Title: Five Kisses Author: Haleth halethhaladin@yahoo.co.uk Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Bloom/McKellen Disclaimer: Obviously, this is entirely untrue and should not convince anyone it is. Summary: It took five kisses before it was safe. Five Kisses It took five kisses. The first kiss he witnessed within moments of meeting the rest of the cast. A loud, wet, raucous kiss on the cheek, given to one William Boyd by one Orlando Bloom. He counts that the first kiss, even if it wasn’t given to him, because it woke him to the possibility. The second kiss was the first one actually delivered to Ian. It was impetuous, or so the distinguished actor tried to convince himself, and delivered along with a cheeky comment about barmy wizards and their predilection for pretty young hobbits. It was intended for his cheek, but landed at the edge of his mouth, and was longed for, albeit secretly, in many other locations. Dangerous thoughts. Ian laughed as Orlando pelted across the backyard pursued by a hobbit or two. Then he let his tongue slide out to catch the little bit of moisture the kiss had left behind. He half expected it to taste of alcohol. For, surely, only an excess of alcohol could prompt such an overt display of affection toward a elder one has know for barely week. But it didn’t taste of beer or wine or anything stronger. Ian tasted lemonade, and something faintly nutty, rich and inviting. He surmised that was what a veggie burger tasted like. Not bad, he’d have to try one some time. Or perhaps it was the taste of Orlando that was so good. He rolled the tip of his tongue around in his mouth to spread the taste. And didn’t take another sip of his drink until it faded. The third kiss was on the very tip of his nose. It was a teasing sort of kiss, making light of Ian’s seniority. “You’re like a kid sometimes,” Orlando said. Ian had jumped up in the stands, overexcited and indeed childlike, at a cricket match. The sparkling mischievous light in Orlando’s eyes was tempered by awe and respect. Ian was grateful for the awe, as it gave him the distance he felt he needed from this delightful creature. As for the respect, perhaps that explained why it was only on the nose. So perhaps the respect was a bit of a pity. Ian thought nothing further of that one. Until the fourth kiss. There was a barbeque. By a beach. And Ian found himself in a kitchen, in a corner, with his back up against the counter top and Orlando in front of him, cornering him. This time Orlando had imbibed. “May I kiss you?” Orlando breathed out, husky and young, accompanied by the scent of alcohol and faded sunblock and that same something rich and inviting. Ian shifted nervously. Everyone else was outside, dinner was over, dishes were done, there was a fire outside and a guitar and even some off-key singing. No reason for anyone to come in here. “My dear boy, why would you have to ask? You’ve kissed me twice before and never asked.” Yes, he was keeping track. And it took every bit of training to keep his voice from matching the other’s huskiness. Ian looked down at the naked chest and inked sun and the terribly tempting line of dark hair snaking down from navel to ridiculously oversized swimming trunks, long baggy shorts hanging off jutting hipbones. Orlando slithered closer, so it was hard to see in the dim light, anything beyond a smooth hard chest and peaked nipples. Ian had no idea how to respond to this. “Perhaps I should rephrase the question.” Ian nodded. Rephrasing would give him a moment to think. He rephrased his own thoughts. He knew exactly how to respond to this, but not when *this* was being initiated by a sinfully young and frankly gorgeous co- worker who may or may not have had too much to drink. “May I kiss you the way I really want to kiss you?” Ian looked up again, into dark eyes. They weren’t sparkling now. They swallowed the light, drank in all the energy in the room and held it in reserve. “And what,” Ian had to stop to clear his throat, “Might that entail that your two other kisses did not?” Stalling was a time-honoured tactic when confronted with the unexpected. Ian was sure Gandalf would have approved. Orlando’s smile was smooth and predatory. He leaned close, so close Ian could feel the hard ridge of desire pressing against his thigh. “My tongue, and perhaps,” Orlando whispered, close to Ian’s ear so the hot breath tickled him inside and out, “Some things less…” Ian breathed in sharply when tongue whisked across his ear lobe. “Tangible.” Then lips were on his, firm and open, and he couldn’t refuse. The tongue was exciting enough. It probed, it plunged, it sent a wave of heat down through Ian’s body. But the less tangible, that was enough to make his knees weak. Lust thick enough to breathe and need that choked him deep in his throat. An undercurrent of fear that gave a surprisingly sharp edge to it all. Ian tried to kiss back but there wasn’t much room to move. Demanding lips held his open, and the tongue was everywhere at once, he couldn’t meet it or anticipate it. He could only feel it licking, searching, twisting, tasting. He raised his hands to hard arms. Ian slid his hands up and down, feeling tensed muscles, shaking slightly. Orlando’s hands gripped the edges of the countertop, bracing him, holding him up and back. Until Orlando pushed his hips forward and pressed. Insistent. Ian slid his hands up arms and across taut shoulder muscles, so very unyielding, and down the hairless chest. Orlando’s hairless chest, he had to remind himself. Orlando’s sharp nipples, Orlando’s pounding heart, Orlando’s tongue in his mouth, tasting of rum. A sly almost-guilt crept out from a corner of Ian’s mind. This was an inexperienced boy. Obviously not inexperienced in what he was doing at this very moment, but far from home, overwhelmed, reacting to that respect or awe or whatever it was in an inappropriate way. It behoved Ian to be the responsible one. He resolved to be the responsible one, even as Orlando rolled his hips and dragged his hard cock across Ian’s unsteady thigh. Ian would be responsible. And tactful. And delicate. All of him but for his right hand, which slid further down and skimmed over dark hair, under a loose waistband, and over a hot, rigid cock. ‘Orlando’s hot rigid cock, that would be,’ the almost-guilt cooed into Ian’s inner ear. Orlando’s cock so hard it was quivering under Ian’s fingers, velvety smooth skin stretched tight over steel, leaking from the little slit Ian brushed his thumb over, pointing straight up before Ian’s hand ever reached it. Ian wondered if he had ever been that hard in his life. Orlando’s head jerked back, deep breath and a low moan, and Ian felt the voice dissolve in his mind. With his black eyes closed tight and his wet mouth open, Orlando looked young, no matter how mature and experienced his cock might have felt in Ian’s hand. So the voice reappeared. But Ian ignored it. Ian leaned forward to lick along the corded tendons of Orlando’s neck. He held his mouth still when he reached the centre and felt it, felt every undulation of the Adam’s apple when Orlando swallowed. Swallowed. Swallowed in something other than lust or desire. A reflexive response to danger. Ian had to find a fast way to end this. It was too late for responsibility or tact. Delicate had never even entered the picture. Not after that tongue in his mouth. He twisted his wrist suddenly and pulled on the heated flesh under his fingers. Orlando moaned again and Ian resumed licking the smooth skin of his neck, stroking the cock firmly. Crisp, wiry curls grazed against his hand. Slick skin slipped under his thumb. The backs of his fingers rubbed against a stomach so tight, so hard, almost as hard as the cock he stroked. He let his other hand reach around Orlando’s back to hold him there, steady him. Orlando was wavering in the air, an overfilled balloon about to burst. Ian couldn’t help the comparison, and he couldn’t stand the tension any longer. The fastest way to burst a balloon is to puncture it. He settled his mouth where shoulder and neck meet, and let his teeth graze, then sink a little into the salty skin. Not enough to penetrate, only enough to burst. Ian thought he might remember the sound Orlando made forever. Such a helpless, unaffected sound. Pure. He would recall it, he was sure, in the dark, when he was alone, and draw a certain satisfaction that he was the one who caused it. And the almost-guilt would only make the memory more provocative. Much later, after the hasty furtive clean-up and rejoining the party outside, Ian found Orlando and a hobbit or two passed out on the living room floor. They hadn’t spoken a word about it, nor he feared would they ever. Still, he smiled, assuming that Orlando had gotten whatever it was out of his system. He dreaded the idea that it would go any further as much as he desired it. Too many complications for such a long shoot, and he really was just a boy. So Ian did not consciously think of it again. He pushed it out of his mind. The incident only returned in the dark, when he was alone. But it wasn’t the sound that returned to him, as he’d anticipated. Or the feeling of silky skin under his hand. It was the taste, the taste under the rum. Rich and inviting. And, if he was going to be honest, the salty bitterness he’d licked from the side of his hand, the part he accidentally on purpose did not wipe with the towel when Orlando had gone out to join the others, looking dazed, perhaps embarrassed and altogether too young. And on occasion he found himself wondering what it would feel like to be that young and that hard and that tangible. Until the fifth kiss. It seemed a regular, slightly overcast day until the sky opened and all filming had to be cancelled. Ian was in his trailer, make-up removed, costume stowed away, considering how to get from his trailer to his car without drowning. There were loud voices on the other side of the partition, noisy de-hobbiting, lewd comment about the sounds someone’s feet made when water seeped in through a faulty glue joint. Music almost drowned out the sound of the rain. Did drown out the sound of knock on the door. Ian lay on the couch, just for a few minutes, with a warm towel draped over his face removing any last vestiges of make-up. He didn’t move when the door opened. It had to be someone he knew, no one else would enter without knocking and it was far too inclement for crazed fans to be stalking the set. Still, he should make an effort to identify his visitor. He dragged the towel off his face. Orlando stood by the door, soaked to skin, which only made him look younger. Curse the rain, thought Ian. Slim, young men always look so vulnerable when they’re dripping on your carpet. Ian rose, tossed a dry towel Orlando’s way and watched him scrub the cloth across the strip of blackened hair, down his long neck. He stretched his head to one side, as if to straighten a kink. Ian offered tea, Orlando declined politely. He had been very polite since the incident Ian refused to think about. Consciously. Ian stood in front of Orlando. “Is there something…” Ian began to ask. “I made a mistake,” Orlando replied simply. Ian nodded. Couldn’t just leave something like that hanging. Some sort of closure was required. Demanded, even. “I was wrong.” Orlando looked down at the table beside him, so all Ian saw were tight inky curls and roughly stubbled scalp. All that audacity was gone. Ian sighed a little in relief. As much as yearned for it, he’d known all along it was too much to handle. “That wasn’t,” Orlando continued, looking up now, with wide questioning eyes, sparkling but not with mischief, more like apprehension. “That wasn’t how I really wanted to kiss you. I’m sorry.” Very mature. Very responsible. Almost-guilt turned into a wave of full- fledged guilt for taking advantage of this defenceless boy. Orlando took a determined step and put his hands firmly on Ian’s shoulders. Wait a moment, that wasn’t a very vulnerable, defenceless thing to do. “What I really wanted to say was this…” Orlando tilted forward and brought his lips to Ian’s. This was an altogether different kiss. The hard, challenging lips were gone, now softer and tentative. Ian let his own lips soften and meld themselves against Orlando’s, parting gently when he felt a hesitant tongue slide across the seam. Orlando’s tongue darted into his mouth, retreated just as quickly, entered again but not very deep, unsure of its welcome. Ian opened his lips a little more in encouragement and Orlando probed a little deeper, running the tip of his tongue under Ian’s teeth. He kept his hands on Ian’s shoulders, not pulling or pushing, just anchoring. His lower body was clearly held away from Ian’s, although Ian found himself wishing it were not so. He brought his palm up to Orlando’s chest and felt the far too fast beat of his heart through the damp shirt. The boy was clearly frightened, but kept up the maddening overly gentle kiss nonetheless. Ian had to admire his determination. It took far more courage than the apology. And he had to have more. He curled his tongue around the tip of Orlando’s, drawing it further. Orlando moaned into Ian’s mouth, urgent but still nervous. Their bodies drew together naturally and Ian revelled in the feel of the lithe body against his. He ran his hands over arms still lean and stomach still taut but not as hard as before. This was an entirely different kind of tension. This tension didn’t push forward, it held back. Ian wanted to be as encouraging as possible. There was no rum involved here, no daring. Only openness. He held Orlando in his arms, kissed a little harder when Orlando’s arms came up around him. Broke off the kiss so he could pull even closer and they stood, cheek to cheek, breathing deeply, so close that Ian could feel through two pairs of trousers that Orlando’s anxiety kept him from getting anything more than half hard, and that was even more alluring than before. “That was better.” Ian whispered, feeling Orlando tense up. “Not that I didn’t enjoy myself last time,” he reassured, “But this is something I think I can handle with a bit more sensitivity.” Orlando blushed. “I’m sorry I was so…” He didn’t finish. Ian kissed him this time, a little harder this time. Ian reached down to grasp Orlando’s firm ass and pull them closer together. And when Orlando opened up and rubbed his whole body against Ian, they both moaned into the kiss. Ian had to feel him, wanted Orlando in his hand before it was too late. He flicked open buttons at a rapid pace, years of quick changes paying off, and pushed worn denim off slim hips. Naked ass felt much better under one hand, and the other hand closed over a semi-hard cock. Ian growled a little, loving the sensation of baby soft skin and pliable flesh growing hotter under his fingers. He was thrilled at being allowed to feel the transition, to feel the supple organ harden and grow against his hand. Orlando pulled back a bit, ashamed by what happened before, not wanting Ian to think that was why he wanted him, yet not wanting Ian to think he didn’t want him now. Ian understood, and pressed his fingers gently into Orlando’s ass, keeping him close. He squeezed the shaft lightly, pulled a little, shushed Orlando when he tried to speak. “Shh, it’s alright. Let me, just let me.” Orlando looked into Ian’s eyes and saw that it was all right. Everything was all right. He reached down to unzip Ian’s fly. He wouldn’t be the only one, not again. Ian was almost ashamed of how hard his cock was when it practically sprang out into Orlando’s waiting hand. And almost proud as well. His age wasn’t that advanced, but there was a lot to measure up against. He settled on being immensely pleased when Orlando made a little purring sound and closed his fingers around it. How intensely odd, Ian thought, to be standing here in my trailer with this lovely young thing, cocks hanging out, trousers at our knees, hands on each other. He wondered if the door might be locked. He hoped it was. It didn’t concern him enough to stop, that was for sure. Especially not when Orlando, cock now as hard as Ian’s and already beginning to leak in a most scintillating manner, let out little whimper and dropped, suddenly, to his knees. Ian’s fingertips rasped over several-day stubble as he didn’t guide so much as encourage the hot mouth to slide all the way down. He gasped when cheeks hollowed, pressing against the sides of him. Not inexperienced, and that was a true joy. Ian seriously doubted he could remain standing for much longer, especially when Orlando was doing *that* with his tongue. That was the same tongue that had ravaged his mouth after the barbeque. That was this tongue. Jesus, but this tongue could do that well. Calloused fingers stroked his hips, dipped down to cradle his balls, swept around to cup his ass. Ian briefly considered being aware of the fact that he was old enough to be Orlando’s grandfather, but the thought evaporated with almost-guilt and shame and anything else that might get in the way of that tongue doing what it did best. He stumbled back a little, and Orlando leapt to his feet, arms around him, steadying him, not letting him go. They stared at each other across the close distance, noses almost touching, cocks definitely touching. Orlando bounced on the balls of his feet a little, making them bob against each other. Maddening. “There’s a couch,” Ian managed to gasp. Once on the couch, lying on his back, trousers gone, Ian again enjoyed the heat and bliss of Orlando’s tongue and lips and oh, those cheeks when they sucked. Clever fingers, skilled thumbs, and the vibrations from humming while buried deep in that long graceful throat. Ian couldn’t have found those nagging doubts if he wanted to. But then it stopped. The mouth and tongue and lips were gone from his cock. He reeled from it, until he felt them on his mouth again. Orlando pulled back, confidence back where it belonged, dragging his weeping cock against Ian’s. “Oh, dear,” Ian muttered. “I may be too old for this.” Orlando smiled not at all shyly and slipped his jeans down the rest of his lean legs, but not before dipping into his pocket to pull out a condom. “You planned?” “I hoped. It’s up to you, old man. Whatever way you want…” Orlando kissed the tip of his nose. Again. Ian thought of the possibilities. All the possibilities. It took more than a few moments. “You,” he decided. “I would very much like you. Inside me.” Orlando grinned wide and clear. “I need…” Ian grabbed a jar of make up remover from the end table. “This will suffice.” Cold fingers probed his opening gently, and Ian sucked in air fast. Orlando kissed all over him, chest, neck, arms, face, cooing and purring and encouraging. One slim little finger didn’t seem to feel like all that much, but two stretched him and he realized that Orlando had, in fact, quite large hands. Which felt wonderful when the hand not otherwise engaged spread across his chest. Twisting, stroking fingers inside him and a hot, wet tongue laving his cock. The hand left his chest and the tongue left his cock and he missed them both, but Orlando was ripping open the condom wrapper with his teeth and them smoothing the sheath over his rigid flesh, so Ian could forgive easily. Slick fingers slid out of him and he found himself turned sideways so he was slouched on the couch, half-sitting, with his butt hanging a bit off the cushions. Most undignified, but he didn’t care because Orlando was lifting his legs over strong shoulders and kneeling with his own legs spread to achieve the correct height, and the way his cock was standing straight up, straining against the latex sheath, was too breathtaking for words. Orlando scooped some more cold cream out of the jar and smeared it over himself. Next there was a blunt but careful pressure against Ian, and he stared into Orlando’s eyes to see that everything was all right. God, it had been a while since he’d been stretched quite like this, but the fact that it was a long time since his cock had ever been quite this hard alleviated any pain. Ian watched Orlando’s mouth drop open, his eyes scrunched tight as he eased into the older man’s body. He knew the pressure would be almost unbearable, he knew just how hot it would feel, he knew the boy would have trouble maintaining control, so he did all he could to relax, stay perfectly still. They were frozen like that for some time, like statues. Then Orlando rolled his hips just so and Ian cried out. Orlando’s eyes flew open and they never left Ian’s face as he thrust in and out, gently at first, building up the pressure and speed and then letting it ease off again, seemingly endless energy and endurance tightly controlled. He shifted his legs again and hit Ian’s prostate with every stroke, hands lifting Ian up off his cock and guiding him back down as Orlando drove up. Ian, absorbed by Orlando’s darkening eyes, reached blindly to pull Orlando’s shirt up, breaking eye contact only to yank it over his head. He tweaked at hard nipples, stroked the rippling stomach, noticed how Orlando whimpered when he dragged the edge of a nail over the bottom curve of his ribs. Now muscles stood out on Orlando’s arms, veins popping out along his forearms. He turned his head and licked the side of Ian’s knee. He lifted one leg, changing the angle completely, causing Ian to see stars, but the good kind of stars, supporting him with one leg and one hand while his other hand gripped Ian’s cock firmly and slid up and down while his own cock slid in and out and Ian was grateful Orlando had some kind of control because he lost all his and came thrashing, probably painfully but who could tell? Orlando made that same sound again, that natural sounding, feral sort of moan, and pulsed hard and fast within Ian’s clenching muscles. The next thing Ian was clearly aware of was lying lengthwise on the couch again, with Orlando hovering over him, kissing him on the brow. There must have been a phone ringing, or a thunderclap, or something to rouse him. Orlando was clothed again, rain-dampened shirt clinging to his wiry frame. Ian clutched at the shirt. “Don’t go,” he whispered. He couldn’t bear the thought of this being over already, even though he could barely move. “Shh, s’alright. I’m going to get some food from the mess. The road’s washed out; Pete called. We have to spend the night here, just to be safe.” “Just to be safe?” Ian repeated, dazed. Orlando smiled, warming him to the core. “Feels safe to me,” he whispered.