a hand slid into his trousers, slightly chilled fingers wrapping around his cock. “God, that feels good.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Colin said, adapting the rhythm of their kiss to the rhythm of his hand. Orlando wriggled around on his lap, pushing against him and creating enough friction that his lover’s excitement began to spread. “Oh, fuck this.”

Removing his hand but not his mouth, Colin lifted Orlando up and carried him unsteadily down the hall to the bedroom. Practically throwing his lover on the mattress, he dove between Orlando’s legs, pulling the clothes off of them with a manic desperation while Orlando reached for a condom and lube.

“You know,” Colin paused as he was about to enter his lover, “an hour ago, I was convinced you were going to tear my throat out.”

“I’ve got better uses for your throat than that,” Orlando said, pulling him back down so that they were kissing as he felt Colin’s cock ease past the barrier and slide into him. Wrapping his legs around Colin, he lifted his hips and urged the Irishman deeper. He twined his hands through the long, dark strands of his lover’s hair and looked into the shining brown eyes, cherishing the feeling of the hard, thick cock moving back and forth inside of him, and thanking whoever was responsible that this man loved him.

Of course, he didn’t love him enough to save him even a tiny piece of fudge, but Orlando knew he was loved all the same, and he loved Colin in return. More than he loved the smooth, creamy candy of sweet peanut butter and sugar. More than he loved the fudge so light he could let it sit on his tongue and dissolve in his mouth. Oh, god, the way it tasted, the little bit of heaven that could bring a smile to his face and brighten up his whole day.

His body began to tighten with the warm coil of orgasm and recognizing the growing euphoria in his lover’s face, Colin held his gaze.

“Stay with me, luv. I want to see you.”

Orlando smiled, keeping his eyes locked onto Colin’s as he arched against him, the Irishman leaning down at the last second to swallow his cry of release. Weak and giddy, he held on as Colin continued thrusting in him with a relaxed determination until he, too, found his climax.

Spooning up against Orlando, Colin pulled a blanket over their cooling bodies and stroked the olive smoothness of his lover’s skin.

“You were thinking of the fudge, weren’t you?”

Biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing, Orlando shook his head. “No.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was thinking of you the whole time.”

Colin’s eyes narrowed. “You were thinking of the fudge. You never lick your lips like that when you’re thinking of me.”

“I was licking my lips?” he asked, surprised, while still trying not to laugh.

“Especially at the end, just before you came.”

“If it’s any consolation, I was thinking of you when I came.”

“Hmph.”

“I love you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“With all my heart.”

“Sure you do.”

“Except for the little bit that I save for the fudge.”

“You’re a dead man, Bloom,” Colin growled, stroking fingers turning into tickling machines, and Orlando was no longer able to hold in his laughter as he tried to fend off his love.

Colin did eventually learn how to make Orlando’s grandmother’s peanut butter fudge to perfection, and knowing just how much his lover enjoyed the candy, he made Orlando perform unspeakable acts for each tiny taste. He even kept a secret stock around just to bribe Orlando on the days when he was feeling particularly horny.

Orlando, of course, knew where Colin kept his secret stock, but never admitted it. He felt that, when sex and peanut butter fudge were involved, a little bribery could be a good thing.

[Completed December 12, 2004]
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