"Funny, I don't remember getting a certificate." "You got to deflower Sala. And snog me. What more could you want?" Orlando didn't need to see Karl to know he was smirking. "You're absolutely right," Orlando replied. "I mean, what was I thinking?" "That you're greedy and want more?" "Right now I just want to find a clean pair of jeans for this fucking date that's not really a fucking date." Orlando kicked a pile of laundry in frustration and paced his bedroom in great strides. "So, this is the guy, huh? Eric Bana. Who'd he play in Black Hawk Down again?" "Hoot," Orlando replied absently. Fuck, man, where the hell were his jeans? "Burly Delta guy, right? Had all those scenes with Josh Hartnett?" "That's the one." "Ah, well, I can see why you're worried then." "Wait, what?" Orlando stopped short, frown marring his features. "You can?" "Oh, yeah. Guy that good-looking's bound to intimidate someone like you." "Someone like me?" Orlando flopped on the bed, jeans forgotten. "You told me I was one of the best-looking men you'd ever met." "Well, I meant it at the time. But, I dunno. This Eric guy's kinda giving me thoughts. Maybe I'll just give up Harry and go chasing after Eric. Drop by to visit you on set and you can introduce us." "Fuck you say. Eric's mine, and you can't have him," Orlando grumbled. Huh. Leave Harry indeed. Eric being better looking 'n'him. Fucker. "So go after him already and blow his fucking mind and be done with it," Karl replied. "Fine, I...hey, wait a minute. You didn't mean a word of that, did you?" "Now what would make you think that?" "Fucker. Should've known you were bamming me when you were all about leaving Harry." Like Karl would ever leave something so perfect. Fuck alone knew Orlando wouldn't. "Well, consider Mr. Bana your final test," Karl said. "If you can nail that, then I don't think you'll have any problems with me and Harry." "What?!" Orlando bolted up, eyes as round as saucers. "But...but, um, I thought you didn't... Holy fuck. You mean you'd...you and Harry would...?" "Have fun with Eric," Karl replied gently, and hung up. Orlando stared blankly at his cell phone for a few minutes. Karl and Harry. Together. Jesus. *** Orlando finally found his jeans (buried under a pile of just-washed towels) and slid them on. He paused in the act of buttoning them. Wait, wait, what kind of message was he trying to send? If he put on clean jeans, did that mean he was expecting something? And if his jeans were clean and he put on a fresh shirt, would that send the wrong message? Which actually begged the question of what kind of message he was trying to send. And what if this invitation for drinks was just that, a friendly invitation for drinks? Eric might not be interested anymore. He may have never been interested in the first place -- could have all been a ruse to get Orlando away from him. Hell, Eric could even be (gasp, the horror) straight as a ruler-type thing, and where would that leave Orlando? Here he'd be, in his clean jeans and clean shirt that just screamed 'I've been desperately trying to figure out a way to shag you for ages', and how would that be for irony? All of that good education going to waste. Well, maybe not a total waste, as there was the incredibly hot sex with Sala and the incredibly hot snogging with Karl to think about, and fuck. He'd never be able to face Karl again. And he definitely wouldn't get to squirm about in the middle of the Karl and Harry hotness sandwich and let them do nasty things to him. And how twelve years old could he possibly sound about now? That's it. He was canceling. Honest. *** Alright, so maybe Karl hadn't just said that about Eric to get a rise. Because, Jesus, Eric was really well put together. Heavily muscled and toned in all the right places, with arms like steel bands and legs like tree trunks. Eric was everything that was bold and dark and masculine and Orlando wasn't sure what the fuck he was thinking to try and get a piece of that. Except that Sala was also pretty fucking built, and Karl was one of the most dangerously attractive men on the planet, and they both thought he could handle this. And there was still that insidious little Karl whisper in his head to think about. Nothing for it but to move forward and give Eric a ride he'd never forget. Still, though, it was completely unfair of Eric to look this good. Especially if this wasn't a date. Should be illegal to look that good in a crisp, white, button-up shirt and faded blue jeans. Orlando was happy to note that Eric's jeans had been washed recently. Not that it meant Eric was interested. Eric might just be a neat kind of bloke. Didn't have to mean anything, although hope never harmed a soul. It was good that Orlando could have this sort of dialogue with himself. So many people just weren't in touch with their own thoughts. Very healthy of him, really. He was just a healthy kind of guy. Fit in quite well in this new, enlightened day and age. "Penny?" "Hmm?" Eric chuckled, and the sound was shiver-inducing. If there was such a word. "For your thoughts." "Oh." Probably best not to mention the x-rated fantasies. Could get messy. Not that Orlando was above getting messy with Eric (far from it), but, well. Yeah. "Wasn't thinking any one thing, really," he finally said. Smiled. Misdirection. "You weren't, hmm?" Eric raked a hand through thick, unruly hair. Orlando tried not to peer too closely. Even though Eric had the nicest hands -- big and rough, with thick fingers that could fill and press and rotate and, um, where was he again? "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" "What are you thinking about?" Eric asked. Don't mention the fantasies, don't mention the fantasies, do not, under any circumstances, stare at Eric's crotch or his hands or into his eyes. All dangerdanger Will Robinson zones. "Um, just, y'know. Stuff." Orlando shrugged, keeping a very firm eye on his bottle of beer. Dangerous things, beer bottles. Never knew what kind of mischief they'd get up to if left unsupervised. "Yes, but what kind of stuff?" Eric drawled, giving Orlando one of those unfathomable looks that Orlando just knew meant that Eric knew something -- lots of somethings -- the rest of the world didn't. "You look nervous as hell." "I do?" Orlando squeaked. Well, maybe not quite a squeak, per se, but close enough for his ears. "Yeah." Eric scratched the side of his forehead in that way he did when he was concentrating and, really, that should be illegal. Seriously, where'd Eric get off being that sexy, then? Breathe, stupid... Fuck, it was just drinks. Not an invitation to sex. Not that, y'know, sex wouldn't be a welcome thing. Actually, sex would be easier. One night stands were...well...there were certain codes of conduct. Rules. You knew what was expected of you and the other party. Grasp, grunt, thrust, moan, done, repeat as needed or until the sun came up, whichever happened first. Dates -- or whatever this was -- had no such rules. Which meant anything could happen. Especially when it involved a man like Eric. Not that he really should be all that into Eric. Man was a comic, a goof, with a penchant for playing crazy and for doing uncanny imitations. Not at all Orlando's cuppa. Not that he really had a cuppa, mind, apart from the odd fantasy of wanting to watch Karl get spanked by Harry (always a nice wanking image) or the memory of how tight Sala's ass had been gripping Orlando's cock. "Look, is this a date or what?" "What?" Fuck. He'd said that out loud, hadn't he? Fuck. "Um." "What'dya mean, date?" "Y'know." Orlando shrugged, carefully keeping a sharp eye on his wayward beer bottle. "A date." "Yeah, I know what a date is," Eric replied, and Orlando could tell he was exasperated without looking up. Not that Orlando was looking up, because he may never look up again. Safer that way. "Why the hell would we be on one, man?" "Um. Because, y'know, of what you said." Look at the bottle, keep your eyes on the bottle at all times. "What I said? Orlando, would you look at me?" Orlando glanced up. "Y-yeah?" "What the fuck are you talking about?" God, Eric had pretty eyes. Currently narrowed in that concentrated annoyance that was all too familiar, but pretty, nevertheless. "Did you mean what you said about coming to you when I knew what I was doing?" "When I...?" Eric's face cleared, and a small smile curved full lips. "Do you?" Orlando's heart stuttered. His cock leapt to full how-do-you-do-let's-fuck attention. "Yeah." Eric's smile widened, showing sharp, white teeth. "Prove it." *** "Remember rule number one." "What?" Orlando summoned a smile and wiped his sweaty palms down the front of his jeans. "Just remembering a few things." Eric pushed a square-cut tumbler into Orlando's hands. "What things?" Orlando looked around the sparsely furnished sitting room of Eric's rented house. Focus, maintain. Remember the rules. It was just Eric. Yeah. Just. He drained his drink in one long swallow, didn't even know (or care) what he was drinking. It burned going down his throat, and gave him liquid courage, which was all that really mattered. "Right, then," he said, setting the glass on the coffee table. "Get naked." Eric threw his head back and laughed, the sound open and richly amused. "Is this what you've learned?" he asked. "Helluva poor teacher, mate." Orlando's eyes narrowed. Absolutely nobody insulted Karl. Especially when it came to the Mad Sex Tutoring Skillz. He stood and stepped forward, deliberately invading Eric's personal space. Eric didn't so much as bat an eyelash. "I had an incredible teacher," Orlando stated, and grabbed a handful of Eric's hair. Fingers twisted in silky, thick strands as Orlando parted unresisting lips with a quick, talented sweep of tongue. Fuck, but Eric tasted... Whoa. Orlando dove in, chased Eric's retreating, darting tongue as he pressed against Eric's tightly coiled body. Jesus, Eric was built. Orlando ran his hands along superbly sculpted shoulders to linger on Eric's biceps. Rock hard, man. It was like touching warm marble or some other equally hard substance – like maybe Eric was a statue come to life. Only one with a wicked tongue and clever, very clever fingers that were currently pulling Orlando's shirt from his waistband and sliding along Orlando's stomach. Not that Orlando's hands were idle, because that would be wrong. Idle hands and Devil's work and all. Orlando unbuttoned Eric's shirt with fingers that only shook a little bit. Moaned low in his throat when his fingers encountered hard muscle and warm skin. Eric had been hot when they'd filmed 'Black Hawk Down' together, but now. OhmyGod. Orlando wondered how often Eric was hitting the gym, wanted to ask, but is mouth was full of Eric's tongue, and his mum'd always told him it was impolite to speak with a full mouth. Ah Christ, he was not just thinking about his mother while Eric's hand was sliding along his inseam and whoa. Mum who? Orlando moaned again, a choked whimper, and fisted Eric's shirt, yanking him forward. He forgot all about the lessons and the rules Karl had painstakingly taught him, forgot all of his good intentions about dazzling Eric with his prowess, and just took. And moaned into the heat of Eric's mouth, pushed insistently into Eric's large hand. Flexed his fingers over Eric's shoulders. Eric, Eric, Eric, like a refrain for a song he couldn't quite remember. Maybe if someone hummed a few bars. Hmm...humming. Karl had told him something, what was it? Ah, right. Orlando finally found the courage, strength, fortitude, something, to tear his mouth free from Eric's. "Have to," he panted, and slid to his knees. "Orlando, you don't..." But Eric's hands wrapped through Orlando's curls to tug him in place. "Want to. Show you everything I've learned." Orlando parted the folds of Eric's jeans, eased Eric's cock -- already hard and glistening -- out of the opening of his boxers. Licked his lips in hungry anticipation. He'd passed this part of his class with Sala with flying colors. "Ah, fuck," Eric moaned, when Orlando rubbed his tongue along Eric's length. God, Eric tasted incredible. Better than his fantasies. Orlando licked experimentally again before taking just the head into his mouth. Eric was thicker than Sala, but Orlando quickly made adjustments, took Eric in as deep as he could. Just fucking -- Orlando started humming, smiled inwardly when Eric bucked his hips, rocked forward, pressed deep down Orlando's throat. Luckily, Orlando had a pretty good gag reflex, otherwise -- Orlando shifted, made minute adjustments, and started sucking in earnest. He wanted Eric incoherent and praying to deities and all of that other fun stuff a great blowjob provided. He wanted Eric surrendering, shuddering, out of his mind with want. Know what I'm doing, Orlando thought. Fucker. Gonna make you scream and beg. Eric certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. His hands fisted tight in Orlando's hair and he rocked forward, mumbled something that sounded like it could have been 'more, yeah, that's it', but came out sounding like 'nngh, oh, nngh'. Close enough. Orlando was pretty fluent in blowjob-ese. Licking and sucking and lots of sucking, lips closed tight, ultra-tight, around the head and Orlando was fucking Eric's cock like a fluff girl auditioning for a porn film. Only better, see, cause fluff girls weren't into the whole coming thing -- quite the opposite -- but Orlando wanted. Oh yes, he wanted Eric's come. The incoherent 'nngh' moans turned into hoarse groans, which were like the 'nngh' moans, only louder, and Orlando thought (not that he really was thinking, mind) that it was just the sweetest sound. Eric all broken and pleading, fingers bruising Orlando's scalp as he shoved forward. And Orlando loved every second of it, demanded more, more cock, more moans and groans and the 'nnghs' that turned into his name, only not quite as verbal. Orlando's throat was raw, jaw aching, throat numb, but he had enough in him for a last push. Eric's cock hit the back of his throat a split second before warm, salty come filled his mouth and Eric screamed. Actually full-on fucking shouted, man. Orlando was so shocked he swallowed wrong and started choking. "Ah, fuck, you alright, mate?" Eric helpfully pounded Orlando on the back, but Orlando waved him off and stood, knees creaking. "Just --" Raspy sigh "-- need water." A sip, and he'd be fine. He hoped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to --" Orlando shook his head at the offered apology. "Wasn't you. Just...get naked, and I'll be back in a minute." He walked into the kitchen, not even bothering to look back to see if Eric was obeying him. After his little demonstration, if Eric wasn't flat on his back, legs spread wide for his cock, then Orlando was giving the fuck up. To hell with getting his reward. A quick sip of water took care of the worst of the taste and the itchy throat. Still raw -- doubted he'd be singing anytime soon -- but that was cool, since he really couldn't sing that well anyway. When he walked back into the living room, Eric was indeed naked. Gloriously so, in fact. Christ, but he was built. Had he mentioned that? Like, from the ground up, shit brickhouse, that kinda thing. Calves and thighs and stomach and chest and arms and back and all of it so nicely put together and tightly muscled. "See something you like?" Eric asked, amusement plain on his face as he stretched his arms to the ceiling. "Would be better if you were on your hands and knees, poking that sweet ass up in the air for me." And just where in fuck-all was this aggressiveness coming from, anyway? Sounded like some cheap-ass skin flick, only without the bong-chicka-bong soundtrack. Apparently, though, Eric saw nothing wrong with cheap skin flick lines, because he simply smirked and did as ordered. Mother. Of. Christ. Fucking Eric Fucking Bana on all fucking fours, just waiting to be rode hard and put away exhausted. And hey, who was Orlando to say no to that? "Right then," he said, blinking a little to clear his vision, currently swimming from the sight before him. "L-lube?" Eric glanced back at him, all insouciance and arrogance. "You planned on fucking me and didn't bring any with you?" "The fuck would I have put it, man?" Fucker. Definitely pounding him hard. Into the motherfucking carpet, see if he didn't. "Hold on," Orlando commanded, and retraced his steps to the kitchen. Corn oil. Perfect. Well, not like, perfect perfect, but it's not like most people kept K-Y in their kitchen. Although Eric might -- Orlando was afraid to ask. Eric was still gloriously naked (and what a glorious sight it was), back tapering to the slender waist and rock-hard hips, toned thighs that begged for Orlando's tongue. Hell, every part of Eric begged for Orlando's tongue, it was like he was a walking advertisement for licking. Later, though. Right now Orlando had a different need. "Good to know you can stay still," he said, and busied himself getting out of the rest of his clothing. Not that he looked nearly as good as Eric did, mind, and the last thing he wanted was for Eric to see his not quite as impressive body and kick him to the curb, but, well, oil was, well, messy. And Orlando had those clean jeans and shirt to think about. "You planning on taking all day?" "Shut up." Maybe Orlando could gag Eric. Hell, there was a hot thought. Eric all tied up and gagged and at his total mercy. Maybe later. Orlando dropped to his knees behind Eric, ran a hand along Eric's sculpted ass, and thought about getting in there and riding that. This should be a snap after Sala. Long as he remembered the lessons. "You have done this before, right?" "You're asking me when you're the one can't get his cock in my ass?" Eric asked, smirking over his shoulder at Orlando. Fucker. So much for foreplay. "Try to be nice to a guy, see where it gets you." Orlando grabbed hold of Eric's hip and pushed, guiding his slicked-up cock home with a well-timed shove. Eric grunted, whether in pain or pleasure, Orlando couldn't tell, didn't care, couldn't form a response. Not that he was capable of outright conversation anyway. And forget everything else, 'cause, goddamn Eric was tight. All snug and hot, like a pair of Isotoner gloves that've been left in front of a fire. Or, um, a hot condom, only not so much with the burning latex smell. Orlando pushed forward, rocked his hips experimentally, was met by Eric's backward push. Oh, that was hot, Jesus, yeah. Orlando tried his best to remember the rolling hip twist thing that Karl had taught him -- honest -- but it was really hard to get a good rhythm going the way Eric was bucking against him like some untamed bronco or mustang or whatever. "Hold still, dammit." "Harder," Eric ground out, using his powerful thighs as leverage to push back against Orlando's pelvis. Right. Man said harder. Finesse and technique forgotten (again), Orlando set about giving Eric exactly what he wanted. Which was fast and rough and fingers digging in hips and Orlando's cock hitting Eric's prostate with furious, hard jabs and Orlando's lips sliding over Eric's shoulder, tasting sweat and soap. And fucking hell, Eric took all of it, rocked and grunted and met every thrust head-on, full-tilt. Orlando managed to worm one hand over Eric's cock, and Eric placed his hand over Orlando's, helping him find the perfect pressure and rhythm. The rest was a blur of staccato movement and jerky moans. Eric was the first to come, although it was a pretty close race. Whatever that old cliché was about seeing stars and going all boneless, Orlando thought he could understand where it had come from. They must've fucked Eric, too. "Mmph," he mumbled, slumping over Eric's back. Anything more coherent would be tempting the fates. Orlando couldn't help wanting to pat himself on the back, though. He'd done it. Actually fucking done it, fucked Eric 'I'm too sexy for the world' Bana into the carpet and lived to tell the tale. Orlando wondered if he should plant one of those flags on Eric's ass as a reminder to all who would come after, sort of like a 'Kilroy was here', only using oil instead of spray paint. "Not bad." Eric sprawled on the carpet, taking Orlando with him, and Orlando was pretty pleased to note that Eric didn't seem to care that Orlando wasn't moving. "Not bad," Orlando scoffed, scraping his teeth along Eric's shoulder. "Fuck you and your not bad." "God, you're easy to rile." Eric twisted his head around and Orlando could see his smile. "Got any other tricks I should know about?" "Oh, loads, but I don't think I'll show 'em to you." "That's not nice." Orlando grinned and flexed his hips, half-hard cock sliding back inside Eric's body. Round two was fine with him, even if he was still mostly boneless. "How much is it worth to you?" Eric braced himself on his hands, rocked back. "What've ya got?" Karl had said to blow the man's mind. And Orlando did at least want to have a good story to tell when he went to Karl and Harry's to claim his reward. "Let me show you." Onto Pandora's Reward
|