The house smelled of cinnamon and cider. Orlando was happy. Orlando was usually happy. He did not get bored easily. It was raining hell bent outside but he was warm, cozy and with Ian. He loved being in Ian's house, being surrounded by all of the interesting things there, the antique record players, the winding carved oak staircase that depicted winged horses. Ian had loved having Orlando in the house as well, and had gone so far as to set the guest room up as Orlando's bedroom when he was there, not that he ever slept in it, for that would be a sin. Orlando always shared Ian's bed when he was in the house, but Ian wanted him to have his own personal space there, to know it was his home too.

Ian had asked Orlando to move in, if not for relations then for practicality. Orlando slept most nights at Ian's house and his own house was often neglected, but Orlando had rejected the idea, saying it would complicate things. Ian had to remind himself he was trying not to fall in love with Orlando. A little late for that, old man. Still, Ian thought of Orlando as his muse, the driving force behind what made him feel alive.

Ian watched Orlando as he sipped apple cider, thumbing through old jazz records from the thirties that were stacked on the floor. He was naked, as usual. Orlando rarely wore clothing when he was just lounging around the house, and Ian was not sure if it was because the boy just didn't like clothing, or he wanted to drive Ian crazy. Ian suspected it was a bit of both. He was certainly not complaining though. Orlando had proven himself to be a hedonist of the highest ranks, a free spirit that would do the strangest things at whim. Ian had encouraged him to think of this house as his refuge from the mundane world, to do whatever he pleased here, and Orlando did. Often.

All the time.

Shunning clothing was his usual. Orlando loved to touch and be touched. He thought nothing of approaching Ian at his study and throwing the books from the desk to lay himself on it and stretch out languidly, like a cat jealous of it's master for reading a book instead of stroking it. Orlando loved the stone shower downstairs and often took hour long showers or baths that lasted all afternoon in the clawfoot tub. He had gone through Ian's closet and found Ian's brocade smoking jacket, his silk robe, his tailored jackets and cashmere coats, and Orlando had tried on all of them, finding a particular interest in the silk Japanese robe. Orlando had loved trying on clothes but he rarely kept them on very long.

Ian had a habit of buying Orlando soft sweaters and silk textures, bringing home clothing for the young man to wear, not out anywhere really, just to wear for him. Ian had watched Orlando slip into countless outfits he had brought home to him, just for the pleasure of seeing him do it. Orlando never wore them any other time.

Today, the nymph was busying himself with old records and apple cider. Ian was taking photographs of the petals of an orchid he was growing in the living room. Nervously, he glanced at Orlando, who was putting an Elle Fitzgerald record on the Victrola. He hoped Orlando would not be spooked by what he had done. No, he thought, he doubted Orlando would ever be spooked by anything of this nature.

"I love her voice..." Orlando mused aloud.

Ian took this as a cue to begin, and he hoped this went well.

"Orlando dear, I would like to take pictures of you, if you will allow it."

Oh that sounded clinical. Good show. Ian rolled his eyes.

But Orlando was looking up at him with a polite smile, "I'd love to."

"I'd like it to be very artistic..."

"Ian."

"Nothing vulgar..."

"Ian, get..."

"It would be tasteful..."

"the..."

"But there would be..."

"camera..."

"Artistic nudity..."

"and shoot..."

Now for the clincher, Ian thought. His nerves bundled and he took a deep breath, "Don't say yes yet. I'd like you to wear something in particular. It is upstairs, in your room."

Orlando had simply stood up and walked up the stairs, gentle sway of hips, bare thighs, gleaming skin. Ian had sat next to the fire and prayed Orlando wouldn't yell something about him being an old rejected pervert and walk out. Ian held the Nikkon camera in his lap, staring into the fireplace until...he saw a shadow on the wall.

Turning to see Orlando, he felt his breath catch in his throat. He almost dropped the camera. Orlando stood on the spiral staircase, one hand gracefully draped on the banister carved with winged horses under his fingers. He was beautiful. Ian already knew that. hell, everyone knew that, but dear God, he was beautiful. So, he had found the full outfit laid out neatly on the bed, everything that Ian had pictured in his mind, in the dream he had. He had found the deep burgundy velvet riding jacket, the snug fitted black pants, the silk white button up shirt with the high collar, sleek black kidskin gloves, and the deep rich black riding boots with the five buckles up the back. He had found the long slender riding crop next to it all. The highbrow uniform of equestrians in showmanship riding tournaments. it had not been easy to find. Ian had it custom made at a riding shop in London. It had been easy enough to get Orlando's exact measurements from the costume people from the film. But Ian never expected the young man would agree so quickly to put it on...

Orlando stood on the staircase, the relaxed and natural pose of a model and a slow, almost wicked smile. Ian dared not move. Now the kid knew he wanted to take pictures of him in riding gear. How kinky was that?

"Tell me what you want me to do." Orlando said, his low purr instantly making Ian twitch.

"Just...just like that. The way you are."

He raised the camera and found the light of the room, the natural shadows on Orlando's body, and he took several photos. Orlando did not move away when Ian came close to him and took close up shots of his hands, his neck, the slender tapered waist, smooth under the close fitted riding coat. Ian hesitated a long moment,

"Tell me." Orlando whispered.

"Just open...open this...only this..." Ian nervously touched the latch hooks of the front of Orlando's pants, then looked shy about it.

Orlando fixed his dark eyes on Ian and slowly unfastened the hooks, opening the pants to a V and freeing his cock, which was hardening slowly in it's neat thatch of dark silky curls. Ian stepped back and slowly raised the camera to take a photograph, assuming Orlando would ask him not to take pictures of this, but that did not happen. Ian photographed the young man, elegant and beautiful in his splendor and at the same time powerfully sexual. Ian's hands shook on the camera. Yes, this was in his dream, Orlando's slow smile, his graceful dancer's body, long tapered fingers over winged horses, smooth velvet tight like second skin over that slender waist. And his tapered fingers, slender, almost girlish but not quite, clamped over his shaft, stroking, caressing. Yes, that had been in the dream too...

"Will you...touch...yourself?" Ian asked throatily.

There was no verbal answer, only Orlando's hand slowly moving to his shaft, and then caressing, moving, gripping, stroking. Ian flashed the camera, and this did not seem to bother Orlando in the least.

What the hell is this kid? Who the fuck is that calm and cool while an old man is taking photos of you jerking off while wearing riding gear? Ian pondered, but the thoughts left his mind when he saw Orlando's other hand take the slender riding crop and slide it slowly across the tight breeches at his thigh, seductively, letting the little looped end trace across the exposed flesh at his hip, making Ian shiver.

Snap. Flash.

Ian saw him unbutton the gold buttons of the red jacket, letting it fall open, still molded by his form, then unbutton the small clear buttons of the starched shirt, exposing lightly tanned skin and flat pink nipples, wiry muscles of Orlando's chest and stomach and the graceful tapering waist.

Snap. Flash.

Orlando's foot moving to step down the stairs, slowly...just two steps, and then the graceful instep of his heel rooking itself on the stairs and his hips cocked to one side. Ian felt his blood race,

"Touch your fingers to your lips..." Ian said in a sigh.

Orlando obliged, tracing a fingertip over his lips and then lightly biting his fingertip.

Snap. Flash.

"Take off the coat..."

And Orlando did, slipping it slowly off his shoulders, letting Ian have time to photograph it. Snap. Flash. Tongue tip to top lip, sleeves falling, russling fabric velvet hitting the floor, tumbling down the stairs.

"The shirt too, take it off...all of it..." Ian snapped his fingers impatiently, lost now in the heat of things, and Orlando laughed low and sultry, obeying his instructions. He began to slide the thin, tight breeches down his hips and Ian stopped him,

Snap. Flash.

"Wait...leave the breeches on, and the boots..."

"Whatever you say." Orlando smiled wickedly.

"Shh, don't talk..."

Orlando gave a silent chuckle. He loved getting Ian this way, so worked up he forgot his inhibitions, forgot his Englishness. Orlando took his shaft in his hand again and began to work it in long, slow strokes, fixing his eyes on Ian's and feeling the tension build in his loins, bringing his cock to it's full length and hardness. The tension began to build a slow ache and he worked himself faster, harder, throwing his head back and gritting his teeth with the aching tension.

Snap. Flash. Perfect.

Ian's head was swimming. All blood had drained from his head and redistributed itself at his groin. God, I must look like an idiot, standing here with a boner and a camera...

Snap. Flash.

Ian watched Orlando's hand work the shaft of his erection, his hand shivering and gripping the winged horse banister. Yes, good, he was losing control. Ian was sure there was nothing more beautiful than Orlando when he was in the throws of passion.

Snap. Flash.

"Yes...that's it...use the riding crop..." Ian instructed breathlessly.

This received a small wicked smile from Orlando, who caressed his thigh with the thin leather riding crop, then smacked his hip with it, marring the skin with a little pink mark. Ian watched the redness fade back to light golden tan. God, the tan was all over, wasn't it? Knock it off, old man, thinking of Orlando laid out on the beach naked in the sun is another fantasy, focus...bloody hell. Orlando slipped the riding crop into the side of one of the knee high boots and began to ascend the stairs, pants riding low on his hips, perfect gentle curve...

Snap. Flash. A wicked sparkle of a look over Orlando's shoulder.

Orlando made it almost to the top of the stairs, but not quite, before Ian put down the camera on a step and caught Orlando's arm, pulling him down on the steps with him. Both of them lay arched on the stairs, Orlando beneath Ian, on his back, arched like a cat, and Ian over him, kissing him feverishly. Orlando laughed with the kisses, loving the heat of them,

"Oh yes, that is what you wanted, isn't it...?" Orlando said between breaths, stroking Ian's hair, feeling his mouth on his chest, on his arms, on his hips, and then enveloping his cock in liquid heat, sucking hard and urgently.

The pleasure of it was tinged with pain, Ian's mouth working him mercilessly. Orlando clenched his hands with the maddening pain of it, but how could something that hurt so much feel so good?

It was lips hot and soft, tongue stroking, mouth sucking hard and rough, pulling, teeth nipping at sensetive flesh, making Orlando cry out, not sure if he wanted him to stop or never stop. Ian was only like this when he completely lost control, which Orlando liked but when it did happen, all of Ian's expertise in lovemaking, and in this case cocksucking, was channeled into primal instinct, anamalistic approach. It usually hurt. But the hands were gentle. Orlando had noticed that no matter what Ian did, his hands remained gentle. Orlando was sure that if Ian stabbed someone in the neck with a pencil, he'd have a perfect look of rage, and his hands would apologize.

Orlando's hips moved up off the stairs as Ian sucked him in, taking his shaft to the back of his throat and then back out again, hands reaching up under Orlando's bottom, cupping him there, parting tight cheeks of his backside, and slick skin. God, he had done it already...while he was upstairs...he had prepared himself, made slick the tight little passage he knew Ian would want.

And that was enough. That sent Ian over the edge.

Rouchly tossing Orlando over on his stomach, Ian unfastened his own pants and removed his erection, hard and he had to give himself some credit, impressive.

Who the bloody hell needs Viagra? This kid should be bottled and sold. I can imagine the label on the bottle- "Orlando Bloom: Makes you harder than Chinese Algebra."

Ian's hands moved over Orlando's back, something he knew the boy adored the feeling of, and it never failed to release a low moan from Orlando. This time was no exception. Ian pressed the head of his cock to that slick little opening, tight heat, pushing into Orlando, pulling the boy back on his cock with his hands on his shoulders. God, yes, perfect.

And he was moving, pumping inside him, clenching hips and scratching shoulders, and Ian felt an overwhelming sense of control. He heard Orlando's breath catch, felt the boy's hips buck up under him. No, no, no. Not yet, darling.

"Don't come yet." Ian said in a growl. "Not yet, not until I tell you."

Orlando seemed to be deeply turned on by this, and he stilled himself, one hand reaching under him to grip his shaft in hand, to grit his teeth and try not to come. Ian slammed into him, groaning and gripping tightly. Ian heard a gasp from Orlando and felt the twitch in the boy's hips. Ian knew Orlando was coming, as hard as the poor kid tried to stop it. Ian had a wicked idea.

Sliding a hand down Orlando's leg to the boot where he had placed the riding crop, Ian found the long slender crop and took it in hand, smacking Orlano's hips and the tender backs of his thighs, his bottom and the small of his back. Each strike became harder, and Orlando was moaning, whimpering and sighing with each one, his hips bucking, hand clenching himself tighter, trying to keep from coming.

"I told you not to come, Orlando. Now behave yourself and maybe I will let you."

A small whimpering sigh of obedience from Orlando.

"Now turn over. I want to see your face when you come."

Orlando began to move and Ian stopped him, "No, no. Keep me inside you."

Orlando moaned and began to slowly, carefully turn, pulling one graceful bootclad leg up, then the other, keeping Ian's cock inside him as he slowly, methodically turned over, so that he lay under Ian, on his back, arched, with his legs open, one hooked over Ian's arm, the other over Ian's other arm, heel on his shoulder. With each movement, Orlando felt Ian's cock buried deep within him, felt Ian pump into him, a few strokes to tantalize him. Orlando felt the little leather crop come down on him again, hitting his thighs, and Orlando saw the look of intense pleasure on Ian's face, making Orlando want to obey him even more.

Ian found the buckles of Orlando's boots with a grace that shocked Orlando, and the older man slowly unbuckled them, sliding them off, then taking the loops of the snug pants in his thumbs, he moved Orlando forward, pushing legs up, bending Orlando in half, pushing the fabric off him and letting it drop off of pointed toes just above Orlando's head. Naked now, and perfect. The kid's cock was rock hard and seemingly tortured, ready to burst.

Ian felt delightfully perverted and almost criminal. He moved into Orlando, back and forth, savoring the tightness, the heat of him. Ian watched the boy's face. Yes, he was sure he had never seen Orlando this heated, this excited before. He made a mental note to introduce the kid to some bondage play...then he thought the word introduce should be scratched off the mental notepad. Orlando had likely done this before, but Ian doubted he had often been on the sub side of it.

Mental note- introduce Orlando to the pleasures of submitting to my every fucking whim. Yes, that will do.

Another reel with the leather crop- yes, that will get him worked up again...Ian brought the riding crop down on Orlando's thighs and watched the boy squirm beautifully, moaning and crying out, but he was sighing "More...please...more..."

Beautiful.

Orlando was losing himself, crying out and begging. Exactly what Ian wanted. Ian felt the first wave of orgasm wash over him, building to a second tier and then a third, and finally a shuddering climax that racked him and made him groan and thrust against the hot, slick prison he was embedded inside.

"Now your turn." Ian grinned wickedly, slowly withdrawing himself from Orlando and lowering to take Orlando's swollen cock in his mouth.

Orlando gasped, twitching uncontrollably and sighing. It didn't take long. Ian knew just what he liked, long strokes of the tongue from base to head and then sucking him in, fast and hard...no more than a half dozen strokes and orlando shuddered, coming almost violently into Ian's mouth. Orlando was crying out, almost screaming, and Ian reminded himself why he preferred not to have neighbors. Ian tasted the boy's seed, hot, bittersweet, sticky, and Ian enjoyed swallowing
every drop of it, drinking him in, feeling him shudder, hearing the uncontrolled outbursts, "Oh Ian...yes...yes...please..."

And then collapse, the droughted exhaustion of both of them, Ian kissing Orlando's thighs softly, lazy hands stroking silk skin. Exhausted lazy sighs.

"Do you want to take more pictures?" Orlando asked in a half-there voice. This made Ian smile.

"Perhaps later. For now, I think the stairwell is an awful place to sleep."

Minutes later, the hot shower was steaming up the bath and they lazily held each other under the steaming water before retiring to Ian's bedroom, slipping under warm down comforters and flannel sheets together.

Orlando was almost asleep, wrapped in Ian's arms when he heard Ian's voice in his ears, "I know I shouldn't say this...but...I love you."

Orlando froze very still.

"You shouldn't say that."

"I know, but I do love you and it is silly to lie to myself...and you."

"I'm in love with you, Ian, and it is not going to be easy, for either of us. It's fucked up. You should know that, because I can't be monogamous. Can't be in one of those just the two of us relationships. You knew that when we started this."

Ian felt his eyes well up, "You said it."

"Said what?"

"That you are in love with me."

"I am."

"Then how about we just go with that for now? Nothing expected, just love? Is that good for you?"

Orlando smiled slowly, "Yes. That will work."