Title: My Private Porn Star
Rating: PG15ish
Status: Done & done
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Heath Ledger
Warnings: Slash, mentions of sex.
Disclaimer: The guys aren't mine. This likely never took place outside my imagination.
A/N: Done for a 5 words challenge. The words I had to use were donkey, pop, paramount, trash & umbrella. I have underlined them in the text. This is by the way part 4 in the Apron Series. Oh, and it's from Heath's POV for a change.
My private porn star
Now.
I have become aware of the fact that there exists a tiny (read: huge) misconception about Orlando. People seem to be under the impression that my lover is actually a good boy who never does anything out of the ordinary, who never behaves like your average horny bastard. Well, let me help you out of that dream: it’s not true. God, no. Orlando is, in fact, the horniest bastard in the northern hemisphere. When he’s in the mood, he can see dicks in everything: in mushrooms, clouds, even in the drawing my little niece once made for us. Which featured a clown holding a balloon. He thought the balloon looked rather phallic. I thought he was insane.
Yes, he’s quite something, Orlando. There’s little to nothing common about the guy. Think about his fascinating choice of clothing, his regular debaucheries of nudism – only in the privacy of our own house, of course - and his unusual collection of socks in all sorts of patterns and colours and you’ll understand why. And then I haven’t even mentioned his most striking trait: his quite… unique taste when it comes to Things To Do On A Stormy Autumn Night.
While I relate the world ‘night’ to things such as ‘bed’, ‘stars’ and ‘sleeping’, – alright, and ‘passionate lovemaking’ every once in a while - Orlando associates it with his favourite kind of entertainment lately: those horrible, repulsive, over-the-top sex-shows that are aired only after midnight. And the late hour of broadcasting is not without reason, I tell you. If I, a healthy, 26-year-old male who doesn’t shun a good roll in the hay, am practically traumatised for life after seeing a show called ‘Best Sex Ever’, how would an eight-year-old innocent kid survive the copious amounts of big fake boobs that are shoved into heaps of nameless faces?
And seriously, who made up that name anyway? ‘Best Sex Ever’, I mean, what the fuck? How many heated discussions would have preceded the decision that yes, ‘Best Sex Ever’ was indeed the most brilliant, awe-inspiring and captivating title that could be thought of? Would they have been seated around a round mahogany table while arguing about the matter over a cup of coffee, I wonder? Or would whoever thought it up have come up with it during a lousy shag, wistfully reminiscing, indeed, the best sex he’d ever had?
I know what you’re all thinking right now. You’re probably all shaking your head, assuming I’m just in denial, going all like ‘yeah sure Heath, like we don’t know you secretly dig those shows!’ And of course I would lie if I’d proclaim that I don’t understand where such thoughts come from, but the truth is I think those silly porn-shows are really just a pathetic excuse for porn. It’s like, porn for dummies, really. Add the fact that there’s always a conspicuous lack of hot gay-sex and it’s a no-brainer really.
Best Sex Ever? Never.
However, there are things I do enjoy watching. Gay flicks. I kid you not, there’s a wide range of awesome gay movies out there, that not only contain an actual plot but that also show eroticism that doesn’t border on vulgarity. In my opinion, sexual tension in movies is paramount to the stupid trash Orlando likes to watch. I mean, really, why do they even bother making up a story around the overly fake humping? There’s always a random chick called Rebecca – why are they always called Rebecca or Shelly anyway? – who’s getting jiggy with her broad-shouldered window-cleaner who goes by the surprisingly original name of Jake, or Glenn, or Ricky, and who - oh, the drama! - appears to be the married friend of the neighbour of her cousin twice removed.
But alright, even if I would ignore the ridiculous story-lines, the excessive straightness and the godawful title there is no fucking way shows like that will ever make it to my Top Five of Things To Do On A Stormy Autumn Night.
The reason for this, you ask?
Orlando, of course.
Orlando, who turns into a crazed sex-maniac the very moment the tune of that fucked-up show starts. Orlando, whose cock is about the size of Orthanc after twenty seconds of watching how fake tits nearly knock out the person who’s causing them to wobble in the first place. Orlando, who tends to become very busy trying to wiggle his horny way into my pants whenever a naked body-part appears on screen. Which happens fairly often, you might understand. With his obtrusiveness he’s just totally ruined however little chance there still was of me learning to enjoy those programs.
Honestly, whereas watching shabby-looking people taking each other from behind on TV turns him on like nothing else, – except perhaps me cutting several capers with our pink umbrella, and I don’t plan to elaborate – my lust for sex evaporates quicker than you can say ‘blow me’ when I watch the same. Which often results in me exasperatedly trying to push Orlando away while he keeps rubbing himself against me like a big cat with a giant dick.
Yesterday it was that time of the week again. I should have known it really. And escaped it as well. But unfortunately I had made the mistake of joining Orlando on the couch, still unaware of the fact that it was Monday again, 12.30AM. I was just wrapped up in a rather interesting magazine Orlando’s friend Dom had sent, perusing a most fascinating article about cucumber cultivators in the 19th century, when I suddenly heard Orlando panting in my ear. And believe me, Orlando panting in your ear when you’re as horny as rotting wall-paper is about as fun as a donkey peeing over your food.
Or so I imagine.
At any rate, realisation set in, and I steadily ignored both him and the moaning noises emanating from the telly, trying to keep on reading. Orlando, however, didn’t seem too eager to give up, and with amazing speed he slipped his hand underneath my shirt to pinch my nipple, which caused me to yelp in pain and surprise. Unfortunately for me, any moan, yelp, grunt or whimper coming from my lips never fails to turn Orlando on even further than he is at that point, and to my dismay I noticed he started to pant some more while his hand was making rubbing movements in my crotch-area. Completely exasperated, I forcefully removed his hand and smacked him over the head with my magazine.
“You moron! Stop that!” I cried, vainly trying to save my earlobe from being bitten.
Orlando ignored me, of course, and started to suck my neck, his hands roaming possessively across my still non-aroused body.
“Orlando!”
I squirmed as to create as much distance as possible between my neck and his hungry tongue, but it was to no avail.
“I want you baby,” he breathed, deliberately pushing his leg between my own so I could feel his hard cock against my thigh.
“I noticed that much,” I replied sarcastically, trying to shove that purring body off me. “I’m reading, can’t you see?”
“I can think of more exciting things than flipping through some boring magazine,” he said in a half-moan, managing to grope me through my pants without the desired effect.
A little indignantly, I replied, “I wasn’t flipping through ‘some boring magazine'. I was indulging in the act of--”
“Just do me already, you hot little thing,” the barely coherent voice of Orlando interrupted me. “Here on the couch. I want to feel your thick, hard, pounding c—”
“Orlando, you horny fuck!” I cut him off, throwing his body off me. “Go help yourself and leave me alone, alright?”
Totally annoyed, I got up from the couch with my magazine clutched in my hands, when I made the terrible mistake of throwing a quick glance at the television. I don’t exaggerate when I state that I felt my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.
Dreadful. Utterly, utterly dreadful.
A Ken-like man. Wearing an apron. Made of leather. Receiving a blowjob. The man, not the apron, that is.
“Oh. My. God,” I stammered, my mouth dropping wide open in shock. “Oh. My. God.”
I just refused to believe what my eyes were seeing. An apron! The guy was wearing an apron! How dared he! And how dared he let some brainless bimbo suck him off like that?! But that apron! Why was such a vile creature degrading not only himself but all apron-wearing individuals by wearing an apron when it looked utterly, and I mean ut-ter-ly, horrible on him? I mean, damn it, some people can pull anything off, but he sure as hell didn’t belong to them. Why was it made of leather anyway?!
“How can you enjoy this… this… crap?” I asked, my fingers fluttering wildly through the air as to emphasize my disgust, my gaze shifting from the rather sickening scene displayed on the TV-screen to a totally horny Orlando. His eyes were fixed on the man in the apron, or rather to the action that was taking place beneath the apron, but when I spoke he seemed to remember my presence and turned to face me with a look in the eye similar to that of a predatory lion when his gaze lands on a particularly edible-looking deer.
Oh God.
Our eyes met briefly before I made for the door as if struck by lightening, knowing that if I didn’t disappear right then I would very likely get molested by Mr Hornypants himself in no-time. And as strange it might sound, that prospect wasn’t as pleasing to me as it probably was to him. I dashed up the stairs and I heard rather than saw Orlando running after me with remarkable speed, which made me all the more eager to create as much distance between us as possible. When I finally made it to our bedroom I rushed inside, unlike the average main character in the average horror movie not forgetting to close the door behind me. I said before that Orlando’s speed was remarkable, and trust me when I say that it truly was. Before I could lean against the door with my full weight to prevent him from coming in, he had already managed to get in, the lustful glint in his eyes still speaking volumes.
“Goddammit, why can’t y—” I started, but before I could properly finish my admonishions, Orlando had already forcefully shoved me on the bed. My tries to get up again were to no avail: the sudden weight of Orlando’s body on top of mine prevented me from going anywhere.
“I’m s—”
erious, you motherfucking bastard, my mind continued when his lips forcefully crashed into mine before my mouth could finish. A hand came up to cup my face and suddenly my resolutions to not give him what he wanted seemed quite ridiculous. To my defence I would like to say that Orlando is quite possibly the best kisser in the history of mankind, and that he could probably turn on even the dead with those lips of his. Okay, that might be stretching it a bit, but believe me when I say that it’s really quite hard not to feel the urge to fuck him for 72 hours straight when he kisses you the way he kissed me then.
So yeah, I basically let him do what he had felt like doing the second that goddamn TV-pollution started, and a divine shag later I was pretty much exhausted. I told him so, and he grinned in that typical egocentrical way of his, that I’m-a-sexgod-and-I-damn-well-know-it grin, before he said: “Yeah, I’m quite a good lay, aren’t I? I might as well start a career in the porn-industry when the acting doesn’t go too well.”
I laughed despite myself. “Yeah... you’d be my very own Ron Jeremy then. My private porn star. Sounds good, really.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Orlando grinned, slinging an arm across my waist. “Maybe within two years you’ll see me on Best Sex Ever or something. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
I rolled my eyes. That guy was incorrigible. “Extremely. Now, before I get completely turned off again, fancy another shag?”
He looked at me with naughty shining eyes and spread his limbs as an imitation of an angel in the snow, only without the snow. And the angel was pretty much absent as well. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, sly and horny and oh-so-pretty.
I had no idea what I was waiting for, so I climbed on top of him and fucked him, and we didn’t stop until the sun rose again.
~The End~