The Sydney Opera House loomed like a glowing angel over Sydney's harbor. Madame Butterfly would be playing in just moments, and the patrons took their seats with programs in hand. Sir Ian McKellen had just finished shaking hands with a number of polite people who recognized him and wished him well. Ian was happy that this posh crowd was too snub to ask for an autograph. He didn't want to be rude but He did not want to sign anything. He just wanted to be normal tonight. But quite a few people in this theater oriented crowd knew his face and they acknowledged him with nods, smiles, waves and an occasional excited,

"Sir Ian...I did not know you were in Sydney! And who is this young gentleman at your side?" they all asked.

When Orlando agreed to take a trip to Sydney with him, He was sure the boy understood that everyone who saw them together would think Orlando was his lover. A boy toy of some kind. Orlando didn't seem to mind and for that, Ian was grateful. He simply did not want to spend his week long vacation from filming alone. When Orlando had expressed an interest in the opera, Ian thought the boy would get a kick out of seeing the Sydney Opera House, and perhaps Puccini's Madame Butterfly would appeal to him. He had asked Orlando to come along with him, and he had agreed. Ian did not feel so alone.

"This is Mr. Orlando Bloom, a fellow cast member, very talented young actor..." Ian introduced Orlando and the young man politely shook hands with people.

Ian was happy when they had taken their seats and the lights dimmed. Ian had bought balcony seats for the opera, hoping they would be less bothered that way, being more isolated. Ian looked over Orlando a moment, while the young man was reading through the opera program. Orlando had dressed beautifully for the occasion, wearing black slacks, a cream colored cashmere turtleneck and black sport coat. His dark inky black curls were neatly swept back, but the wind had betrayed him and caused a couple of adorable black curls to fall into his chestnut eyes. It was winter in Sydney and the slight chill in the air had made the young man's cheeks blush pink, and his eyes sparkle. Ian sighed. The young man was truly beautiful, and Ian was an admirer of beauty in it's purest form. He had not expected Orlando to dress up for anything, noting the boy's trait of wearing denim and sneakers to award shows and not bothering to comb through his untamed curls, but tonight, the boy had gone out of his way, and Ian appreciated that. It was as he thought this that Ian noticed Orlando's shoes. He could not help but laugh. Orlando had chosen to wear old battered sneakers with his cashmere suit. In fact, one shoe lace was untied. Ian chuckled and Orlando grinned.

The opera began, and the young Japanese "Butterfly" is seen behind a shogi screen, singing with her handmaiden. The Italian lyrics floated up to the balcony and melted in the air. The music was beautiful, but already Orlando had lost his place in the program. Orlando leaned to Ian and whispered,

"What is she saying?"

"She is saying that she has met a man who she will die for, that she could never love another as much as she loves him." Ian replied, whispering into the boy's pink shell of an ear.

Ian did not want to admit to himself that Orlando being so close made him feel light headed. What would Orlando think? He had come along out of respect for him, not to be oggled by an old man!

"But Pinkerton's wife treats her like shit...oooh sorry." Orlando said, getting another soft chuckle from Ian.

"Yes, she does. Pinkerton's wife sees Butterfly as no great threat. She thinks her husband would never leave her for Butterfly, as if Butterfly is somehow...subhuman."

Orlando seemed to ponder this a moment and then asked,

"I lost my place, so I do not know what the words are."

"Here, I will find the page." Ian offered, beginning to flip through his own program.

"No, I think it would be better if you could tell me the words."

Ian was still for a moment. Was Orlando flirting with him? No, that couldn't be. The young man was likely just infatuated and wanted to hear a 'distinguished actor's' voice, like a child wanting a bedtime story. Fine, He would humor him.

"Butterfly says, 'I would want him with every part of my soul...but He is taken by another...and the handmaiden says, 'the man is a cruel white devil...one so young cannot know the truth, the courage, the pain of love...until one has fallen upon the sword of love...and known the longing and loneliness..."

It was then that Ian noticed the young man was not watching the opera, and had not been for quite some time. Orlando's dark chestnut eyes were fixed on Ian, on his eyes, on his lips, on his hands.

Ian read to Orlando for a while, his heart pounding. Why was this angel staring at him that way? Didn't the fool boy know what it did to him? He was so close, leaning in and touching Ian and Ian felt as if his spirit would jump out of his old bones and dance. He tried not to shiver. Orlando even smelled like an angel, of clean soap and the strawberry ice cream he had indulged in before the opera. Leave it to Orlando to want ice cream in the winter.

Ian sighed. Yes, I did.

Orlando was watching him, intently, eyes burning like coal in the dark of the theater, as if flamed by two tiny bright fires. Ian tried to focus on the opera. He tried to ignore the sweet-clean scent of Orlando's body next to him...it's raw heat radiating even in this mammoth theater.

"And what is she saying now?" Orlando asked.

"She is saying that she feels used by Pinkerton, that she knows He is using her, but her love is so deep that is does not matter to her..."

"Used.." Orlando mused, not tearing his eyes away from Ian.

"She is willing to play the fool for him, to be his plaything, and even that alone fuels her passion for him..."

"His plaything..."Orlando mused a long moment, and then fixed those heated eyes on Ian, "have you ever done that?"

Ian hesitated, "Done what?"

"Taken a plaything? Just someone to pleasure you, with no thought for them; just the passion of it?" Orlando asked.

Ian felt his breath catch in his throat.

"No, I have not. My lovers have been few, Mr. Bloom."

"Then have you ever been enflamed by love...the way Butterfly is?"

"Once. A very long time ago."

"Lucky bastard, He was."

"You think so?" Ian asked, watching the younger man take the little silver sword shaped letter opener from his leather bound program, an elegant opening night souvenir the production gave patrons in their programs.

"Oh yes, you see this..." He took the tiny sword, "I could die for love. I am a hopeless romantic. Really I could."

"And for whom?" Ian asked.

"For...oh, I dunno, you maybe...?" Orlando answered nonchalantly. Ian chuckled.

"Young man, now I think you are being a flirt."

"Not flirting, I am going to die dramatically for love...or well, maybe a fling." Orlando took the tiny sword and dramatically held it to his own throat,

"I, Orlando Bloom, shall tonight...die for love..."

Ian placed a hand on the boy's and cleared his throat,

"My dear, that blade is retractable."

Orlando shifted his eyes and then moved coolly, flipping the blade back away from his throat and tucking it back into the program. He purred,

"Good to know."

When the opera was finished, and the theater stood and gave thunderous applause to the performers, Ian noticed that Orlando did not look at the cast members as he clapped. He looked at Ian. Infatuation, remember old man.

A hired car was waiting for them outside the theater and on the long drive back to their hotels, Ian asked Orlando what He thought of the opera,

"It was beautiful." He hesitated a long moment. "You were better."

Ian was not sure what the mad little fool meant by that, but He let it pass without comment. An hour later, the car pulled up to the door of Ian's hotel. Orlando's was down the street.

"Goodnight then..." Ian said softly, and was shocked and overwhelmed when Orlando planted a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth as he saw Ian to the door.

"Goodnight then."

Ian walked to his room, cursing at himself.

His mind's advice seemed best heeded. Ian removed his charcoal gray suit and vintage fedora, and laid them across the back of a chair. He took the plush burgundy terrycloth robe and started the cool water of the shower. It helped. Yes, it certainly helped. Feeling like a prepubescent moron, He rubbed his stiffened cock in his hand and brought more life into it. The damned lad had given him a raging hard on that would have proven quite embarrassing had his tailored coat been a shorter hem. Ian allowed himself to dream in the shower, and switched the cool water to hot, knowing that no cold water was going to rid him of an erection that horny angel had given him. The things in his mind made him blush...images...motions...little movies in his head of what he would do...if that gorgeous young man were to belong to him...just for a night...yes, even just one night...

The door closed, rather loudly, and Ian was startled out of his fantasy. He tensed instantly. Paparazzi had broken into his hotel room on several occasions, and once into his own home. They wanted photos usually, of Sir Ian McKellen's house. Did the old gay actor have a lover? Did He have dirty pictures laying around. It was pathetic. Ian wrapped the robe around him and tip toed into the bedroom of his hotel suite. But it was no photographer. No journalist. It was Orlando He stopped and watched the boy a moment, wondering what Orlando might have left in this room yesterday that He was here to retrieve. He probably had not wanted to disturb him. But how did He get in?

"Orlando?"

Orlando glanced at Ian over his shoulder as He removed his black sport coat and tossed it aside. He went to the bar counter where a bottle of champagne was chilled on ice, and two flutes stood waiting. They were not there before. Ian's pulse quickened.

"Orlando dear, did you leave something here?" He asked.

"Yes, I did."

Ian's heart sank. Of course the boy probably left something when he briefly came up to the room the day before. He was here to get it.

"I left you." Orlando said.

Ian watched the sleek young man pour two glasses of champagne and then gracefully, almost feline grace to his movement really, he gave one to Ian.

"Cheers, mate." Orlando tipped the glass to his pink lips. Ian felt his heart jump. He watched the glass touch those soft pink lips, the smooth liquid course down the long slender throat. Ian took a sip, not taking his eyes off of Orlando

"Did you want company this night?" Ian asked carefully.

"Yes. I want to be in your company. With you. Only with you...unless, unless you don't want me here..." Orlando's bravado was temporarily iced by the realization that Ian might not want him.

"You crazy little fool, of course I want you. I have wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. I didn't think that..." Ian started.

"Then kiss me." Orlando said.

Ian did not hesitate. He thought the young man would change his fickle young mind any second and He wanted at least a kiss out of this. He took Orlando's face (rose pink cheeks...cream skin...Jesus...perfect...) in his hands and kissed the young man, softly and sweetly, tasting of those cherry lips with warm, exploring tongue. It seemed that Orlando was himself made of fire, and warmth and all that inhabits flames.

The boy made no move. He simply was sleek and sexy and feline and...gorgeous.

"Do you want to take off my clothes?" Orlando asked, flame eyes fixed on Ian.

"God, yes..." Ian answered, not worried about losing his composure anymore.

The boy waited. He leaned against the wall like a cat on a scratching post, and Ian began to slip the cashmere sweater up over the young man's arms to reveal a beautifully sculpted chest, and a hard, rigid stomach tight with muscle. Ian looked at him and felt his breath catch again. He could see a small dark inked tattoo near the boy's navel, peeking out from the belt of his pants. He wanted to kiss it, to touch his tongue to that hurt little thatch of skin and feel it's tightness. Ian began slowly working on the belt of the younger man's pants. All this time, Orlando simply kept his eyes fixed on Ian and casually sipped his champagne. It was obvious to Ian's trained eye that the young man was putting on a show of bravado, a nonchalant sexuality that made him irresistible. But Ian could see that tiny crack in the youthful bravado, and it excited Ian.

With all the effort he could put forth, Ian strained to not lose control, to not pull this angel down to the floor with him and take him right then and there. Ian unbuttoned Orlando's pants and slid the zipper down, then hooked the band of the young man's boxer shorts in his thumbs and glided them down Orlando's long, shapely legs, pausing a moment to place a seemingly forbidden kiss on tight, silken thighs. The boy was naked, shoes off, clothing off. Just a simple gold watch on his wrist that caught the light of the room. His hard slender chest, what some people call wirey muscled, gleaming with just a hint of sweat. the boy was excited. He couldn't hide that, and it was far more evident in the long, hardened cock jutting out from it's nest of silky curls at the apex of his thighs.

Ian kissed every inch of the boy's hard chest, his shoulders, the decorated skin around his navel. he dipped his tongue inside that navel, puckered little hole and he bit at the skin, causing a little gasp and shift in Orlando's weight. But when Ian glanced up, there he was sipping that champagne again. Fuck, no wonder they hired him to play a rent-boy in that film. Ian started to rise to kiss him, but was shocked when Orlando firmly and casually placed a hand on the older man's shoulder, slowly pushing him back down on his knees,

"Not yet. It's a kiss you want. I know, but I want one too, and I want one here..."

Orlando's hand firmly gripped his own hard cock and he stroked himself with long, fluid movements, sipping champagne. Ian thought he had never seen anything so erotic in his life. He drank in the moment of it, and then leaned foreward to take the boy's cock in his mouth, licking at the swollen head of it, loving the silky bittersweet taste. How could it be so silky, like velvet...but the young man asked for one kiss and that was all he would give him, until he asked for more. Ian moved his mouth away after one kiss and Orlando glanced down at him, looking irritated.

"More." Was all Orlando said, before sipping that goddamned champagne again.

Ian obliged him, and took the head in his mouth again, this time beginning to suckle the boy's cock with a fierce pressure. Little gasps came from Orlando's throat as Ian took his cock to the back of his throat, then back out again. Ian worked him until Orlando thought he could take no more.

"I am going to come..." Orlando said, his face flush pink with heat. "Let me come in your mouth."

The words were crude, and yet, coming from this young man, they seemed elegant. But Ian did not want the boy to finish that way. He wanted Orlando to spill his seed inside him. Yes, he wanted that.

"Don't come yet. I want this to last longer."

"Don't worry," Orlando pushed the older man's face back to his groin, with an amazing lack of consideration. Most likely affected, Ian thought. He was making a damned good show of it. "I can come again. I stay hard after I come."

"Party trick?" Ian could not stifle the humorous barb.

"It wins bets in pubs."

Ian took the boy in his mouth again, pumping on him, licking and sucking until (yes, the stupid little bastard is drinking champagne again...as if I were not down here sucking his cock...he is drinking champagne as if he is fully in control!) Orlando began to shudder and Ian felt the hot, sticky evidence of Orlando's climax fill his mouth. Ian swallowed every drop, loving the bittersweet taste of him, licking the young man clean.

And he had not lied. He remained hard, and Orlando smiled coolly down at Ian.

"Now you can have your kiss."

Ian rose and slowly, savoring the heat of Orlando's skin, and took Orlando's mouth with his. Taste of champagne, strawberries, ice cream and the bittersweet delicious taste that mingled in Ian's mouth. The thought that Orlando was now tasting himself almost drove Ian over the edge. He kissed the boy harder and deeper, mingling tastes, tongues, warmth, wetness. But it was too much and Ian lost his calm control. He wrapped his arms around Orlando and pressed the young man to him, tightening his grip as he claimed his mouth. He felt Orlando chuckle low against his kiss and Orlando set his champagne glass, now empty on the table near him.

"Easy now, young man," Orlando teased in a mocking impression of the distinguished older actor. "Patience is a virtue."

Orlando pulled himself away and sauntered to the bed, casually again.

"Why don't you use me, Ian...Sir Ian?. Do what you want with me and throw me off in the morning."

"You're playing with fire, Orlando. Are you sure you want this?"

Orlando laughed at this, almost cruelly,
"Oooh, drama. I want this. I want you to fuck me, to make me suck and fuck you, to make me beg, and maybe tie me up and..."

"Shut up, hellraiser."

"In my pants pocket. Look there." Orlando said, cocky grin and pink tongue touching his teeth. Ian obeyed and discovered several small little foil packets, two were condoms and two were packets of lubrication oil. Ian examined these, shocked at his realization.

"You planned this." Ian said.

Another short laugh from Orlando.

"Of course I did. Now come here."

Ian obeyed once more and took Orlando in his arms again, hot, tight, wet kisses, silk, heat, softness, silk skin over steel muscle.

"Now you have me. What will you do with me?" Orlando purred.

Ian let his hands roam the boy's body, stopping to toy with the tight little nipples of his chest. Ian felt out of control, like a teenager touching a girl for the first time. He felt clumsy in his passions, but Orlando seemed to find it amusing, and flattering.

"How do you want me? Should I suck you first? Hmm? Or maybe you'd like me tied up first? Are you afraid I'll get away...?"

Ian lost control, completely. He took the boy by those dark ink black locks and shoved him over the edge of the bed, bent over, and kicked his legs apart. He opened the little foil packages and slipped a condom on his throbbing erection, then poured the warm oil into his hand and began working it, a bit roughly, into the boy's backside. He found the intimate little puckered hole, tight ring of muscle. Impossibly tight.

Ian slipped a finger into the tight ring, working the muscle lose with slick fingers. He heard Orlando's gasps and felt the boy's bottom move up to meet his hand.

"You are so beautiful..." Ian whispered. "and I want you so badly, but I don't think I can be gentle...I am past being gentle...and it will hurt you...I will hurt you."

Orlando turned his head to look at Ian over his shoulder,

"Then hurt me."

That was too much. Ian opened the sash of his robe and pressed the head of his swollen member against that secret little ring of muscle. He then pulled the boy's hips against him, hearing Orlando cry out and impaling him on the evidence of his arousal.

Orlando felt a surge of stinging pain but the pain was dissipating with the older man's pumping movement. He relaxed and let his muscles take the length of Ian until Ian was buried to the hilt inside him.

"Use me, Ian, use me..."

Ian reached for the chair where his gray suit lay nearby. He took the long blue silk tie from the chair and in a moment that he was not sure what he was doing, but he was loving the results, he wrapped the tie through Orlando's mouth, like a horse's bit, and he held to the ends with one hand, riding the boy over the sound of fast, excited gasps and moans. Orlando was bucking under him, moving up to meet him and slamming down. With his other hand, Ian reached under and took Orlando's stiff cock into his hand and pumped it with their movements. Ian felt himself letting go, his face flushing red and heat rising through his veins. In a shuddering explosion, he came inside Orlando, feeling his hot seed fill the boy up. He moved his hand faster on Orlando, wanting him to come with him. It was not difficult to make the boy come. He discovered the secret when he smacked his tight bottom and left a stinging palm print on the tender skin. He gave him a few more hard slaps and heard him cry out, in time with the heated stickiness spilling into Ian's hand.

When it was finished, they lay, collapsed with one another, out of breath and dizzy. Orlando lay on his back, sighing into the air that now seemed to thin for breathing.

"Ian?"

"Yes, darling, sweet angel...yes?"

Orlando hesitated, all bravado gone, "Can we have champagne with breakfast in the morning. I think that would be nice."

Ian laughed, low and husky, and kissed the young man's taut stomach, "Anytime. Anything you want."