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Drive Me to Newfoundland	By : writearts2 Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 1978 -:- 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
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Rustle, flick, tap. Never had a comfortable, well-designed conference room chair felt more like a hellish, red-hot throne lavishly studded with thorn-infested cocks. Flick, examine, squirm. Orlando’s fingers nervously shuffled through his impeccably paced advertising presentation one last time. All right, fine, Orlando’s top-self presentation had been blessed by George, Adrenaline Solution’s head dog, but the unsettled designer still couldn’t cease critically assessing his art. Of course he’d promised himself no more fussing five times ago.

Fuck, Orlando was a multi-award-winning, lauded talent at NYC’s swankiest print design house. He’d been profiled in Print magazine as one of their hot top 10 to watch in 2005. Last week the prestigious CLEO awards asked Orlando to be on the judging panel. Why then, pray tell, did the rolling in accolades designer suddenly feel so damned quivery, inadequate and immature?

Orlando snorted to himself in candid self-mockery. Hell, meeting the legendary Eric Bana, adventurer, dare devil and triumphant business tycoon, in manly person, made Orlando want to crawl under the blonde-hued table and shiver like a frightened little boy caught jerking off over Daddy’s precious porn mags. Or, more truthfully, Orlando wanted to drop to his knees, unzip, unbutton, unsnap, un-fucking-whatever and suck away at, well, at least in Orlando’s vivid imagination, what must be a whopper of a slick, thick cock. Anatomy stiffened, pulse quickened and a vibrant sexual fantasy lovingly wrapped around Orlando’s already overheated mind. His creative fingers automatically stroked something far more satisfying then 2-D ad comps.

No! Come on, conducting this meeting sporting an obvious boner wasn’t exactly intelligent or remotely professional. Scolding himself again Orlando gripped his slim hands together until his knuckles turned white. Fresh worry lanced through his body, jumped in the spinal elevator then unloaded at neck level to cavort through his brain. Oh crap, had Orlando dressed professionally enough? Now his fingers plucked at his perfect cuffs. This morning the deputy creative director thought his sleek, seal gray raw silk suit, lustrous butter-tinged tie and blood-red-hued silk shirt looked properly business-like yet cutting edge, but now he doubted his fashion sense. Everything felt so wrong! Even Orlando’s trendy, ebony-metal framed and lightly tinted with blue lens eyeware decided to pinch his nose bridge. Orlando possessed uncompromised vision yet secretly the designer thought the slinky glasses lent a scholarly air to his smooth face.

Sure, being the supreme pretty boy when cavorting in the clubs felt divine but during a massively-vital-to-one’s-career business meeting one needed to project substance, stability and stature. Today of all days Orlando wanted to be taken seriously, damn it! And, well, after being taken seriously Orlando wanted to be seriously taken by someone’s cock. Or something like that.

Holy cock on the brain, why couldn’t Orlando cease obsessing? Another anxious squirming fit moved Orlando’s trim ass in tidy full circle. If he prayed hard enough would a few Valium’s magically fall from the ceiling right into his mouth? Prozac? Baby aspirin? Antacids?

Yep, today Orlando feared being taken seriously proved difficult due to his mammoth case of lust-smitten, out of control hero worship. Orlando knew what Eric looked like, sounded like and, of course, Orlando readily imagined what the hottie millionaire smelled and tasted like, oh yeah, especially any thick, luscious essence flowing from that hopefully dreamy, harder than galvanized steel cock. Ngggahhhyesss.

After his fingers touched his comps again Orlando mentally screamed at himself. Fuck it, the comps looked brilliant so stop the damned paranoia! The crucial print ad campaign Orlando determinedly mapped out for Eric’s extreme sport equipment business began while Eric visited Bermuda. The exacting and multi-tasking tycoon personally inspected sites for a new store, so as the project progressed Orlando spent happy phone hours listening to that deep, forceful voice giving him guidance and criticism. They emailed ideas and concepts back and forth like best friends or, sigh, lovers.

During these business transactions Orlando’s strong, unreasonable lust for Eric exploded into intensely sappy desire. Each time the want-riddled designer saw Eric chatting on TV or starring in his outrageously self-congratulatory ads, Orlando wanted to grovel at Eric’s feet then move on to the crucial cock sucking. A shaky Orlando prayed he’d survive this important presentation without stuttering in annoying awe or, worse yet, succumbing to his wayward cock’s happy urge.

Fuck, why hadn’t George given this gig to Rafe, the other deputy director? Then Orlando could have attended as an impartial observer and flirted up a colossal category five hurricane on the side. Yeah, right, if Rafe won the account a jealous Orlando would have sulked in high style for a solid month. The over-achieving designer knew he deserved this prestigious gig.

Yesterday George had planned on accompanying Orlando but suddenly the touchy Mercedes Benz campaign needed his executive finesse to save it from melt-down. Beside, George trusted the talented and usually personable Orlando to woo Eric into finally green-lighting this major, and, most importantly, well-paying ad proposition.

Yeah, shit, as he stared at his tea Orlando thought if he completely fucked up this career-making project then he might as well catch the next plane to the UK and run home to Mum. No one else would comfort him. Hell, even Mum might spank him for being a blithering, cock-obsessed moron. Oh shit, what the fuck was wrong with him? Gahhh!

Damn, Orlando already had his sexual buttons pressed by Eric’s staff. First he was led to this tastefully modern conference room by Eric’s executive assistant, a blonde cutie named Sean Bean. Next Eric’s executive vice president of marketing, he a beautifully buff slab of beef cake named Viggo Mortensen, shook Orlando’s hand with such predatory intensity that Orlando half expected he might seduce each individual finger bone. Orlando also noticed Viggo’s intense light eyes hadn’t proved shy about openly examining Orlando’s tight, young body. As he fed the not at all insulted Orlando discreet sexual messages Viggo professionally apologized for Eric’s tardiness. No worries, Eric’s flight from Bermuda was delayed but he’d arrive within the next hour. Viggo requested hot tea for the designer then he left Orlando alone. His last firm, nearly caressing shoulder squeeze almost made Orlando squeal in lust. Once the door closed Orlando proudly halted himself from hyperventilating.

Yeah, Orlando noticed Edge of the World’s executive offices displayed a heavenly abundance of prime male lookers. From the receptionist to the various office workers the handsome boys definitely out numbered the girls. How opposite of the normal corporate world!

Arrgh, the designer needed a major mental distraction. Imagining his grandmother naked usually drove Orlando’s lust directly into the basement. Yeah, all right, cool. Orlando sipped his spiced chai tea then he inhaled a deep, calming breath. There, he felt more grounded. Everything would be cool. Orlando’s skill would impress Eric, then the millionaire would invite Orlando to further discuss the ads over drinks where they’d flirt in a cautiously business-like fashion. Hey, if the day ended up with Orlando pressed naked against Eric’s magnificent body all the better. Oh shit, despite naked Grams another dripping with sparkling cum fantasy rammed Orlando’s brain. No!

The door clicking open destroyed Orlando’s glorious mental orgasm. Shit. Oh no, not now, fuck, arrgh! The about to pop from sexual nerves Orlando shot to his feet so fast it made him dizzy. He prayed his stiff cock didn’t tent his tight trousers. Fuck, feeling his knees weaken in profound desire didn’t help Orlando’s woozy spell! Stop it!

There he stood, the big man who owned eight Olympic gold medals in a variety of sports: two in speed skating, then singles in cross-country skiing, one-man luge, fencing, decathlon and high-diving. Orlando’s usually adept mind began sorting through the silver medals and promptly gave up. The less kind pundits declared Eric entered the games not to win for his transplanted country but to win strictly for himself. The man was a renowned egotist.

Orlando had no reason in the world to dissuade the virile Eric from being a complete, stellar egotist. If Eric wanted to create an adoring male harem Orlando would willingly sign up for the top spot. He’d dance naked along Broadway, yeah, twirl between the stuck in traffic cabs decorated with flashing white lights spelling out "Eric" while singing, well, with his lacking voice, chanting the millionaire’s seductive praises.

Even as he stared at Eric’s masculine force Orlando experienced another near hallucination. Maybe he needed therapy. Or a good, hard smack on the cheek. He could only dream…

After his brief, body-displaying pose Eric confidently entered the room and extended his right hand toward the adorable young male supported by long, slim legs. Yeah, hell, the classic face, well, Eric planned on kissing that succulent skin as soon as possible. Once again he thanked Adrenaline for posting staff photos on their web site. When George mused over who to offer the account to Eric casually mentioned Orlando’s creative accomplishments. End of the problem. "Ah, Orlando, please accept my deep apologies for making you wait. That damned flight ended up being late. Normally I’d fly my own Gulfstream but she’s in for her six month spot maintenance." The athlete swallowed his laughter; ha, he’d experienced that cute "deer in the headlights" expression many a time in his exciting life. Eric appreciated the lusting expression. Why shouldn’t other humans desire him? In Eric’s self-adoring mind there was no reason not to desire his own handsome face and tight, taut, precisely maintained body. Of course Eric truly appreciated wet lust when it shone from such a dazzling pair of velvety brown eyes set in a face that, well, matched his own physical perfection. Yes, Eric begrudgingly admitted it; another male matched his own glory. Wow.

When Orlando touched Eric’s flesh he swore his own heart tripped against a rib and nearly cracked it. That warm, firm hand perfectly fit against his own skin in a professionally decisive yet oddly sexual handshake. Orlando decided only Eric could turn a handshake into an unspoken sexual conquest. Viggo’s had been more challenging; this handshake told Orlando sexual resistance was futile. No problem. If Eric told Orlando to strip he’d be naked before the last "p" left Eric’s lips.

The smitten designer finally found his coherent business voice. "Mr. Bana, let me tell you what an honor it is to finally meet you in person. I truly have enjoyed our creative discussions."

Mmm, Eric was a sucker for soft British accents; he adored listening to that mellow voice. Ahh, did those sculpted lips taste as good as they looked? He’d discover that detail in a few minutes. "As have I, Orlando. And how many times must I tell you to call me Eric?"

"That counts as one last time. Thanks, Eric." A startled Orlando realized he still held Eric’s large hand. Fuck! As he maintained his sunny smile Orlando summoned up all his will power and released that aggressive, adorably callused man flesh.

Instead of reacting to the unprofessional hand-gripping Eric smiled and gestured to the plush chairs. This moment proved finer than he ever imagined. Yeah, the extreme sports fiend smelled a pretty conquest begging to be claimed but first time to play with the beauty. "Good then. Now please sit so we can review your revisions. Wait, before we begin I need a drink. Do you want more tea or can I interest you in a real drink? I need a stiff Scotch on the rocks; succumbing to a commercial airline’s skills shredded even my steely nerves."

A taken-off guard Orlando blinked then he threw his caution smack into the East River. "Erm, yes, thanks, a gin and tonic would hit the spot." And perhaps the concoction might cut his ridiculously tangled nerve forest down to ground level!

"Excellent!" Eric rose and quickly gestured for Orlando to remain seated, although truthfully he wouldn’t mind seeing that erection pressing at Orlando’s trousers again. He strolled from the conference room, entered Sean’s spacious office, leaned close and kissed Sean’s cheek. "Sean, my man, please prepare the usual for me and a few potent, and I mean hair-curlingly strong, G&Ts for my pretty young guest."

"Right away, Eric." Sean grinned; making drinks triple strength means his boss had something fun in mind. Wow, this hadn’t happened since Eric hired Viggo one year ago!

Eric returned to the room and gracefully sank into his chair. Since he liked being the center of attention the millionaire initiated casual conversation. "So, Orlando, have you ever been to Hamilton, Bermuda? Amazing city; it’s ultimately British yet the wise tourists want the option to rent only the finest sports equipment. As you know I’m opening a new mega sports store there so I wanted to see the actual land my innovative building design, which I worked out with my architect, would occupy. That’s the key, Orlando, let others progress menial matters to a point but you gotta be there for the final details. Once the building begins dominating the space I’ll fly back and check the progress."

Orlando smiled encouragingly. "I understand your concern; finishing off an important project correctly is also paramount to me. One never knows what might go wrong." A slight shrug arched his shoulders. "I’ve never been to Bermuda but I understand it’s lovely."

"Indeed. Walking along one of their legendary pink-sand beaches at sunset is a true delight on many different levels."

The door opened and Sean, Orlando recognized his structured face, entered with a silver tray.

"Good, good. Ah, you brought reinforcements. Excellent." Eric grasped his Scotch and gulped down the amber liquid. He smiled at Orlando. "Drink up, Orlando."

Was he being challenged? Whoa, fine, no problem. Orlando accepted his drink, ingested three hearty gulps and almost sputtered in supreme shock. The powerful concoction hit his empty stomach like a rugby player barreling along on crack. Fuck! Orlando swore his drink had been straight gin laced with a teaspoon of tonic and a whiff of lime.

Whoa x 103.

Eric grinned at the blinking beauty and grasped his second Scotch. Loyal Sean definitely mixed a lethal dose. This time Eric sipped his liquor and nodded merrily toward his assistant. "Thanks, Sean."

"No problem, Eric." Sean winked at his boss then he returned to his office and unlocked a security panel. OK, perfect, the conference room camera captured everything in glorious color. Sean truly loved this job’s side benefits.

As he watched Eric sip Orlando blinked again and felt his drink’s powerful warmth claim his unresisting body. Fuck, he didn’t want to be drunk for this meeting! No!

"Well then, now I feel less stressed. So, Orlando, show me what you’ve developed based on my direction."

A fuzzy Orlando blinked yet again and nodded. "Yes, Eric, erm… right. Well, erm, as we discussed the print ad campaign should tie in with the TV ads you plan on launching during the Super Bowl. Now I know you didn’t like my previous layouts so this time I…"

Eric held up his hand and royally pointed at Orlando’s second drink. "Look, don’t let your G&T get warm."

An already near-to babbling Orlando nodded obediently and consumed a few tentative sips. Fuck, was there any tonic in the second drink? This meeting swerved toward catastrophe! This time he did choke on the concoction.

The desperate to laugh Eric looked properly concerned. "Orlando, is there something wrong with your drink?"

"Oh no, erm, it’s fine, yeah, perfectly smashing." Orlando finished the second G&T and felt his common sense merrily play on the busy Cross Bronx Expressway, yeah, fuck, it cartwheeled between the cars and bounced off hoods.

"Excellent. Now show me your new magic."

The dazed Orlando stared at his neatly mounted comps and almost burped like a drunken sot. Whooo. "Right, well, here I changed the headline to what you suggested. I…"

Eric decided it was time to pounce. "Did I suggest an exclamation point?"

Huh? Eric’s sudden cold tone made Orlando blink in surprise. "Erm, well, no, Eric, but I thought the header…"

"Don’t think too much, Orlando. Just listen to me for now and I say lose the exclamation point. Exclamation points remind me of a cock and ball so since I hate being called a prick ditch it."

"Right, of course!" Orlando hastily scribbled a note on the comp. "No problem. Consider that nasty punctuation dead and gone." Long fingers tapped the comp. "Now here I replaced the photo you thought made you look old with this one, see, and over here I introduced a color field, PMS 3025, that screams virile, dynamic action. The dark teal color is truly potent. I think I…"

Eric’s angry voice ripped against Orlando’s marketing words. "Tell me, Orlando, which photo made me look old?"

Now the befuddled Orlando peered over at Eric and shrugged in panic. "Erm, the one of you on the tundra; you didn’t like how you squinted into the sun’s strong glow."

"Did you think I looked old?"

What was with this interrogation? As his panic turned into a six-alarm event complete with wailing sirens Orlando grabbed his third drink and gulped down another brain-numbing mouthful. "You thought you did, Eric."

Eric made sure his potent frown captured manly thunder on high, yeah, he felt like Zeus directing a scolding bolt at this beauty. "Orlando, listen to me carefully. I’m beginning to think you don’t listen in an efficient fashion. I asked you did you think I looked old in that photo?"

What the fuck was going on here? Orlando’s gin-compromised mouth released the sincere truth. "Of course not! I think you looked god-damned perfect in all the photos or else I wouldn’t have bloody well chosen that image for the damned ad layout!" Ohhh, fuck, no…

A firm, hard palm made intimate contact with Orlando’s left cheek and almost knocked him right the fuck from his chair. The startled Orlando cringed back against the supportive wood then he stared in mute awe. God, that forceful blow felt so bloody wonderful. Eric applied the correct, stern pressure that Orlando savored from his masters. The designer’s cock saluted harder against his black silk thong.

Sexual harassment? Yeah, right; the smitten Orlando wanted everything Eric could throw at him; fists, slaps, cocks…

Although he glowered at the young designer in stern anger inside his soul Eric punched his fists in manly triumph. Oh yeah, baby, he was gonna experience extreme fun taming this particular young buck. Ha, from the accepting look in Orlando’s wide eyes someone else had already trained this sweet morsel.

The millionaire knew exactly what he wanted to do next. In fact Eric knew what he wanted to do for the rest of the day.
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Drive Me to Newfoundland