Tokowhà

Orlando uneasily rolled over on his bed, again and again. The bedclothes around and under his body were uncomfortably sweaty and crumpled. He had to think of the dream all the time, certain parts of it wouldn’t go out of his head anymore.

Had it really been just a dream? Suddenly nothing could keep him in his narrow, uncomfortable bed any longer. He rushed to the door, almost in panic. He had to know if it was really locked. Had to get the assurance that nobody, particularly Karl, couldn’t get in. Maybe the dream had been a warning? Up to now he hadn’t believed in this sort of hocus-pocus. But the impressions, those pictures which only a moment ago had flooded over him in such a terribly realistic way... He couldn’t ignore that.

The door was locked. With trembling fingers he turned the knob an additional time, just to be on the safe side. Relieved, Orlando leaned back against the door and from there scanned the floor with his eyes. There were no traces to be seen, neither of blood nor of semen. But still, the young man lowered himself on his knees in order to search the surface of the floor with an angled head. No, there was nothing.

But he still wasn’t satisfied. With shaky legs he shuffled to the corner where a basin and a mirror were arranged. He carefully examined his face, his neck and shoulders. No bruises, no blood, everything was okay. But why couldn’t he stop trembling, then?

Orlando stripped off his crumpled shorts with determination and threw the sweat-soaked piece into the laundry basket. With a little bending of his slim body he tried to catch a glimpse of his bottom in the mirror. Cautiously, he felt over the crack that divided his butt cheeks. He almost expected to feel moisture there and tensed automatically, but there wasn’t anything. No pain, only smooth and unscathed skin beneath his exploring fingers. But his cock started to swell to a semi-hard-on, expecting some caresses as well. “Mad thing”, Orlando nudged the tip of his member softly, “Seems like nothing could ever intimidate you.” He decided to ignore his state.

Instead, he tried to breathe deeply and self-consciously. Viggo had taught him quite some time ago, when he once more had almost went off the rails because of fright before a difficult scene. Breathe calmly, deeply, regularly. He could almost hear Viggo’s gentle voice giving the instructions. He moved his hands in front of him in a semicircle, as if he was holding a great ball. Yoga, breathing exercises, Viggo had explained. Draw breath, release breath, concentrate on only this, nothing else is important.

Bit by bit, Orlando calmed down. A dream, just a silly dream, nothing more. He should go to sleep earlier in the future instead of getting all worked up over this git Urban. Really, tomorrow he would talk to Sean, everything would be happily resolved, and then he would surely feel much better.

With a frown he regarded the totally rumpled bed. It didn’t look very comfortable. And he was too agitated to fall asleep again right away, anyway. So why not put fresh sheets on the bed? In unruffled, cleanly scenting bed-linen he could surely sleep better. Nothing would remind him of these horrible visions, then.

The sheets which were pulled off quickly landed in a corner of the trailer, carelessly thrown to the ground there. Orlando stretched to open the shutter of the shelf above his bed. With a soft sound the sought bedclothes, among other almost forgotten things, slid towards him. Seemed like once again he’d crammed the stocking tray too full. He catched the pile as best he could. A dull thud indicated that something else had found its way out of the shelf to the floor.

With a sigh Orlando put the linen down on the bed to bend down to the item that almost seemed to smirk at him. But there, what had fluttered down along with it? With still a little shaky hands Orlando picked up a photograph that Viggo had taken a long time ago. It was a snapshot of him, with his arms and legs around Sean from behind, originating from the scene in the Mines of Moria when Legolas keeps Boromir from falling to his death. Both of them laughed on the picture, frolicsome.

A faint smile appeared on Orlando’s face. That had been on the day they had made love for the first time. – “And for the only time, Bloom”, said the tiny, vicious voice in his head he just wanted to get rid of.

That day, Sean had felt Orlando’s erection push into his back more than just noticeably. Late in the afternoon they had fooled around, and Sean had actually wanted to banter him about his juvenile heat, but instead of joining a teasing exchange of words, Orlando had seized the opportunity to seduce Sean.

But after that, when the young Brit had thought that the ice between them had broken for good, their meetings had been reduced to an even more platonic level by an even more reserved Sean. Soon afterwards Sean had travelled back to England again.

How much he had missed him! Almost every single thought of the British actor had presented him with a painful erection. Even now, as he was just regarding this picture of a laughing Sean, his cock reacted to it, pulsing with blood.

‘See, Karl was right, everytime you masturbate you think of him.’ Again this vicious voice in his head.

“But I don’t let any random guy shag me, like this sex maniac who doesn’t even care whose cock he takes up his arse.” Oh great, now he already started to soliloquize.

‘No, you’ve got your little helping device. And you think you’re any better than Urban? Come on, you’re fucking with a dildo!’

Orlando stared to the floor where the fake penis was lying, seemingly staring back at him. It truly hadn’t been easy to get up the nerve to purchase this piece of substitude. At that time, shortly after Sean’s departure when he had gone mad with yearning, he had taken a lot of time in the small shop to pick out the right thing. A dildo that looked as similar as possible to Sean’s cock.

He bent down automatically and picked up the flexible piece that was lying there as if lost. He couldn’t treat something that reminded him of Sean – if only distantly – so unlovingly. With hesitation, he gently put the “piece of Sean” on the nightstand, next to the phone. Then he began to make his bed, replacing the old bedclothes with fresh ones.

When that was done, he sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh of relief. The photo of Sean and himself lay next to the fake cock. Orlando reached for it. Before he would go back to sleep he wanted to reminisce and look at that beloved face. With one hand he held the picture, with the other one he gently traced the contours of Sean’s figure.

“You crazy dick.” He wedged his rebellious flesh between his thighs. No, he just couldn’t… Not after having this dream. He continued to stroke the photograph. What would Sean do to him now? Naked and agitated as he was, sitting here? Would he gently push him down to the bed? Make him outstretch his bent legs? Ask him to slightly spread his legs, with this voice that sounded a little throaty when Sean was aroused?

Orlando’s cock welcomed the regained freedom and, even more excited from the tight friction between the sinewy thighs, came up against his belly. Orlando closed his eyes. That was better. Like this, he could give his fancy full scope.

Sean would lightly caress his chest, incidentally touch his nipples again and again until they would be as hard as his member, only from this unbearably light fondling. Exactly the way he’d done it then, after the Moria shooting.

Then he would let go, and then caress his neck. His neck and ears, and his lips, ever so softly stroke his lips, over and over again, the outlines, the small slit, pushing against it with a thumb, just to pull back again. No, he would never penetrate him coarsely. Not even roughly penetrate Orlando’s soft, warm mouth with his fingers. He would wait until Orlando opened his mouth by himself, in order to moan, and to beg. Only then would he offer him a finger. Would let him suck on it, whispering words into his ear, then offer him another finger, and another one, until Orlando would whimper, until Orlando would ask for it by himself: “Take me, Sean, please, I want to feel you inside me.”

Then Sean would gently roll him onto his side to very slowly slide the first finger into his tight hole. His finger which Orlando had prepared with his own saliva, by sucking it so thoroughly that it had sent waves of lust to Sean’s lap. He would push gently at first, steadily but not violently, until the ring of muscle would ease off, and then glide into Orlando’s trembling body with a smooth motion.

He would have to search a bit until he’d find the right spot. Under his probing finger, Orlando felt the little swelling of his prostrate. He twisted his hips so he could impale himself on his pleasuring finger in an even better way. Yes, exactly like that… The very soft stroking of that particular spot sent a heavy pulsation into his cock and through his whole body.

‘That’s wonderful, one more time, Sean. Please, give me another finger… Sure, it won’t hurt, you’ll never hurt me.’

Orlando now longed for a more intense stimulant. A second digit joined the first one. Stretched him a little more open. And then a third. The fingertips twisted lightly and with every encroachment hit his sensitive spot. He felt delightfully filled out, his breathing was deep and still calm since this was just a pleasant playing around. But Orlando’s arousal increased continuously. His member was, for the second time tonight, hard as a rock, demanding satisfaction. But now there was Sean who wouldn’t hurt him like Karl had wanted to a little while ago. Now he was in beloved hands, in passionate hands. But hands alone weren’t enough anymore for Orlando.

‘Sean, I’m ready, please, come to me, I need you...’ Orlando felt behind him, got hold of “Sean’s“ cock and gently guided his lover close to his opening which was pulsing with impatience and desire. The beautifully shaped round end of the member pushed lightly against his hole, and Orlando spread his cheeks to make it easy for his lover to penetrate. He felt Sean deeper and deeper, sinking into his willing, trembling body with much patience until he stuck in the slender young man up to the base of his mighty cock.

Orlando squeezed his eyes shut. This always hurt a little, but that was part of the act. It was a sort of pain which promised that greatest pleasure was about to come.

For a few seconds Orlando remained motionless, and with him the toy. But then he started to rock his pelvis. At first with small motions, which after a few careful thrusts became harder, faster and more jerky.

If only Sean would touch him, would take his dripping cock in his hand to rub it. He didn’t dare beg for it, he didn’t want to ruin the almost meditative atmosphere that was surrounding them. But suddenly there it was, the desired hand. Closed about his shaft warmly and skillfully. Squeezed in exactly the rhythm Orlando needed, rubbed the head and then again massaged the whole length. Orlando couldn’t hold back anymore. With a choked sob he spent himself in the hand that was clamping him so wonderfully. At the same time he felt his tight inner walls repeatedly contract around Sean’s member, trying to lure the semen out of Sean. But to no avail.

Orlando jerked a few more times, floating on the waves of his slowly fading lust. With an endlessly tired gesture he pulled the fake cock out of his exhausted body. Too tired to get up, he wrapped up in his blanket, let the photograph and the Sean-substitude rest where he’d left them on his bed, and attempted to hide from himself.

Again, a lump formed in his throat, and the first tears rolled down his cheeks. He really was a pathetic loser. Karl was right, after all. At least half-way. Because he wanted only Sean, and if he couldn’t have him, he’d rather masturbate. But in the long run, it was just terribly sad, everytime he came down from the heights of his orgasm and found himself in his bed, all alone.

Instead of ebbing away again, the sorrow increased. He could remember this nightmare just too clearly. He wouldn’t be able to calm down just like that and find rest. Orlando sat up. He needed comfort, and he needed it now. Over the back of the chair, within his reach from the bed, dangled his black trousers he wore so often. He felt around in the pockets, and finally breathed again when he held the little plushy owlet in his hand.

He looked deeply into its green eyes. And again tears started to flow. He sank down on the bed again, holding tight to the owl, and slowly fell into an exhausted sleep. Before he drifted into now dreamless slumber, he murmured into the moist plush fur of his tiny friend, “Viggo, I’m so sad, help me.“ Then he fell into darkness.