Disclaimer: This didn�t happen. Ever. I don�t know these people.

Beta: Reisling, Jeanette, and my kind Irish beta Jen.

Author�s Notes: Ever since Jonathan Rhys Myers had some harsh things to say about Orlando, I wanted to write a fic with the two of them. Finally, it all came together � and just in time for the holiday. Sing it with me! �H-O-Double L-Y-W-Double O-D spells Hollywood!�

Jonathan didn�t see the feckin� point in Hollywood celebrating Halloween. Most of these people spent their lives in costumes and unless they were going to show up dressed as themselves � the Dorian Gray portraits of who they really were � then all Halloween proved to be was yet another evening of L.A. deception and fa�ade. Everyday was Halloween in Los Angeles, walking down the streets one could see them all, ghouls, witches, ghosts and goblins, all hours of the day, all year long. The Armani and Vera Wang might as well be the plastic and rubber masks sold at the marts along the road.

But as his agent pointed out, an actor who wants exposure simply does not turn down an invitation to �Sammy Fine�s Halloween Hootenanny�, no matter what he might think of the host�s alliteration. Jonathan gave himself the small comfort, though, of dressing honestly while he swallowed his pride. Cravat knotted handsomely at his throat and cummerbund hugging his waist over fitted, turn-of-the-century trousers, Jonathan came costumed as the vampire he was, feeding off the fame and so-called prestige of those around him. An Irish complexion nearly completed the look for him, but he�d added a touch more pale to his skin anyway, and a liberal amount of white highlighting powder that gave his cheeks a porcelain sheen. He most definitely appeared stylishly dead. And at the very least, he liked the easy excuse for looking dour.

He arrived late and was hardly the only one to do so, but the party was already in full undulation, an orgy of self-importance and insincerity. Women squealed as they recognized long-lost best friends whose names they desperately tried to remember before blankly asking, �Now what was your name again?� as if it wasn�t insulting to be forgotten. Men patted each other�s backs and talked about sports, making sure to eye the women as they squealed. Jonathan took a deep breath and entered.

Black and orange plastic streamers instantly cascaded down in front of his face and to his left, he heard some automated creature chuckling an electronic laugh while the Monster Mash played in the background. Sammy Fine, despite his name, was known for enjoying the impossibly tacky. Cotton webs spanned every corner, complete with fake spiders flashing their red eyes. A valet in an orange vest stood with a table full of party favors: black spider rings, wind-up jack-o-lanterns, tiny plastic skeletons, and more cheap holiday candy than Jonathan could stomach to see, let alone eat. He shook his head and walked past.

Veronica Fine, Sammy�s oldest daughter and heiress to the old and tacky money, approached Jonathan, slinking over in her cat suit. She�d inherited her father�s taste for kitsch, but she�d read a book or two in her day, which made her slightly more interesting to talk to. �Jonny!� she shrieked. Jonathan smirked in greeting and listened to Veronica�s chatter. Her eyes never met his as she constantly scanned the crowd and she certainly never noticed that he didn�t say a word in reply. Jonathan admired her body � her one undeniably likeable feature � and waited for her to see someone she fancied more than him. �Oh, my god.� Her whisker-lined jaw dropped and Jonathan knew his that moment was over. �Holy fucking shit!� she said, always the lady. �I think that�s Orlando Bloom.� And she was off, scurrying to the door with her tail in her hand. Jonathan couldn�t ignore the spike of offense that drove through him. Ditched for Hollywood�s latest brainless pretty boy. He was about to find the bar when Veronica seized his arm. �Come on, Jonny. Have you met him? He�s great, and so hot. Oh, my god.�

She pulled him through the crowd to the group just entering, still standing beneath the orange and black streamers. Once they came to a stop, Jonathan tugged his arm from Veronica�s grasp and fixed his sleeve. �Orli!� Veronica cooed, and Jonathan straightened his vest as he heard the sloppy cheek kisses of the elite. �You look so fantastic. Have you met Jonny?�

�I know his stuff, yeah. Awesome to meet you, man.�

Jonathan lifted his eyes and couldn�t stop an eyebrow from rising. He�d seen pictures of the guy, of course; Jonathan made a point to know the faces of the undeserving in his business; but had Veronica not introduced him, he wasn�t sure he�d have recognized Ridley Scott�s little pet. It was hard to find the pin-up boy in the long glitter eyelashes and pink wig, but Jonathan recognized the wide brown eyes that stared at him, no matter how much eyeliner was around them. He politely extended his hand and Bloom shook it warmly, letting out three words in a soft exhalation:

�You look amazing.�

Jonathan had prepared for arrogance, charm, even feigned naivet�, but he�d not anticipated a flat-out compliment, and one that was accidentally given, if Bloom�s embarrassed grimace could be trusted. And Jonathan felt it could. He peered hard, looked deep, trying to find even a touch of dishonesty or dissemblance, but it wasn�t there. It wasn�t an act; Bloom had blurted something out like a stupid kid, and not some big hotshot celebrity with a PR crow on his shoulder. Curious. Jonathan acknowledged the compliment with a nod and took his hand back. �You�ve got lipstick on your teeth, mate,� he said.

Bloom nodded with a blush and a small, enigmatic smile. His tongue slid over his front teeth beneath his lips. �Yeah, thanks, man. Happy Halloween to you, too.� He turned and walked away, his friends right by his side. Jonathan felt every bit as insulted as the lad had intended. He gritted his teeth, found the bar and a drink, and then took up residence in a dim corner of the party. Anger heated his body beneath his clothes, beading sweat around his neck. He hated these fucking Hollywood parties full of the better-than-thous and the desperate fucks for fame, the wannabes, the used-to-bes and the shouldn�t bes. He took a long swallow of his Irish whiskey and let his eyes scan the dark and flashing room. Laughter spiked above the ridiculous music, people danced in their costumes, laughing only louder and more drunkenly when a long feather or swinging tail on their disguise struck someone else.

Across the room, Jonathan spied Sammy Fine himself dressed as Donald Trump with his buxom wife having to do precious little to look like whatever young thing was currently Mrs. Trump. Jonathan glanced at his watch and made a decision. He�d say his bullshit to Sammy, make good on his appearance, pose for a photograph or two, and get the feck out before this mindset, this bloody shallow, self-absorbed mindset, polluted his brain. He threw back his drink, the lights glittering distortedly across the crystal bottom of the glass. When he lowered his hand and his eyes, his gaze fell directly upon a long-lashed one that quickly looked away. Jonathan cocked his head, peering at the man across the room.

Orlando Bloom had been watching him.

Jonathan sat back in his chair, his previous plan forgotten in the light of this new mystery. Why had Orlando Bloom been watching him? And there again! That glittered gaze flitted in Jonathan�s direction. Curious, unless the smug bastard was attempting to show him up, rub in that last stinging blow. But there again, another passing glances, and this time accompanied by a self-conscious shift of his weight from one foot to the next, aware of being watched in turn. It was less smug and more...coy.

Very curious.

Jonathan crossed his legs and observed the room, namely the small cluster directly across from him. He had to give Bloom some credit. It took bullocks for a Hollywood heartthrob to show up at a prominent party like this in full drag. Purple and green dance lights flickered across Bloom�s legs and Jonathan couldn�t discern any hair on those legs; seemed they were bare and smooth from the two-inch heels all the way up to the black vinyl skirt. Jonathan tried not to smile when he thought about whichever hotshot director would give the man an earful about that on set the next couple of weeks. Hard to have a manly hero with hairless legs. The fake tits, though, those were probably the most surprising. From Jonathan�s somewhat extensive experience with drag parties, most blokes didn�t bother with the boobs when the dress was all a lark, but Bloom had given himself a rather decent bit of cleavage, which looked oddly appealing in the tight pink t-shirt with his toned arms. It showed a bit of pluck and individuality Jonathan would have thought had been beaten out of the guy in his PR grooming.

Bloom�s stare scanned across his once more and Jonathan held it. He smirked and Orlando chuckled, soundless from this distance, a small, private action that managed to banish every other person in the room from Jonathan�s mind. Then, Bloom looked away and the rest of the party and the god-awful music returned. Still Jonathan�s mind felt locked on that dramatically designed face. Silvery eye shadow up to the dark brows, full pink lipstick, and those long, fluttering and fake eyelashes, covered with glitter, reaching almost as high as that masculine brow bone. The heavy blush only served to make Bloom�s cheekbones even more severe and unearthly. Put all together with the bright pink wig and he still made only a passably attractive woman. But he made a fucking gorgeous drag queen. Gorgeous enough that Jonathan found himself admiring those legs whenever Bloom turned and enjoying the hell out of the way that pink t-shirt showed off the muscles in his back. Something about the blend of the masculine and the almost ridiculously feminine; it made Jonathan�s body perk up.

So Jonathan sat back and waited. The cross-room flirtation continued. Bloom sat down with his friends very deliberately within Jonathan�s line of sight, crossing his legs, his high-heels bringing a clunky, manly awkwardness to his movements. The tits looked especially good from the front, plastic nipples peaked, with just a touch of collarbone and muscled chest visible through the shirt�s fashionably torn V-neck. Jonathan licked his lips, imagining sucking one of those fake nipples, then throwing it aside to bite the real one. He wondered if Bloom was a good enough actor to moan convincingly for both.

The party rocked on into late hours of night defined by being �in the morning�. Jonathan thought over the sensations of following bare, hairless legs to a hard cock, but Bloom did little more than smile secretively at him with pink-smudged lips. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, giving a peek at the promising darkness between them, but he made no move toward Jonathan, and seemed to have little intention of doing so. Jonathan let out a long sigh.

He glanced at his watch. It was well past his time to go and he was tired of making pointless, falsely friendly conversation, and the drag coquette across the way had exhausted him. He wouldn�t do it, the coward, Jonathan thought. He stared hard at Bloom�s strong back as the man turned to laugh with a friend behind him. Come on, he directed his mind hard at Bloom. I insulted you, you insulted me, you want me, I want you; we�re done with the foreplay now. But Bloom merely gave him another smile and took a slow sip of his drink.

Jonathan stood and began walking across the room, entertaining himself with all the reasons why Bloom hadn�t and wouldn�t act. Maybe he was afraid of ruining his squeaky-clean reputation, the boy on every young girl�s wall dressed in drag and seducing a man. Jonathan couldn�t deny the little burn of arousal that thought sent speeding through his body. He glanced around, hoping for and seeing a photographer nearby. He could imagine jerking off to a picture like that, just thinking about all the PR flack Bloom would hear, the glances and whispers he�d get whenever he went out in public.

Maybe Bloom was trying to be true to his girl, if he had one; maybe he wasn�t one of those secretive Hollywood fags who decided that fucking a man wasn�t cheating. A sweet prospect, and one Jonathan could allow. He�d gotten more than a few homosexual offers while he�d been with a lass and wouldn�t have accepted a one, even if he had been tempted. A man just didn�t treat a lady like that. Jonathan could forgive Bloom�s inaction in that case, but he was still going to make him pay for the flirtation.

Maybe Bloom was flat-out scared of him. That possibility Jonathan liked best of all. It made him bite his bottom lip to quiet a whimper. Bloom, Hollywood�s favorite foreign son, afraid of him. Afraid of wanting him, of finding him attractive, afraid of his attitude and his reputation. God, Jonathan could have stroked off to that thought right then and there.

In the end, Bloom�s reasons didn�t matter because his gaze darkened and his words faded on his pinked lips when he saw Jonathan approaching, and whatever he was scared of, for whatever reason he wouldn�t move beyond crossing legs and pursing lips, Jonathan would. He�d have the bollocks to do it, and fuck all to anyone who judged him for it.

He heard a greeting or two, but ignored them, and noted as the conversation around him died as he walked closer to Bloom, passing the threshold for strangers, then acquaintances, charging right through the perimeter for close friends. With a smug smile on his lips, he climbed up onto the sofa on top of Bloom, his knees on either side of the man�s vinyl-skirted hips. He was rewarded by Bloom�s small gasp and hands lightly touching his thighs. Soft brown eyes peered up at him; pupils dilated black amidst all the silver and shine of the lashes and makeup. Jonathan gripped Bloom�s jaw, his fingers fanning across his neck, thumbs sensing a dusting of stubble beneath the heavy makeup. He let his gaze drop to the pink mouth, just gently parted, and he slipped his tongue inside, closing their mouths together. The hands on his thighs tensed, and Bloom kissed him back.

Jonathan�s hand slipped further back for a better hold when Bloom responded with equal force. Bloom�s grip moved to his waist, pulling him closer. Jonathan smiled against his mouth, licking, triumphant. His fingers slid into sweat-damp hair trapped beneath the plastic heat of Bloom�s wig. Jonathan moaned and felt the vibration in their joined skin. Then, with a pop, he pulled away. He panted against Bloom�s flushed and smeared lips. A camera�s flash flickered off the walls around them.

�Happy Halloween, princess,� he said, sounding casual while feeling everything but. God, he hadn�t expected it to be so bloody good. For one pounding heartbeat, he considered pulling Bloom with him now, fucking him tonight. It would be worth the rumors and the slight damage to his pride. The lad had fire Jonathan hadn�t anticipated, and he wanted more of it.

Instead, he stuck to the original plan, save the small allowance of licking a playful path across Bloom�s top teeth. He earned a small whimper and grinned when Bloom�s lips tried to close on his tongue and suck it into his mouth. He met Bloom�s eyes with an arrogant smirk.

�See you at Sammy�s Christmas party,� he said, and stood from the couch. His feet thankfully held him as he turned and walked away through the plastic and orange streamers, out into the unrelenting haunted house that was Los Angeles.