~"The song that I've been hearing is the music to the story in your eyes. It's been shining down upon me, now I realize. And when the final line is over, and it's certain that the curtain's going to fall, I can hide inside your sweet, sweet love forevermore." Hayward-Lodge ~



"Orlando!"

The young actor's head turned, and his bad-tempered horse slammed its heavy, bony muzzle into his back. Orlando staggered, and nearly went to his knees at the bolt of agony in his spine. As he straightened slowly, he gave the equine menace a reproachful look. The stroppy animal had been slated for removal from the set, but Orlando had begged the wrangler to let him try and reason with Bill, as the actor called horse. He hadn't seen why poor Bill should get fired just because he didn't always follow the rules; if that logic were applied to the actors, Orlando would find himself out of job in no time. Now, however, as he rubbed his back, he began to think that maybe the professional wranglers knew a bit more than he did about stunt horses.

"Orli!"

Orlando made a small surprised noise as he was swept into strong arms, and spun around a couple of times. Sean Bean's green eyes narrowed in concern as he intently assessed his young co-star for injuries. Orlando waited patiently as the big man ran hands down each of his limbs, checking for broken bones, although it should be obvious that he was intact. Then a cautious touch at his lower back made the young man wince violently.

"Bloody hell, Orlando!" Sean cursed. "Why are you so hard on yourself, mate? The wrangler offered you a perfectly sane horse instead of this murderous bastard, but no, you're not having any of that, are you? Heavens, no, not Mad Orli! Well, I'm telling you, boy, this is the last time I watch that brute damage you. Wasn't a cracked rib enough of a hint? Bloody hell," Sean ended as he had begun.

By the time Sean finished his diatribe, Orlando was grinning broadly despite the considerable amount of pain he was feeling. Sean's concern was more soothing than five hundred migs of codeine. Just knowing that his mate from LotR was looking out for him here in Malta made Orlando feel absurdly warm inside, and it was hard not to laugh with simple delight. Sean predictably took Orlando's good humor the wrong way.

"It's not bloody funny, Bloom. You've broken your back once already, you gorgeous git. Do you really want to go through that again? Stop laughing, you wanker."

Orlando threw his arms around Sean's neck, and rested his forehead against the other man's. "I'm alright," he said. "My back hurts a bit, but it hurts at the end of every day, so what? I do appreciate your concern. You're a mate, Sean, and it means a lot to me."

Sean's eyes rolled up, but he could no more resist the willowy charmer than he could stop breathing. "You make me that angry, boy," the blond man said, "but, God love ya, I can't stay mad at you. Promise me you'll get rid of the horse?"

"Done," Orlando pronounced, and then added, "but it was my fault. I wasn't paying attention and Bill took advantage."

"Story of your bloody life." Sean gently disentangled himself from Orlando's embrace, aware that they were attracting an audience.

There was never a shortage of gossip on a movie set, and Sean wasn't keen to be the object of any rumors. He wasn't concerned that he'd be taken for gay, which he wasn't; he just didn't like having his private life speculated on. Of course, if he were to be mislabeled as gay, he couldn't imagine a more enviable partner in crime than Orlando Bloom. Despite his staunch heterosexuality, Sean had more than once found his eyes dwelling on his co-star in the same way he perused likely ladies.

It was the boy's profligate, undeniable beauty, with his perfect bones and dramatic coloring that drew the eye. However, once drawn in, it was his ingenuous, unselfconscious charm that hooked you. He seemed almost too good to be true, too good for this world anyway, and the thought often gave Sean an odd chill. To dispel the gathering shadow, the big man turned Orlando, and gave him three quick swats on the bum.

"Where do I take a number for a spanking?"

Sean and Orlando turned in surprise.

"Johnny!" Orlando cried delightedly, hurling himself at the other actor.

Johnny braced himself, dealing competently with his armful of exuberant boy with the skill gained on the set of Pirates of the Caribbean. He graciously accepted the plethora of moist kisses Orlando bestowed indiscriminately, holding the young man loosely to give him room to move. If there was one thing Orlando required, it was space to move in. If he didn't get it, things tended to go flying and get broken: lamps, drinks, hearts.

"This is Sean," Orlando said, as he turned in the circle of Johnny's arms. "This is so great. Two of my favorite people finally meeting. I know you're going to love each other 'cause I love you both so much."

Johnny met Sean's eyes over Orlando's shoulder and the two men exchanged an eloquent glance. Whatever Sean read in Johnny's eyes convinced the blond man that he didn't have to be on guard with this one.

"I should apologize, Orlando," Johnny said, "I yelled at you, and distracted you. I should know better than to come onto a set making a lot of noise, but I was happy to see you."

"It's nothing," Orlando scoffed, "happens three times a day."

"It's not nothing," Sean disagreed, "and you're going right now to get checked out. None of that, Bloom. Your pouting has no affect on me. Go see the doctor now, and I'll let you stay up past your bedtime."

"Yes, mum," Orlando said. "Keep Johnny company for me?

"Of course. We'll be in my trailer by the time you're finished. Now, scamper off."

"He's a good kid," Johnny said unnecessarily, when Orlando had gone.

"The best," Sean corrected firmly.

Johnny smiled. "I've just come off a bitch of a flight. Any chance you'd ply me with alcohol, or are there some rules of the set I need to observe?"

Sean smiled back. "Come on, mate. I'll fix you up."



"Wow, the Trojan War," Johnny said, sipping some ridiculously old brandy in Sean's trailer. "Are you guys gonna have a real wooden horse, or is it gonna be digital?"

"Do I know?" Sean laughed. "I'm just a working actor, mate. I don't get involved with the whole thing like some. Brad, now, he wants to know about every aspect of the filming."

"Yeah, I know Brad," Johnny said, "well, at least a little. We didn't get along that great, but that could've been because he was pissed at Tom Cruise at the time, and Tom and I were really friendly for some reason that eludes me now."

"So, what brings you here?" Sean asked.

"I wanted to see Orlando. We're already talking about Pirates II, duh, and I wanted to talk to the boy myself before I get too deep in negotiations. I don't think I want to do it without him. I'm pretty sure he's going to be keen, but you never know with Orlando."

"Strewth!" Sean agreed, "I don't even know what he's going to say from one minute to the next. He's a mad thing."

"You're kidding," Johnny deadpanned.

Sean chuckled, and splashed more liquor in Johhny's glass. The dark-eyed actor took a small sip, and then leaned forward in his chair.

"You're his friend," Johnny said, "so maybe you know. Is he happy?"

Sean let out a long breath that fluttered his spiky bangs. "That's a very perceptive question. He always looks like he's bursting with joy over something, but . . ."

"I know," Johnny said, "it's in his eyes. I used to think it was residual pain from his injuries, but it's something else, isn't it?"

Sean sat back, wondering how much he could confide, and then decided to just go ahead and spill his guts.



When Orlando showed up forty-five minutes later, he wondered a bit at the quick, easy rapport Sean and Johnny had found for they were very different people. However, he was so glad that his two friends clicked that he didn't question it. He was simply happy and bubbled over with it, as the three of them made plans and headed off to dinner. Johnny stayed the night and one more day, heading back to California after getting Orlando's enthusiastic thumb's-up to the prospect of working together again. Orlando was sorry to see his friend go, and insisted on driving him to the airport.

As they waited for boarding to begin, Johnny took Orlando's hand and touched his thumb ring. "I'm glad you liked my wrap present enough to wear it," he said. "Did I tell you about the symbolism behind it?"

Orlando shook his head. "Is it a de-coder or something?"

"Smartass. It's no big deal, but it's like a claddagh, and Irish wedding ring. If you wear it with the flattened part out, you're available; if you wear the braided wire side out, you're taken."

"Well, whatever it means, I love it," Orlando said, "and I love you."

"Ditto," Johnny said, turning the ring so the blank disc showed.

Boarding was called, and Orlando made a small scene when he didn't want to stop hugging Johnny and the flight attendant had to practically peel them apart. However, as soon as he got back to the set, he was too busy to miss anybody. Well, almost anybody.



Viggo Mortensen. The five syllables of that noble, exotic, unwieldy name were enough to make heat rise in Orlando's cheeks. Viggo. Handsome, golden Viggo. A Viking warrior-poet from a bygone age, a Renaissance man, and a god on horseback. There had been times during the four-year shoot of Lord of the Rings when Orlando had felt he would burst if he didn't say these things to Viggo, but of course, he never did. How did one approach the unapproachable? How did you offer your coarse gift of flesh to one who was D'Artagnan, Lord Byron and Sidhartha all rolled into one sexy, stunning, self-contained package?

Just thinking about Viggo and the word package at the same time caused a pleasant tightness in Orlando's groin. He pictured his erstwhile co-star in the well-worn jeans that Viggo was apt to pair with shirts from Armani Express. The faded denim that cradled Viggo's unapologetic bulge looked as though it would be as soft as suede to the fingertips. Orlando had often imagined stroking the curved contour, gripping it firmly as the bow he wielded as Legolas, testing the weight of what was clearly a sizable endowment.

"Orlando!"

"Hm?" Orlando looked up to meet Brad Pitt's summer sea eyes, azure as coastal waters. The thought of the beach sent Orlando's thoughts wandering again. Viggo wet.

"Hey, Bloom," Brad said more loudly. "Are you coming, or what?"

Orlando made the effort to focus on his famous co-star. Despite the fact that Orlando had been in four of the most successful movies of modern times, he still thought of people like Brad, and Keanu, and Tom Cruise as stars. Though he knew in a peripheral sort of way that he was enormously popular with the movie-going public, it hardly seemed real. No matter how many times he had trod the red carpet while flashbulbs exploded and crowds called out his name, he was surprised and flattered each time.

Realizing abruptly that he was keeping Mr. Brad Pitt waiting, Orlando smacked his forehead. "Sorry, Brad, I was woolgathering. I don't have a clue why I'm such a space case today, but I'll concentrate harder, I promise."

Brad shrugged. "It's just sword practice, man. You've got that shit down cold. I'm the one who needs it."

"No! You're really good."

"You don't have to say that," Brad said. "I can swing the damn thing convincingly now, but I don't look as good doing it as you do."

"Umh, thanks," was Orlando's brilliant response. 'Why am I being such an utter gob-smacked wank,' he thought, 'I'm going to be working with this bloke pretty much all day, every day for months. I can't be star-struck.'

"Orlando?"

"Um-hm?"

"Man, you were gone again. Do you do that a lot? It's kinda freaky."

"I've just been distracted the last few days," Orlando mumbled.

"Anything to do with your visitor from the States?" Brad asked sardonically.

At his tone, a crease appeared briefly between Orlando's winged eyebrows before it smoothed out again. "Come on," he smiled, "I'm going to kick your ass today, mate."

Brad grinned. "Cool. Make me sweat a little out there, Bloom," he said good-naturedly. "Hey, I can't keep calling you Bloom. It's like calling you Petal or freaking Bambi for Godsakes, but what's my alternative? Orlando? That's a real pretty name, but three syllables? I'm too lazy for three syllables."

"Some of my friends call me Orli."

Brad laughed. "I'll bet they do, and I'll bet they call you often, but no, I can't call you that either."

"Well, I'm sorry, mate, but I've got nothing else for you."

"It'll come to me," Brad said, as he opened the door of the pre-fab metal building that was used for weapon training.

An hour and a half later, both actors were getting short of breath and their bare torsos were covered with a glistening layer of hard-earned sweat. The swordmaster called a halt, and praised both men for their improvements.

"So Paris," Brad said, as he threw a towel at Orlando's head, "You wanna grab a brew?"

Orlando's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline, not at the name, but at the question. Grab a brew? It was so mid-western! Orlando had never had opportunity to hang with what he thought of as real Americans from the heartland. All of the Americans he'd met thus far were like Viggo, people who were actually citizens of a magical, mythical state called Make-Believe in the great nation of Art. Brad seemed very down to earth, despite his massive fame, and the fact that, my God, the guy got to go home at the end of the day and snog Jennifer Aniston!

"Hey!" Brad snapped Orlando's butt with his towel.

"Ow!" Orlando yelped. "Okay, dude. Let's grab a brew."

"Fuckin' A," Brad easily outdid his co-star's attempt at middle Americanese.



"What?" Orlando looked somewhat unsteadily across the table at Brad. He had been surprised when the car had stopped in front of the hottest club in town, and again, a bit naively, he supposed, when Brad had requested a private room, but nothing had surprised him as much as the question he thought he'd just been asked.

"I said, what's it like to kiss another guy?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said." Orlando picked up his drink and took a healthy swallow. "What makes you think I'd know?"

"Dude," Brad leaned across the small table, "I saw pictures from your last premiere. If you and that Viggo guy weren't kissing, just what the hell were you doing? Sharing gum?"

Orlando cursed the ready blush that warmed his cheeks; alcohol only seemed to make it worse. Why did Brad have to bring up the premiere? Orlando vividly recalled the feel of Viggo's lips like a brand on his skin. The man had kissed him. Right in front of a thousand people, Viggo had kissed him, leaving him weak-kneed and scatter-brained to drift through the rest of the event in a trance of arousal. And that was the last time he'd seen Viggo.

"Cheesy rice, Bloom!" Brad knocked on Orlando's forehead. "What the hell were you thinkin' about? Your eyes went all misty for a minute. It looked like you were waitin' for me to kiss you."

"I thought you'd settled on calling me Paris," Orlando recovered enough wit to say.

"Don't change the subject. Do you wanna help me with this, or not?"

"Well, do you want me to describe it for you, or were you hinting for a demonstration?"

"Are you mocking me, man? I'm serious. I'm not gonna tell you what it is, but I'm considering a role, a bisexual role in a very small production. I'll have to make-out with at least one guy, if I decide to do it. Jen thinks it's a good idea. Anyway, I don't even know if I can kiss a guy without, you know, reacting negatively. I thought I'd get a few beers in us and bring the subject up. Who knew? You might just say, sure, Brad, pucker up."

Orlando put the beer bottle to his lips, and took another long drink. "And why did you pick me. There's a dozen gay men on the set, at least."

"None as pretty as you. If I'm gonna cozy up to another guy, he'd have to be the best-lookin' guy on the freakin' planet, you know? Just watchin' you drink that beer makes me think I could kiss you without losin' my lunch."

"Wow. That's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

"I ain't lookin' for romance," Brad said, "I just wanna get some lip."

Orlando laughed. "Sure Brad, pucker up," he said between giggles.

"What? Right now? No, man, I gotta lead up to it. I'll let you know when I'm ready."

Orlando laughed again. "Fine. You work up to it, but I warn you, if I don't get flowers and dinner, you don't get past first base."

"Don't bet on it," Brad topped him again. "I've soaked up about enough alcohol. How 'bout you? One for the road?"

"God, no," Orlando said, "I should've quit two beers ago."

"Come, Paris," Brad said, as he hauled Orlando out of his chair, "our chariot awaits."

"I'm not calling you Achilles off the set," Orlando said, as he swayed a bit on his feet.

"Good," Brad answered, slipping an arm around Orlando's shoulders as they neared the front entrance.

The big bouncer opened the door for the two actors, and they stepped out to find that someone had called the press. Flashbulbs popped, videocams whirred, and disembodied voices called out questions in heavily accented English.

"You wanna know somethin' weird?" Brad said. "I'm ready now."

Orlando's eyes widened in surprise, as Brad's arm tightened around him, and Brad's face dipped toward him. Stunned, he didn't react as Brad's lips moved on his in expert mimicry of passion. All he could manage was to clutch reflexively at the man's shoulders when Brad bent him backward to give the photographers on the left a better angle. Then Brad was sweeping Orlando's inebriated ass into the limo, and they were driving away.

Orlando stared thunderstruck at the other man for several long moments before finding his voice. "Why in the bloody hell did you do that?" he demanded.

"I told you I'd let you know when I was ready," Brad said equably.

"In front of the bloody paparazzi?"

"Who? Those photographer guys? Dude, I live my life by my schedule, not theirs."

"What if that picture shows up in a tabloid or something?"

"It'd be a miracle if it didn't," Brad answered. "SFW?"

"Pardon?"

"Never mind. I just mean you shouldn't worry so much about it. I know I'm not gay. So effing what if somebody I don't even know thinks I might be. At least they're thinkin' about me, which, you gotta admit, as an actor, is better than not bein' thought of."

"You're almost making sense," Orlando said, "but I am gay, and even if I weren't, I'm still not Brad Pitt. It's all very well for you to shrug it off. Even if you arsed-up your career now, you've done well. I'm just a novice."

Brad lifted Orlando's chin on his fingers. "Man, if you had nothin' but this face, you could break hearts all over the world, but you got that body, too. You look great in costumes. And you've got that voice that rubs up against your ear like a cat in heat. And, you've got moves, baby, oh, yes. You can be a big, big star if you want it, but you really gotta want it. You can't be sayin' things like 'I'm just a novice,' you're Orlando Freakin' Bloom, man."

"Words to live by, I'm sure," Orlando said.

"You're damn skippy," Brad said firmly. "Decide what you want and then go get it. Works for me."

"Thanks," Orlando said, as the car stopped. He got out, and looked across the roof of the limo at Brad. "I'm sure it's good advice, but I have to tell you that if you ever do that to me again in public, I'll not be held responsible."

"Don't sweat it," Brad said. "I got what I wanted. See you on set."

Orlando frowned at the blond man's back, as Brad ambled off to his trailer. It had been a strange evening, but only mildly so. He'd had far stranger times in New Zealand. His mind drifted again into forbidden waters, in pursuit of something that would probably turn out to be a mirage when he caught it. He undressed and got into his empty bed, and let his fantasies, and his hand on his yearning arousal, lull him to sleep.



A banging at his trailer door startled Orlando awake. He wasn't expected on set until the afternoon, which was why he'd felt comfortable getting legless the night before. He was still trying to imagine whom it could be when the banging started again.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed as he slid out of bed. "It's bloody open."

Orlando's jaw dropped when the door was yanked open, and Viggo came in. "What are you doing here?" Orlando asked.

"A mutual friend thought I could knock some sense into that pretty head of yours."

Orlando stared incredulously at the shining sun god who had descended to his slovenly trailer. He was still having trouble dealing with the fact of Viggo's presence when he was yanked up by the hair, and a newspaper was shoved in his face. Orlando focused on the remarkably well-lit image and recognized Brad and himself in a clinch that looked incredibly passionate even to him, and he knew better. God! What must Viggo be thinking?

"What were you thinking?" Viggo demanded. "Were you thinking?"

"Ow! Let go of my hair, bastard. I can explain."

Viggo let go of Orlando and let the paper fall to the floor. "Let me guess," he said. "You were drunk."

Orlando dropped his eyes in a sudden paroxysm of shame. "Maybe we did have a few beers," he said.

"Orlando, you have a chance to make a real career in film. Don't blow it by being careless."

"Is it really such a big deal?"

"We can't know that yet, can we?" Viggo answered.

"Snogging me hasn't seemed to hurt your success," Orlando mumbled.

"I didn't catch that."

"Well, you kissed me at the last premiere and nothing terrible had happened. If the Curse of the Public Snog was going to fall, surely it would have done by now."

"You're reckless, Orlando, and that's no way to go through life. Unless you want it to be a very short life."

"Did you come all the way here just to tell me how pathetic I am? You could've saved yourself the trouble. I already got your message, loud and clear."

"What message?"

"The one that says, 'Orlando is a useless slut when he's not being a useless wanking brat."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Well honestly, Viggo, how can I avoid it, prat that I am?"

"I didn't say that."

"You don't have to. Have you heard a word I've said? Your attitude toward me makes it quite clear what you think of me."

"Impossible," Viggo said, "or you wouldn't have gotten it so completely ass-backward."

"What on earth does that mean?"

Viggo pursed his lips, and Orlando forgot what they were arguing about as a wild fantasy about those lips spun itself out in the space of two heartbeats.

"Are you listening to me?" Viggo asked. "Take a shower; put on some clothes, and meet me at Sean's trailer. Alright?"

"Sure, Viggo," Orlando said. "Viggo?"

The man turned in the doorway to look over his shoulder at the disheveled beauty.

"Why did you kiss me at the premiere?"

"I'll talk to you in a few minutes," Viggo evaded the question as he shut the door behind him.



Sean wasn't at his trailer when Viggo got there, but arrived a few minutes later. The two men embraced warmly, with great backslapping bear hugs and facetious, self-conscious kisses on the cheek. Sean let go of Viggo and stepped back.

"I've got some beautiful black and tan on ice, mate," Sean said. "Let's sit out here and have a chat on the porch."

Viggo shrugged, looking at the motley collection of lawn chairs in front of Sean's trailer. "Looks like a real redneck Riviera out here," he commented, as Sean opened a cooler and two bottles of Guinness.

"Did you see him?" Sean asked, as he handed Viggo a beer.

"Briefly. I told him to have a shower and change his clothes. He looked like he'd been sleeping in the shirt he had on."

"I told you," Sean nodded sagely.

"Do you really think he'll listen to me?" Viggo asked.

"I told you, mate. Orli looks up to you."

"You'd never know it."

"Well, haven't you noticed how tongue-tied and clumsy he is around you?"

"I guess that is kind of odd," Viggo conceded. "He's normally rather glib and graceful."

"Too right. He idolizes you, man.

"I'll have to take your word for that, and I'll be glad to help in any way I can. I don't think he knows how much I like him."

"How much?" Sean waggled his eyebrows.

The silence stretched out until Sean dropped his gaze from Viggo's with a chuckle.

"It was just a joke," the blond man said.

"That's not the kind of thing I joke about," Viggo said, half-apologetically. "Sorry, but if I did have feelings for Orlando, I'd have enough respect for him not to blab it to everyone."

"Just as I suspected," Sean smiled. "I love you, mate, but you can be too honorable sometimes, you know?"

Viggo frowned. "I can only be me," he replied.

"Yes, you're very Zen," Sean said, tipping his bottle in salute. "So tell me how that works for you? Does it make you happy? Because you don't look particularly happy to me."

Viggo didn't answer. His attention had been caught by a commotion at the periphery of his vision. Sean turned to see what Viggo was looking at, and grinned broadly.

Orlando had just come into view, and Sean didn't think the boy could have chosen a more provocative outfit. Orlando wore a red t-shirt two sizes too small that left bare a tender strip of fawn colored skin above his waistband. His jeans rode low on his slim hips, allowing an alluring glimpse of his tattoo. His chestnut hair was damp, framing his face in loose curls, sticking to his forehead in dark commas, and light winked off the myriad small treasures hanging from cords and fine chains around his slender neck. By far his most eye-catching accessory was the ridiculously good-looking blond man walking closely at his side. Sean was torn between watching Brad and Orlando, and watching Viggo watch Brad and Orlando.

Brad put a hand on Orlando's elbow and pulled him to a stop. Orlando looked up inquiringly, as Brad apparently asked him a question. The boy's face scrunched adorably in thought, and then he shrugged, making the hem of the t-shirt do a sinful little striptease with his belly button. Brad took Orlando's face between his hands, and looked deep into his eyes, before taking his lips in a tender kiss.

Sean glanced at Viggo, who held his bottle in a white-knuckled grip. Sean wondered if a trip to the emergency room was in Brad's immediate future, and prepared to do what he could to prevent it. The kiss went on until Sean had the impulse to check his watch. Then Brad's hand dropped down to squeeze Orlando's butt, and Viggo rocketed from his chair.

"Easy, mate," Sean said, getting quickly to his feet. "Orlando's an adult."

Viggo's unencumbered hand clenched into a fist. "It bothers me to see him cheapen himself," the man said. "He's better than that."

"Brad's getting a major grope in," Sean agreed. "Still, I reckon it's their business, right?"

"In theory," Viggo's words were soft, but his blue eyes were as hard and bright as enamel. "I just hate to see someone so fine degrade themselves like that."

"You feel pretty strongly about it, seemingly."

"Damnit!" Viggo burst out, "Are they going to come up for air?"

"What really bothers you about it?" Sean asked. "Come on. You can say it."

"Say what?"

"For fook's sake, Mortensen. I watched you drool over him from a distance for four bloody years! Fair turned my stomach, it did, watching you pine and brood. It worked beautifully for your performance, but my God, man, enough is enough. I know you want him, Elijah knows you want him, Johnny knows you want him, everyone but you and Orlando knows you want him. Go get him, mate."

"I can't."

"Bollocks! Give me one good reason why not."

"How about our relative ages for a start?"

Sean made a rude noise. "Mate, he's not that green twenty-two year old who showed up at Auckland International in a Mohawk and tie-dye combat pants. He's twenty-six, well over the legal limit."

"We're too different."

"You'll never be bored with one another."

Viggo sighed. "I'm sure you can come up with facile answers to all my arguments, but at the end of the day, he'd have to be interested in me, which he obviously isn't."

Sean smirked, an expression that didn't sit well on his noble features. "How wrong could one man ever be? That lad's so lovesick that he can barely think. For the good of this production, Viggo Mortensen, I insist you shag that gorgeous piece of ass." "Sorry," he said quickly, at Viggo's sharp look, "pardon my language, but how can you stand here and watch that? If I felt the way you apparently do about Orlando, nothing could keep me from going over there, smacking Brad a good one, and showing the lad what a kiss can be."

"I'm not that guy."

Sean rolled his eyes. "But you are an actor."

"That's true," Viggo said softly. "You wouldn't joke about this, would you? Orlando feels the same way I do?"

"Times twenty," Sean assured him.

Viggo handed Sean his half-full bottle, and stalked toward the couple just as Orlando shoved at Brad's chest.

"That's bloody enough," the young man said.

Brad saw Viggo coming from the corner of his eye and smiled mischievously. "I just wanna try one more thing," he said, lowering his face toward Orlando's.

Orlando pulled back. "I said enough, Brad."

"Be a pal. Just one more."

"He said enough, Brad."

Orlando groaned as he recognized Viggo's voice. This was bloody perfect. Certain he was about to receive a scathing character assessment and some dire warnings about his future, Orlando couldn't look at Viggo.

"I don't think he needs you lookin' after him," Brad drawled. "If he feels like swinging on me, I'll take it like a man, but I don't see any reason you should be involved."

"I'll give you one. I care what happens to him," Viggo said.

"You can chill, then. He was just teachin' me somethin'."

Viggo raised his eyebrows. "You're not going to try on that old one about how you were just rehearsing for a play, are you?"

"No, it's for a part Brad's thinking about taking," Orlando put in.

"Look, I know you're naive," Viggo began, before Orlando interrupted.

"Not that naive," the boy said, "and besides, Brad isn't even gay."

"That doesn't seem to make much difference where you're concerned," Viggo said.

"I'm not sure what that means, and I have to agree with Brad. I don't see any reason you should have an opinion here."

"What if I said I loved you? Would that grant me any rights?"

Orlando's eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

"Whoa-oh-oh," Brad commented.

Viggo gave Brad a quick glance of annoyance and Brad stepped back, holding up his hands, palm out, in a gesture of pacification.

"Did you hear me?" Viggo asked the boy, his heart beating at double it's normal pace. What if Sean had been having him on? The more he thought about it the less likely it seemed that this shining young man could have any interest in him. "Orlando?"

"Um, he does that," Brad said, "I think he's just thinkin' when he gets that faraway look."

"Piss off, Brad," Viggo suggested.

Brad nodded a couple of times, and walked over to where Sean stood, still holding the bottles of beer. "I thinks it's going pretty good," he said, taking one of the bottles.

"Are you saying you love me?" Orlando asked Viggo in disbelief.

"Well, I've been in love before and it felt a lot like this, just not as strong."

"I'm . . . I . . . bloody hell, I don't know what to say. I've dreamed about this for so long."

"Orlando? Can we go somewhere more private?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Of course, we can. My trailer is right over there," Orlando said, completely forgetting in his distraction that Viggo knew which trailer was his.

Sean and Brad watched with interest as their fellow actors walked away together in the direction of Orlando's trailer. As soon as they were out of sight, Brad punched Sean hard on the shoulder.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You bastard! What took so long to rile him up? I was waiting and waiting for someone to yell 'cut'! I swear to God, I was half in lust with Orlando before he broke it up. I ain't gay, but that boy can kiss!"

"And you are a consummate actor," Sean inclined his head to Brad. "Viggo bought it big time. I thought he was going to have an aneurysm when you grabbed Orli's bum."

"He's got a nice, tight little ass," Brad said off-handedly, and drained his bottle. "Got 'nother one of these?"

Sean opened another Guinness, and handed it to Brad. With a jerk of his chin, he indicated Orlando's trailer. "Can you imagine what's going on in there?" he asked.

"I could, but it'd make my dick hard, and you ain't my type," Brad drawled.

Sean chuckled, and clinked his bottle against Brad's. "To love," he toasted, "whose course rarely runs smooth."

"Hope they both get some," Brad replied.



"Would you like something to drink?" Orlando asked, and then racked his brain trying to remember what he had in the trailer. "Um, there's water, orange juice and probably a bottle of some kind of booze somewhere in this mess."

Viggo shook his head.

"Well," Orlando shifted an armload of laundry off the couch, "have a seat."

"I need to say this before I lose my nerve," Viggo said. "Is it remotely possible that you feel the same way about me as I feel about you?"

"Only if you feel like you'll die if you don't get to hold me soon."

That was too much for Viggo. He crossed the short space that separated him from his heart's desire, and pulled Orlando into his arms. He held the boy close in a fierce embrace, inhaling his unique scent. Orlando melted against the man, twining his arms about Viggo's neck, molding his lissome length to Viggo's hardness.

"At last," he sighed.

They stood that way for several minutes, neither willing to move by so much as an eyelash for fear of waking up and finding it was just a dream. Then Viggo shifted, and Orlando raised his face to look into the man's eyes.

"What now?" Viggo asked.

"You could kiss me."

"Here comes the part I've really been dreading," Viggo said. "I've never kissed another man before."

Orlando bit his lip, knowing that laughter would be disastrous at this point. "Well, you know what they said in Casablanca, a kiss is just a kiss."

Orlando felt the shudder that ran the length of Viggo's frame, and a warm rush of erotic excitement flushed every cell of his body. He still wasn't sure that this wasn't a dream, and he wanted it to last. Staring into Viggo's soft blue eyes, Orlando tried to convey just how much he wanted this remarkable man.

Telling himself that the boy was right, and that a kiss really was just a kiss, Viggo bravely touched his lips to Orlando's. A shock wave like a massive discharge of static electricity galvanized both their bodies for an instant when their lips met. Then Viggo's hands came up to cradle Orlando's skull as his mouth took possession of the boy's. Orlando moaned softly as his mouth was thoroughly explored, too overwhelmed to reciprocate yet. Viggo's kiss was everything he'd imagined; the man's tongue insinuating what his cock would do if permission were given.

Abruptly, Orlando pulled away. "Bloody hell!" he gasped.

"What? Tell me what I did wrong and I'll never do it again."

"No," the boy panted, "you didn't do anything wrong. You're doing it too right. Just let me catch my breath and I'll have another go."

Viggo pulled Orlando against his chest, and held him tenderly. "God, I love you," he whispered ardently. "You don't know what a relief it is to say that out loud; what a luxury it is to be so close to you. I wish I had the words to tell you."

"You don't have to," Orlando said, "I understand."

Viggo kissed the top of the boy's head. "I'm really glad we got this settled," he said.

"What's next?" Orlando teased gently.

"What do you want?"

"You."

"I'm going to ask, because this is all pretty new to me and I don't want to risk blowing it with a simple misunderstanding," Viggo said. "Are you saying you want to make love right now?"

"Yes, absolutely, can we, please?"

Viggo swallowed audibly. "We can certainly try," he said, "but you'll have to be patient."

"We can take as long as you want," Orlando smiled.

Viggo ran his fingertips delicately along the contours of Orlando's sculpted features. "I know you don't need to hear how beautiful you are, but you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"All my life people have been telling me how good-looking I am," Orlando said. "I've always had trouble believing it, but if you think I'm beautiful, then I must be."

"Believe it. I've been all over the world, and everywhere I travel, I make it a point to go to the museums. I've seen some of the finest paintings and sculptures ever created and I'd put you up against any of them."

"God, take me now!" Orlando exclaimed.

"Let's start with another kiss," Viggo said reasonably.

Orlando's knees went weak, and he was glad of Viggo's strong arms around him as the man took his mouth again. This time Orlando joined the erotic duel of thrusting tongues, giving as good as he got. Viggo was as breathless as he when their lips parted.

Orlando made a small noise of startlement as Viggo lifted him, pivoted, and sat him on the counter of the tiny kitchen area. He thought he might faint when the man put his hands on his knees and gently parted them. Then he was enveloped in blissful warmth, as Viggo stepped between his thighs and embraced him again. The boy returned the hug with arms and legs wrapped around the man's hard, lean-muscled frame.

"Easy, hjerte min," Viggo whispered. "Squeeze me like that again and I'll come right now."

"Mmm," Orlando purred, "go right ahead. I'll enjoy getting you worked up again." He paused, and then asked, "What did you call me?"

"It's Danish," Viggo answered. "It means 'my heart'. Sorry if you don't like mushy stuff. It just slipped out."

"No!" Orlando said. "Be as soggy as you like. I'll love it. I promise."

Viggo looked into Orlando's dark eyes, and felt his heart unfold like a bud that has waited through a thousand dark winters for the touch of the sun. He saw his Spring in this boy, and it moved him to speak.

"I wish I could immortalize you in some way," he said, "but even if I could capture your beauty in a painting, I couldn't portray all that you are. I could try to describe you in words, but there is more poetry in your eyes than in all the sonnets ever written. No song I could write could match the music of the way you move. The best I can do is make a shrine of my heart where you will live forever, bright and beautiful, with the light of love dawning in your face, and I will worship you with all I am."

Orlando framed Viggo's face with his hands, gazing at him adoringly. His heart was so full it pressed painfully against his ribs, and the tightness in his throat rendered him mute. Unshed tears trembled in his fathomless eyes.

"What is it?" Viggo asked softly. "Are you alright, babe?"

Orlando nodded vehemently. "I just . . . it's so huge . . . Viggo . . . I love you . . . so much . . . it hurts."

A smile spread across Viggo's face, widening into a grin. "You don't have to talk," he said.

Reaching up to grasp a handful of silken curls, Viggo pulled Orlando's head down into a hot, wet collision of lips and tongues that left both of them punch-drunk. Orlando rested his hands on the man's broad shoulders and slid forward on the slick Formica, pressing his groin against Viggo's. Viggo groaned deep in his chest and his arms stole around Orlando's pliant waist, his hands spidering their way under the tight t-shirt and down the back of the low-cut jeans. Orlando pressed his muscular calves against the backs of Viggo's thighs, and finger-combed the man's sun-gilded locks as he'd often dreamed of doing. Viggo relinquished Orlando's lips to run his tongue the length of the boy's throat as his fingers crept farther into the sweet furrow of his nether cheeks. Viggo's other hand was under the rucked-up shirt, flattened between Orlando's shoulder blades, fingertips gently kneading the hard muscles under the velvet skin. Orlando made the purring sound again, as Viggo licked, sucked and nibbled his way to the collar of the red t-shirt.

"I'll take it off," Orlando offered eagerly.

"And deny me the pleasure of taking it off you?" Viggo said against the sensitive hollow Orlando's winged collarbones.

Orlando sat in blissful indolence as Viggo grasped the hem of his shirt, and pulled it over his head. "Just toss it in the cor-" was as far as he got before Viggo's mouth on his nipples stole his breath and his ability to form coherent sentences.

Viggo tongued and tweaked the dark nubs, as he rubbed his crotch slowly against Orlando's, eliciting moans of pleasure that steadily increased in volume.

"Hey, babe?" Viggo said, lips moving against Orlando's flat belly. "Do you have any music?"

"You don't hear it?"

"That's sweet," Viggo said, "but I'm serious. Do you have a CD we can put on?"

"You need more mood than this?" Orlando bumped his groin again the other man's.

"Actually, I didn't want everybody on the set to hear what we're doing. I'm sure they'll all know before the end of the day, but it's none of their business what I yell when I come."

"Behind you on the table. Just hit play," Orlando panted, "and then get your ass back over here. I miss you already."

Viggo punched the button and an outre' fusion of African drums and Celtic pipes fill the small space with pounding, eccentric rhythms shot through with skirls of plaintive wailing. Orlando slid down from the counter and leaned back against it, jeans riding so low Viggo could see the end of his treasure trail. Seeing the direction of the man's gaze, Orlando slowly unbuttoned his fly, and pushed the pants down until he could step out of them.

"Wow," Viggo said, his facility for words temporarily out of commission. He'd known Orlando's body would be beautiful, but for once reality lived up to fantasy.

Orlando looked as pleased by the one-syllable tribute as he would have been by a lengthy ode. He held out his arms in an invitation that was eagerly accepted.

"Fair is fair," Orlando murmured, as Viggo took hold of him. "Let's see what you've got in those jeans." His fingers were already working at Viggo's zipper, and in another moment, the man doffed his pants. Orlando's gaze flicked down, and his eyes widened in what Viggo considered a most flattering manner. "So this is what I've been missing," the boy attempted to lighten the moment.

Viggo sucked in his breath when Orlando's fingers gripped him firmly and moved on his arousal. "Don't do too much," he panted. "I don't want to come yet."

Now that they had gotten down to the gritty sex part, Orlando felt more confident. This was his home stage, and he intended to shine for the man. "Get a grip, Mortensen. It's just a hand job," the boy teased in a supremely blase' tone.

"Maybe, but it's your hand," Viggo answered softly.

Orlando's heart melted again, and it was a moment before he could trust his voice. "Look at this thing," he said. "I think it's actually getting bigger."

"You sport a nice set of tackle yourself," Viggo said in an attempt to divert Orlando.

Orlando grinned. "Complimenting your cock embarrasses you!" he said delightedly.

Viggo's cheeks reddened. "Do we really have to talk so much?"

Orlando took the hint. "I'd like to ask a favor," he said. "I know there are all sorts of things we could do to and with each other, but I can't wait to have you inside me. Could we go straight to the shagging?"

"If that's what you want, it suits me right down to the ground, babe. However, you're going to have to show me all those other sorts of things in the near future."

"You've got a deal," Orlando said. "Couch or bed, or . . . ?"

"Wherever you'll be most comfortable."

Orlando led the way to the small bedroom, and rifled through a drawer. "Sorry," he said, as he held up a tube of lubricant, "the unromantic practicalities."

Viggo held out his hand. "Let me," he said.

"You know what you're doing?" Orlando asked doubtfully.

Viggo smiled. "I think I can figure it out. Relax, babe, I'll drive."

"You're sure?"

"Orlando, I was married to a punk rocker. Do you think the only sex we had was vanilla?"

Orlando cocked an eyebrow. "My, aren't we sophisticated all of a sudden, Mr. I've Never Kissed a Man Before."

"You're my first," Viggo said, "and I hope I have a lot more firsts ahead of me."

"As long as they're with me," Orlando insisted, as he let his thighs drift apart.

Viggo dropped the tube, and sank down on one knee on the mattress. He ran his hands lightly up the smooth insides of Orlando's long thighs until he reached their juncture. His fingers slid through the crisp dark hair that curled, tickling, around his knuckles, approaching their goal slowly but surely. Orlando's head fell back, and he moaned softly as Viggo's warm hand closed around his arousal. The boy's back arched, as Viggo stroked his cock at a languid pace while Viggo's other hand curiously fondled his sack. Orlando's moans grew louder when a slick finger bumped his entrance, and then slipped through the furled aperture. The moans became whimpers and gasps for breath, as Viggo thrust delicately, rubbing against every surface of Orlando's passage. Abruptly the slim body stiffened, and Orlando gave a yelp of sheer bliss.

"Is that it, babe?" Viggo asked, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Yes, yes, God yes! Bloody hell, Viggo, you didn't learn this from your wife!"

"I read a manual," Viggo said, gently stroking Orlando's most susceptible spot. The boy didn't need to hear that Viggo's ex-wife had indeed taught him all about prostates. Not right at this moment. There would be time, he hoped, to exchange personal histories. Right now, all he wanted to do was give Orlando as much pleasure as the boy could stand. Continuing the tantalizing massage, Viggo pumped the straining erection, flicking his thumb over the weeping tip.

"Oh, God, Viggo, Viggo, wait, stop, please!" Orlando wailed as his cock erupted, spilling warm, glistening come over the man's scarred fingers.

Viggo let go of Orlando's wilting cock, and took hold of his own. He slicked the hard length with the boy's seed, and seated the dusky rose tip at the clenched portal. Pulling one of Orlando's legs up, so that the calf rested on his shoulder, Viggo looked down into the sated boy's half-closed eyes.

"Are you ready for me, babe?" he asked softly.

For answer, Orlando placed the heel of his free foot in the small of Viggo's back and pressed hard. Viggo leaned on one hand, lowering himself slowly, his long cock sinking gradually deeper into the hot, wet velvet. Orlando's white teeth caught at his lower lip, and he clutched fistfuls of the bedding as the penetration went on and on. Then Viggo leaned in and ran his tongue along the heartbreaking curves of Orlando's upper lip and the boy gave up his mouth to the tender invader. Slowly, slowly Viggo's cock mimicked his tongue, thrusting smoothly and deeply. When Orlando had relaxed completely, Viggo altered his angle until the boy's moans changed in quality. Pushing forward until he was fully sheathed, Viggo began to thrust powerfully, barely withdrawing before rocking back in, dragging consistently across Orlando's sensitive spot. The lithe body writhed beneath him, driven into sensory overload by his pistoning cock.

"Are you going to come with me, babe?" Viggo whispered, trailing his fingers up the underside of Orlando's resurrected erection.

"Make me come," Orlando demanded with endearing greed, shoving his pelvis insistently against Viggo's.

Viggo groaned loudly, and took the slim hips in a firm grip. "Touch yourself, babe," he said.

Orlando complied happily, pumping his upstanding rod in time with Viggo's rolling thrusts. "Oh, yes, oh God yes, that's good, that's so good, God what are you doing to me?" Orlando babbled. The big cock stretched him in a most agreeable manner, exploiting his weak spot, triggering another explosion of joy at his center. "Yes, yes, God yes, right there, just like that, don't stop, don't stop, oh, God, oh God, Viggo!"

Orlando had reached a decibel level that competed with the music, and Viggo covered the boy's mouth with his own to muffle the ecstatic cries. He felt the tight channel constrict farther around his arousal, and groaned into Orlando's mouth. His thrusts grew erratic, as he plunged into the hot quicksand that clutched at his organ as though reluctant to let it go. Then the release he pursued so hotly caught him, like lightning striking an oak, sizzling through every particle of his being. He held on to Orlando desperately, as they were lifted up out of the crude matter of their bodies and their spirits joined for a brief eternity of shared bliss. They floated gently back down from the heights on a warm cloud of afterglow, drained, and happy to lie in contented lassitude.



Viggo stirred, and realized he must have drifted off. He was lying atop Orlando, who even managed to snore charmingly. As carefully as he could, Viggo withdrew from the boy, and rolled onto his side. Propping himself on one elbow, Viggo looked down into the face of his beloved, soft and defenseless in slumber. He could not forbear reaching out to trace the sweet contours of the boy's lips, and Orlando's eyes opened. Viggo found no words equal to what he wished to say to Orlando. What he felt was so big, so serious, so real that he had to approach it with lightness and humor.

"So do you think you can still love this old man now that you've had sex with him?"

"That wasn't sex," Orlando said. "That was something better; something they don't even have a name for yet."

Viggo felt a fond and foolish smile spread across his face, and didn't try to stop it. If love made him look goofy, he'd find a way to cope.

Orlando caught his breath at the illegally sexy expression on his lover's handsome face. He raised a hand to touch Viggo's cheek and sketch the outline of his lips.

Viggo caught at Orlando's hand and kissed each of his fingertips, drawing them briefly between his lips before letting them go. His forefinger toyed absently with Orlando's thumb ring and he looked down at it.

"This is nice work," Viggo said.

"Um, Johnny gave it to me. It doesn't mean anything."

"It certainly does mean something," Viggo disagreed. "Johnny told me about it, a couple of months ago at some party. He brought up the subject of wrap gifts and how hard it is to come up with a good one. He mentioned the thumb ring and its significance. I thought he was just making conversation, but now I know better."

With the reverence of a man performing a sacred task, Viggo lifted Orlando's hand and turned the ring so that the woven side faced outward.

Orlando lost any desire to make a joke about wearing white, as Viggo looked up, soft, earnest blue eyes seeking an answer. Orlando's tongue was silent but eloquent.

Viggo reached over, and punched play again.



Brad looked at Sean as the music started again.

"Round two," Brad said, tossing his empty bottle effortlessly into a rubbish bin twenty feet away. "Orlando's got lungs when he wants 'em, huh?"

Sean snickered, and then tried on a sober look. It was no good. They had drunk a twelve pack between them. Nevertheless, Sean felt he had a point to make, and he was going to make it. Pointing his bottle at Brad, Sean spoke more loudly than he may have intended.

"Now you lissen t'me, mate. You don't wanna go spreadin' talk about m'mates. And y'don't wanna menshun this to Orli or Vig. Y'got that, pretty boy?"

Brad nodded solemnly, and rose from his chair. He held out his hand to Sean.

"It was a pleasure workin' with you," Brad said.

Sean shook the other man's hand, and let Brad pull him to his feet. "Cheers t'you, mate. You're a champ. Y'really came through."

"My pleasure," Brad said. "Maybe you should go to bed now."

"I will," Sean said, "but firs' I have t'call Johnny. This's his show. He'll wanna know the curtain's come down."

Sean said goodnight to Brad, and sat in the dark for a few more minutes, staring at the trailer where his two friends were finding happiness. Feeling absurdly pleased with himself, Sean took out his cell, and hit Johnny's number on speed dial.