"Who makes all these?"
"I do...and I practice with them 3 hours a day."
"You should get yourself a girl, mate."
"Cut!"
Gore enthusiastically ends the scene, allowing his hot cast and crew to leave for lunch. Johnny watches as Gore moves about the forge, acting out to the stuntmen his visions of the upcoming scene. Shaking his head, Johnny makes his way out of the forge and in the direction of food.
Orlando, always quick to get his lunch (he'd learned early on that it was a stretch-or-starve policy on this set), decided he'd rather pick through his food in the comfort of his air-conditioned trailer, rather than the excessively hot canteen. So, plate in one hand, bottle of coke in the other, he made his way to his trailer.
"My hat? What about my hat?"
"Where is it?"
"That's a very good question.."
Johnny looked about the forge, convinced he'd left it there, or maybe that was yesterday? Shit, all the days in this bloody forge were merging together. Sooner this scene was done the better. Sure, it'll look amazing on screen, but the days after would be agony, Johnny just knew it.
"Did you bring it with you?"
"I think so."
"Could it be in your trailer?"
"Now there's a thought..."
Sitting back in the sofa, Orlando set his drink on the arm, while balancing his plate on his lap. The thought of what happened right here almost 2 weeks ago was fading; the day after it had happened, Orlando could barely sit still in his trailer; the week after he couldn't sit on the sofa without thinking about it. Now, it was becoming a distant memory. Neither had mentioned it, which was fine. Much as Orlando would have liked more, this was Johnny. It was more than he had expected, but he didn't want to push his luck. So he had left it. And now he sat, almost 2 weeks later, about to start into his lunch. He shifted slightly on the sofa; the air-conditioning was on, but he just couldn't cool down.
Setting the plate on the sofa, he got up, stripping his shirt quickly off, throwing it across the room. He was about to sit down, when he noticed where it had landed. On top of Captain Jack Sparrow's hat. It took him a few seconds to remember Johnny coming into his trailer earlier that morning, arms flailing, jacket flowing out behind him, full of life, despite the early start. Once he had his costume and make-up on, he was Captain Jack Sparrow. Orlando loved that. He loved seeing Johnny every day, and he loved seeing Jack every day. It was tough, sometimes, to remember that they were the same person. Orlando smiled as he remembered their brief rehearsal of today's lines; he couldn't help but laugh at Jack Sparrow, he wasn't being mean, he just found him hilarious.
"Did I miss something?"
Orlando jumped at the voice shattering his thoughts. Johnny stood in the doorway of his trailer, one hand on either side of the doorframe. Unable to think of anything witty to say, Orlando chose to ignore the question.
"What's up?"
"Any chance my hat's in here? I can't find it in the forge."
"Yep, you left it here this morning."
Johnny stepped into the trailer, letting the door swing shut behind him, as Orlando fetched the hat from the other side of the room.
"Holy shit."
The shocked tone in Johnny's voice scared Orlando, who spun round, hat in hand.
"What?"
Johnny walked over to him, then proceeded to stand behind him, staring at his back.
"What happened?"
"My back?"
Orlando waited for an answer, but didn't get one. He peered over his shoulder; Johnny was looking up and down his back incredulously.
"I broke it. Few years ago now."
"You broke it?"
"Fell from a balcony."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
Orlando waited in silence; he didn't know what he was waiting for, but he waited, patiently. When, after a minute or so, neither man had said anything, he peered over his shoulder again. Johnny's fingers hovered above the pale skin covering Orlando's spine. Their eyes met briefly, Orlando's giving unspoken permission, whether it was needed or not.
Hesitantly, Johnny rested his fingers on the smooth skin just below Orlando's neck. He slowly followed the visible trail from Orlando's neck, down his back, his spine, becoming almost lost in the feel of the tarnished skin.
"Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes."
"Does it hurt now?"
"A little."
Orlando didn't need to turn around to know that Johnny had stepped closer to him; he could feel his presence behind him, feel the heat coming from him as he retraced his steps up Orlando's spine. This time Orlando felt two sets of fingers on his back, two hands working their way up his back. Orlando felt hands on his shoulders and cloth on his back just before hearing deep, husky tones in his ear.
"Want me to make it better?"
Orlando found himself gasping for breath at the words. He wanted nothing else right now. Not his lunch; not to return to set; nothing else. He nodded slowly, finding himself incapable of forming coherent sentences.
The same rough, dirty hands which had caressed his tattoo, which had traced his back, now massaged his shoulders firmly. Orlando's resolve to stay calm, keep breathing and not make an idiot of himself went straight out the window when Johnny pressed his lips to Orlando's neck, toying with the delicate skin. Johnny's hands felt rougher than normal as they slid across Orlando's shoulder blades, but Orlando didn't care; Johnny had moved to the back of Orlando's neck. The beads dangling from Johnny's long hair were cool against Orlando's hot skin, as Johnny worked his way down Orlando's spine, licking and kissing every inch of pale skin.
Orlando swallowed hard, his heart beat faster and faster and his mind raced so fast Orlando thought it might explode any minute. Johnny's hands had reached beyond the visible trail and his thumbs were now hooked into the waistband of Orlando's trousers. Closing his eyes, Orlando took in every touch on his skin, every sensation he felt, trying to save them all to memory. He knew Johnny was reaching beyond the mark on his back; it took Orlando a couple of seconds to realise that Johnny had stopped his exploration of his wound.
It took all the strength he could muster to open his eyes and turn his body ever so slightly to face Johnny. Well, face wouldn't exactly have been the technical term. Johnny was on his knees on the floor, staring back up at Orlando's glazed eyes. Seeing Orlando breathless brought a smile to his face. He slowly got up from the floor, being careful not to break the gaze between himself and Orlando. They were inches apart, each man feeling warm breath from the other, each man feeling the heat emanating from the other. Johnny searched Orlando's eyes, flashed another smile, then took his hat from Orlando's weak hand.
"Welcome to the Caribbean, love."