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This wasn't the bar he was looking for. Or rather, right bar but most definitely the wrong night. Billy had been so pleased to find the large but cozy place a week ago, where you could sit in a booth nursing a beer all night and no one made you feel that you were in the way. It had been one of the most relaxing nights he'd had since moving to D.C. and he had promised himself he'd return after the Proctor Amendment finally made it through committee.
He didn't enjoy working as a lobbyist but he was very good at it. It felt like he lost another piece of himself every time he shook a few more hands, hosted a few more all-expense paid "fact finding" trips, quietly hinted at the possibility of a few more greased palms. And he didn't know if he was flattered or annoyed that exaggerating his Scottish burr seemed to tilt the scales when he needed to get past a once impenetrable oak-paneled door.
His firm had pulled out all the stops on this amendment, and while he would have some downtime for the next day or two Billy knew he'd soon have to start all over again getting the pieces in place for the floor vote. The idea of heading to the great new bar he found and disappearing in a black vinyl booth with a book and his thoughts had made the day so much more bearable. But now, finally shed of his D.C. power costume, he winced at the sea of pulsating bodies and the unmistakable thump of teeth-jarring bass. How could his quiet bar turn into this dance club on a Thursday night?
Billy stood looking through the window, almost too surprised and too tired to move. Suddenly the bar tilted as he was jostled by a body, heavy with alcohol.
"Sorry, man," the body slurred, continuing his lumbering way down the sidewalk.
Billy sighed, readjusted his backpack on his shoulder and finally turned away resigning himself to his own whiskey and his not so comfortable apartment.
The heavy bass got louder as the door of the bar opened behind him.
"Not coming in?"
The British accent surprised him, and he turned to see who it was not really expecting the person to be talking to him. A young man stood just outside the door, a green sweater just covering the tops of jeans that threatened to fall off very thin hips. He looked expectantly at Billy, eyes wide and open, an unreadable expression on his face.
"No, not tonight," Billy replied, already turning away.
"I was going to buy you a drink."
Billy turned his head slightly in acknowledgement and smiled, giving a small wave as he continued down the sidewalk. He had taken about a dozen steps before he heard running behind him. He spun around quickly and the young brunette jogged to a stop in front of him.
"What do you want?" Billy asked, slightly annoyed.
"I told you. I'd like to buy you a drink."
"And I told you I wasn't going in."
"You're Scottish."
"Good ear, Sherlock. Have a good night."
"Wait." The man reached out hesitantly, only just touching Billy's arm. "There are other places to get a drink."
Billy looked at him appraisingly. He was a few inches taller, very thin with a striking face, handsome and pretty at the same time. He could pick up anyone he wanted. So why was he running after some stranger on the street?
"Look, I'm sure you're very nice but I only wanted a quiet drink by myself tonight, and the bar wasn't what I expected so ..."
"Yeah, it's house night on Thursdays and it gets a little rowdy."
"Just a bit," Billy agreed, itching to get out of the conversation.
The man pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and took out a business card. "I get wanting to be on your own and I don't want to bug you, but maybe another night?" He held the card out, hopefully.
"Why?"
"What? I don't understand."
Billy huffed out a breath, just wanting to get home.
"Fine. Maybe another night then." He took the card but the man didn't retract his hand.
"I'm Orlando," he said. "And you are?"
Billy grimaced slightly but still reached to shake the man's hand. It was warm despite the coolness in the air and his grip was strong and instantly familiar.
"Billy," he replied, not surprised when the man, Orlando, didn't let go.
"It's nice to meet you, Billy." His eyes locked with Billy's and his grip softened slightly, shifting from a businessman's handshake to something more. Billy found himself letting it happen, not wanting Orlando to release him. But then the volume of the music down the street increased for a second reminding him he wanted to get away from here as quickly as possible. He pulled free of Orlando's grasp.
"Have a good night," he said, surprised at how difficult it was to speak. He smiled and turned around for the last time, quickly continuing the return trip home. Billy had the sensation that Orlando was watching him but refused to look, unsure if he wanted to be right or wrong. As he turned the corner he realized he was still holding Orlando's card in his hand. Stopping at the end of the block, he absently fiddled with it as he waited for the light to change. Give him fifteen minutes, Billy thought. He's going to pick up some guy with chiseled features and long legs and by the time you finish your book they'll probably be ready for round two. As the light turned green, Billy threw the card in the garbage bin and crossed the street.
Orlando watched Billy walk down the street and around the corner, never once looking back.
"He's not going to call you, Bloom," he muttered to himself.
Sighing he walked back toward the bar but stopped just outside. Somehow it no longer held any appeal. He couldn't stop thinking of challenging but guarded green eyes, a swoon-worthy accent, and thighs he could almost feel clamped around him. But there's something else to that man, he thought, something I wish I could know.
He rocked back on his heels and dropped his head, shoving his hands in his pockets while he studied the sidewalk.
"And he couldn't get away from you fast enough." He regretted saying the words out loud, giving them more weight. He hadn't been drawn to someone that intensely for a long time, and knowing he would probably never see Billy again hurt more than it should. Orlando hated missed opportunities and knew he'd be replaying the last few minutes in his head for days. What could he have done differently so Billy would have wanted to at least talk to him?
Definitely no longer in the mood for a night out, Orlando hailed a cab and headed home.
Billy woke up Saturday morning with a sigh and a groan. He rolled to his back and stared at the cracked and stained ceiling. During the last several days he had grown increasingly angry at everything related to his job and that included young Orlando. It had been a little over a week since he met the man, and during that time he had decided that their chance encounter was anything but.
His firm still faced a heavy fight to keep the amendment on the banking bill and get it through Congress, and he had concluded that Orlando worked for one of their opponents, tasked to get close enough to him to find out his tactics for the next push. That was the only thing that made any sense, and several run-ins during the week with rival firms only enforced that belief. It had made him bitter and resentful, but pleased that he hadn't fallen for the boy's charms.
He dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen, pointedly not looking at the starkness of his apartment. He had never really moved in, had barely unpacked. Although it had been two years since he moved here, he never thought of this place or this city as his home. He went from his apartment to work and back, and had convinced himself that he preferred having colleagues and acquaintances over friends. Every now and then he explored the different neighborhoods in and around D.C., discovering several favorite spots he liked to return to when he needed to escape his life and relax.
Now he faced a kitchen so empty of food you could probably hear an echo in the pantry. He knew he had put off shopping for a while but didn't realize it had been so long.
"I guess today I try to find a good place for breakfast," he growled, closing the refrigerator a little too hard and heading for the shower.
Last month Billy had passed a small place that looked like an old-fashioned diner stuffed into the ground floor of an office building. Too hungry to randomly wander until he found something, he decided to give it a try. It was a good thirty-minute walk, so when he arrived he was starving. Inside it looked like a modern interpretation of a fifties diner, and he was pleased when the waitress didn't balk at his taking a booth to himself. He felt comfortable here, able to put aside everything that annoyed and frustrated him this week and just breathe.
By the time a full plate of delicious smelling food was put in front of him, Billy was finally feeling at ease in his skin once more, and had decided this could become a regular place to spend his Saturday mornings. That is until the skinny lad from last week slid into the other side of the booth.
"Hello again."
"Bloody hell."
"Good to see you too."
"Are you following me or something?"
"No. I live just down the block; come to eat here every day. You're the interloper."
"Yeah, right."
Orlando twisted in his seat and waved back at the kitchen. "Hey Rickie!"
"Bloom!"
"Can I get the usual please; separate bill."
"You got it."
"Thanks, mate." Orlando turned back around and smiled in triumph at having proved he wasn't lying. All he got in return were incredulous eyes that still sent his heart racing faster.
"Bloom?"
"You didn't even look at the card before you threw it out." He shook his head. "It's my last name."
"Your name is Orlando Bloom?!"
"What? And yours is something very proper and Scottish like McGregor or MacTavish?"
"It's Boyd."
"Nice to see you again, Billy Boyd."
Billy nodded and resumed eating. Orlando watched him quietly for a moment, trying to figure out why he had erected this barrier even though there had been a flicker of interest in the man's eyes the other night and a definite frisson between them when they shook hands.
"You asked me 'why' the other night."
"Did I?"
"You were asking 'why you,' weren't you? I didn't get it at first because you seemed more confident than that. You still seem more confident."
Billy put his fork down and looked up at his new breakfast companion. "So can you answer the question?"
"Why you? I don't know. I saw you through the window, couldn't take my eyes off you, wished I could control your mind and get you to come in, decided to go to you when you walked away."
"You're in a bar filled with the beautiful people of D.C. and I caught your eye?"
"Yes."
Billy hmphed and resumed eating.
"Why is that so hard to believe? You're handsome, sexy, you seem smart." When he got no answer he continued, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. "I got it right, didn't I? You are gay?"
"Yes, and you don't have to whisper it's not a big secret. Although I didn't realize I had it emblazoned across my forehead."
"I didn't really know until you didn't clock me for asking to buy you a drink."
"And I'm supposed to believe that you ran out of a bar for me not knowing for certain if I was straight or gay."
"I'd think you'd be flattered."
"Flattered that someone who looks like you has deemed to show me some attention?"
"No! Why the hell would I ... Oh, I see. Yeah, I usually do alright when I'm on the pull. People are attracted to me."
"Exactly."
"So you only date ugly blokes, guys who are deformed or who look like their faces have been run over by a herd of elephants or something?"
"What is it that you want from me, Orlando?"
"To have breakfast with you. I would have preferred it after having spent the night with you, but I can be patient."
"A quick shag and breakfast. I've had cheaper dates."
"Look, if you haven't noticed, I'm putting a lot of pride on the line here. Regardless of how I look I clearly don't always get who I want or we'd have spent the last week getting to know each other. I'm not some egomaniac; I don't stalk every man who doesn't fall at my feet in awe."
"And yet you're still here."
Billy didn't think he'd seen a face crumble so fast in front of him before. Suddenly he felt ridiculous. The chances that this guy was somehow related to his work was preposterous when he really stopped to think about it. And that was genuine hurt in Orlando's eyes, and whether he was ready to admit it or not he didn't want to hurt this man.
Almost as soon as he lost his composure, Orlando quickly recovered, only his eyes giving away his emotions.
"There's something about you. When I saw you in here I had to give it another go because you do like me, or at least I think you would if you actually gave me a chance." He began sliding out of the booth. "I'm sorry for bothering you."
Billy cleared his throat. "What do you do for a living?"
"Huh?
"Do you work for a lobbyist? On the hill? For a banking association? A consumer group?"
Orlando shook his head to each question, very puzzled.
"Right." Billy scrubbed his face with his hands, then folded them on the table. "Let's start over. If you want to."
"I'm sorry, mate. If that's an example of your dating requirements I don't think I ..."
"No, they're not my dating ... I don't have any rules or types or anything."
"Then what was that?"
"Putting to bed my theory from last week about why you approached me."
"Which was?"
Billy began to blush and his jaw tensed, his hands squeezed more tightly together.
"Go on, tell me. You'll feel better."
Billy frowned slightly. "My firm is working to get an amendment approved by Congress and I had decided you must work for someone in the opposition who wanted to know our strategy for getting it through the House."
Orlando just stared at him, watching his face grow slightly pinker. After a few seconds they both started smiling and then burst out in laughter. Orlando pushed himself more fully into the booth.
"You really are one paranoid fuck aren't you?"
"I know, I know. I just didn't believe that ..." He stopped not wanting to admit it out loud.
"Yeah," Orlando said softly. "So let's start over."
Billy really looked at Orlando for the first time and smiled.