You Know What They Say About Eavesdroppers

by Nix
(crimsonquills AT gmail DOT com)


Author's Notes: Many thanks to my beta, seanchai!


So apparently it's a really bad idea to start off a story about a guy, a girl, and changing the world by saying "it didn't last long," because then everyone in the fucking world wants to know what happened. Nevermind that what happened next was the entire point of the epilogue, apparently that just raised more questions than it answered, like 'Where the fuck was Harmony?' As if the fact that she didn't appear in frame meant she'd dropped off the face of the fucking Earth, instead of just being at an audition or an acting gig. Some people have too much imagination for their own good.

But actually, there is a bit more to the story. I didn't think anyone would give a shit about my personal life and the next part was more than a bit X-rated, so I cut myself off before we got to that part the first time I did this. Only apparently you people all have filthy minds and a serious voyeuristic streak, so what the fuck. Clear the kiddies out of the room for this part, folks. I'm not kidding, I'm not going into this where impressionable ears might overhear. Swearing is one thing, they hear that shit on the fucking playground, even in the midwest. Porn is another thing entirely.

We clear? Okay, good. Remember back when I said that now that I live in L.A. I go to parties full of pretentious assholes? Yeah, well, this story starts at a party, too. Every fucking thing in L.A. starts at a party. Okay, so technically the other story started in New York in a toy store. That was just, like, a prologue or something and I'm getting off track again. Fuck.

Anyway, so I'm at this party. Don't ask me which one, they all tend to blur together after awhile, even when you're not drunk or high. I never thought I'd end up being the most sober guy at a party on any sort of regular basis, but Hollywood types set a whole new standard for this shit. Except Perry. Perry never gets pissed. Oh, he'll drink, just not more than a couple of glasses. Says it clouds his judgment. Whatever.

Whichever party this was, it was going pretty much the same as normal. I was sort of drifting through it, mostly being ignored, since by then everyone knew I wasn't an actor or a producer or someone who could hook them up. I'm Gay Perry's sidekick these days. Bit of a come down, but at least I get beat up less. Not that I've gotten better at fighting, or even avoiding fighting. It's just that Perry gets pissed off when he's trying to present a professional image and I show up with a black eye and blood dribbling down my chin, and he takes his anger out on whoever beat the shit out of me, since beating me up would only make things worse. Works for me.

Drifting around the edges of these parties works out pretty well, though. No one pays any attention to me, so I overhear all kinds of shit. Mostly useless, but sometimes it helps us out. You can't work in L.A. without being up on the gossip. So I'm keeping my ears open, and my own name jumps out at me...

***

"...Lockhart? I don't believe it." The doubter was a tall, slender man with dyed-black hair gelled up stylishly and a sharply cut suit. There was something about the way he cocked his hip and the angle of his wrist that made Harry suspect he was gay, but he wouldn't have bet money on it. Hanging out with Perry had definitely given his straight-man's gaydar a boost, but everyone in L.A. was so image-conscious that the cues sometimes got mixed up.

"Come on, can you think of any other reason Gay Perry would treat him the way he does?" the doubter's companion argued. This guy was almost as tall as the doubter, but he was broader across the shoulders and instead of a suit he wore a pair of designer jeans and a black dress shirt that was a little too tight.

"What way?" The Doubter asked. "He treats him like crap."

Dress Shirt rolled his eyes. "Perry treats everyone like that, that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what were you talking about?" The Doubter said with exaggerated patience.

Dress Shirt ignored the tone, instead holding his drink between two fingers and ticking off points on the other three. "After insisting, sometimes rather pointedly, for years that he works alone, Gay Perry first teams up with Lockhart and then actually hires him. Then he lets Lockhart move in with him." Actually, Harry had moved in with Perry before he'd started officially working for him, but he wasn't about to interrupt to correct the timeline. "Whenever Lockhart gets the shit beaten out of him, Perry finds the guy who hurt him and beats him up. And finally," Dress Shirt paused, momentarily stymied by the fact that he'd run out of fingers not holding onto his drink. Finally he just shrugged and lifted the drink itself. "Not only does Perry bring him to these parties, he always leaves with him, too."

Harry hoped that The Doubter was still confused, because he had no idea what Dress Shirt was getting at.

"So?" The Doubter said. "That doesn't mean they're fucking."

Harry spit out his drink.

Neither Dress Shirt nor The Doubter noticed. "They have to be," Dress Shirt insisted. "What else could Perry be getting out of that relationship?"

"I don't know," The Doubter said, "but I can tell you for a fact that it isn't sex."

"What, because Lockhart is straight?" Dress Shirt sounded skeptical. Harry scowled. What, didn't he come off as straight? He was the quintessential straight man. He didn't even set off Perry's gaydar, and Perry had scarily sensitive gaydar.

"No," The Doubter said. "Because Gay Perry has better taste than that."

Better taste?!? It was all Harry could do not to go charging over, jab The Doubter in the chest and demand an explanation.

"Perry isn't exactly picky about who he fucks," Dress Shirt shot back.

"You haven't been paying attention," The Doubter said confidently. "Just because Perry fucks around doesn't mean he doesn't have standards. Harry Lockhart is nowhere near young enough, pretty enough, or good enough in bed to even register on Gay Perry's radar. Not to mention, the minute he opens his mouth he becomes an order of magnitude even less attractive."

Harry spun around and was all set to march over and rip The Doubter a new one when his brain kicked into gear. His brain beat his mouth to the punch so infrequently that Harry actually stopped for a second. What was he going to say, exactly? Perry would so fuck me! If I was gay. Which I'm not. Yeah, right. By morning all of L.A. would be convinced he was spreading them for Perry and Harry's social life would reach a new level of emptiness. Then Perry would hear about it and he'd never let Harry forget it.

By the time Harry pulled out of his thoughts The Doubter and Dress Shirt had wandered off. Harry scowled. Assholes. They were just another couple of assholes, that was all. They didn't know what the fuck they were talking about.

But whether or not they knew what they were talking about, Harry quickly discovered he just couldn't stop thinking about what they'd said.

Okay, so he was forty years old in a town where youth was worshipped like a pagan God and pursued with a kind of desperation that frightened Harry. And he wasn't exactly movie idol pretty. He wasn't even made for TV movie pretty, really. Oh, hell, who the fuck was Harry kidding? He wasn't pretty at all. Not that he thought he compared unfavorably to the ass end of a dog, or anything, but "pretty" was the kind of word reserved for sculpted features and big, liquid eyes and glossy hair, none of which Harry had ever claimed to possess. But hey, no one had ever complained about his skill in the sack. Okay, so maybe there hadn't been that many people to complain or not complain. He didn't need a lot of practice. There was such a thing as natural talent. Harmony hadn't seemed disappointed. She hadn't come over for nearly two weeks now, but she hadn't seemed disappointed. Of course, Harmony was an actress.

Harry put his head down on the bar and thumped it a couple of times for good measure. More than a week later and he just couldn't get that fucking conversation out of his head! He was obsessed. He was worse than obsessed--he was starting to wonder if it was true.

Harry thumped his head on the bar again. What did he care if it was true? It's not like he wanted Perry to fuck him. Harry was aiming for a different target, here. Still. It irked him, a bit, to think that someone who fucked around as much as Perry did would turn him down. If, you know, he was an option. Which he wasn't. It'd just be nice to think he was wanted. It was possible, right? Perry had kissed him, once. Okay, so he'd been trying to throw off the cops, but why was kissing Harry the first thing to pop into Perry's head?

"This is ridiculous," Harry muttered to the top of the bar. He had to settle this before his head exploded, or he did something stupid. He'd just ask Perry. Perry thought that everything that came out of Harry's mouth was bullshit already, he wouldn't think anything of it. And he'd say yes, and that would be the end of it.

***

"Of course not. Idiot."

This was not going the way Harry had expected. "What do you mean, of course not?" he sputtered.

Perry favored him with a truly condescending look. "Have you lost the ability to comprehend even one syllable words, now? 'Of course not' as in 'no.' As in, no, I would not fuck you if you were gay."

"Why not?" Harry demanded.

"Do you really have to ask?" Perry asked impatiently.

God damned son of a bitch. Harry set his jaw. "No, I guess not," he said shortly. He swung his feet down off of the desk--he'd been trying for casual when he popped the question (no, not that question; you know which fucking question)--and stalked out of the office.

"Don't try to play prima donna," Perry called after him. "It doesn't work on you."

"Of course not," Harry muttered to himself. "I'm not fucking pretty enough. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

This was ridiculous. He didn't want Perry to fuck him, why the hell did he care if Perry didn't want to fuck him? Fucking ego, that's what it was. His big fucking ego getting in the way and screwing him over again, exactly the way it had when he let himself believe that an L.A. producer might actually have liked his accidental audition and really be interested in him for a movie. Although that hadn't worked out entirely bad, what with Harmony and the case and working with Perry.

Perry. Shit. Every train of thought was going to lead back to him for the next God knew how long, Harry could just tell. Taking this to Perry was supposed to have gotten the fucking issue--and that was just perfect, since it was a 'fucking' issue--out of his head, not make it worse.

There was only one thing to do. Harry needed to get drunk. Very drunk. Or laid. Possibly both.

The first was easily accomplished. The second, not so much.

"C'mon Harmony," Harry whined, letting his head fall back to rest on the back of her couch. "Just a quick roll. A little bump and grind. Hide the sausage."

Harmony stood in front of him, arms folded across her chest, hip cocked, a scowl on her face. It wasn't a very sexy pose. Why wasn't she posing sexily? "Because you make it sound so appealing," she said acidly. "Besides, the state you're in right now, I doubt you could get it up."

Harry scowled back at her. What was it with people lately? "I'm fine," he insisted, blinking slowly.

"You're not fine. You're drunk. Very, very drunk." Harmony sighed and pushed a lock of hair out of her face. "Listen, you can sleep it off on the couch, but I'm not going to have sex with you."

Harry snorted loudly. "'Course not," he muttered loudly. "No one wants to fuck me. You won't fuck me, Perry won't fuck me--"

Harmony lifted a hand abruptly. "What the hell did you say, Harry? Perry won't fuck you?"

Harry blinked up at her. Harmony was being a little slow tonight, wasn't she? Hadn't he just said that Perry didn't want to fuck him? The bastard. He had a different guy in his bed every week, but apparently there was even some mysterious quality necessary to appeal to a slut like Perry. Like youth. Prettiness. Harry scowled harder.

"Harry!" Fingers snapping. Harry looked up again and found Harmony leaning over him. "Focus, Harry," she said. "Did you just tell me you wanted Perry to fuck you?"

"Noooo," Harry drawled slowly.

Harmony put a hand to her head and sat heavily on the couch next to him. "But you were just complaining that he didn't want to fuck you."

"He doesn't," Harry muttered unhappily.

"You are not making sense. Again," Harmony said impatiently.

Harry rolled his eyes. Then he did it again, just for emphasis. "I don't want him to fuck me," he said, enunciating with exaggerated care. "I want him to want to fuck me."

Harmony stared at him for a moment. Then she smacked him upside the head. Hard.

"Ow!" Harry jerked away from her, hunching his shoulders a little. "What was that for!"

"Your ego!" Harmony said sharply. "Jesus, Harry. Not everyone you meet has to be hot for you."

"Not everyone!" Harry protested. He wasn't unreasonable. "Just Perry!"

Harmony frowned in confusion. "Why just Perry?" she asked.

Harry wasn't sure he could remember. He rubbed his forehead. "It's not like he has particularly high standards," Harry muttered, rubbing at his forehead.

"Perry doesn't have high standards for the bimbos he fucks when he gets bored and horny," Harmony said. "He's got to be more selective about who he'd actually like to fuck more than twice."

Only good for a couple of shots before you drop it for something better, Harry remembered. He rubbed his forehead harder. Maybe he shouldn't have had the last couple of shots. "Perry doesn't sleep with bimbos," he managed at last. "He's gay."

Harmony snorted. "Trust me, Harry, there is such a thing as a male bimbo, and the last thing you want is for Perry to think of you as one of them."

"I don't," Harry insisted. He dropped his hand from his forehead. It wasn't helping him track this conversation any better. What didn't he want again? Perry? No, he wanted Perry. Wanted Perry to want him, that is. Right.

"Well, if you want him to want you, you either want him to think of you like one of the bimbos, or you want him to think of you like a regular fuck," Harmony reasoned. "And you better be careful about wanting that, because if Perry wants it, he's not going to worry too much about whether or not you think you're gay or not."

Harry just stared at her. "Will that make sense in the morning?" he asked hopefully.

Harmony sighed and gave him a look that was strangely fond. "Maybe, if you remember it," she said. She stood up again. Grabbing Harry's shoulder, she tugged on him until he'd tipped over and was mostly lying down on the couch. "Sleep, Harry. You can sort out your head in the morning."

"M'kay," Harry murmured, nuzzling into the couch.

***

Having a hangover the next morning did nothing to make the situation better. Especially since Perry had a habit of talking just that little bit louder when he knew Harry was suffering. Sometimes he threw bright lights and sudden bangs into the mix. Harry couldn't decide if Perry was trying to torture him into some degree of sobriety or if he just enjoyed watching Harry flinch. Probably the second.

Normally Harry would bitch through all of Perry's morning after torture, but today he just hunkered down, chewed tylenol compulsively, and wished he didn't remember the conversation he'd had with Harmony last night.

Bad enough that Dress Shirt and The Doubter had started him obsessing over whether or not Perry would want to fuck him, now Harmony had him obsessing over why he wanted Perry to want to fuck him and what kind of wanting he was actually wanting and... Just trying to frame the thought was making Harry's head throb even worse than the hangover.

Perry slapped his hand down on his desk, a sharp crack of sound that sent a spike of pain shooting through Harry's head. Perry followed up by snapping, "What is wrong with you?" far more loudly than was really necessary.

"What's wrong with me?" Harry shot back, cradling his head in his hands. "I have a hangover. What's wrong with you? Have a little pity, for fuck's sake."

"This is not just a hangover," Perry said with brisk certainty. "I have seen you with a hangover more times than I can count and there's more than a hangover going on here. You're sulking."

"I'm not sulking," Harry said irritably. "I'm not five years old."

"There's some debate about that," Perry said dryly. "You have all the impulse control of a five year old."

"My impulse control is just fine," Harry muttered, which was somewhat less witty than he'd hoped. You try and think with a pickaxe splitting your skull.

"You're changing the subject," Perry said. "Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning? Or did you just roll out of the wrong side of the bed? Or just the wrong bed in general?"

"No one's pissed in my Cheerios, I didn't roll out of the wrong side of the bed, or the wrong bed, or anyone's bed at all," Harry snapped.

Perry's eyebrows rose. "You didn't come home last night," he said. "I thought you were out having a nice fuck."

"Someone would have to want to fuck me for me to have a nice fuck," Harry said sourly.

Dawning realization graced Perry's expression, followed by disbelief. "Is this all about that idiotic question?" he asked incredulously. "Are you seriously this pissed off because I told you I didn't want to fuck you?"

"Of course not," Harry muttered.

Perry snorted loudly. "You are an unbelievably bad liar," he said. "Jesus Christ. That's the last time I ever try to be nice."

"Nice?" Harry asked, frowning. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I thought you'd freak out if I told you I'd so much as remotely entertained the idea of sleeping with you," Perry said impatiently. "Incredibly, I was actually trying to avoid sending you screaming out the door in a heterosexual panic, you moron."

"I would not go into a heterosexual panic!" Harry protested.

Perry rolled his eyes. "Because you reacted so calmly when I did kiss you."

"Hey," Harry said, stabbing a finger towards Perry, "I hardly knew you, and you didn't even try to explain yourself. You just said 'kiss me' and grabbed me. I think I was perfectly justified in being weirded out."

"You weren't 'weirded out'," Perry argued. "You were disgusted. You spat and wiped your mouth! So yes, I thought a little...diplomacy was in order if I didn't want to alienate my brand new partner."

"So what, you were lying?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Apparently I have to break this down a little further," Perry said dryly. "Yes, Harry, I was lying. Yes, Harry, if you were gay I would most certainly like to fuck you. Do you feel better now?"

Harry considered for a moment. Perry seemed irritated but sincere. But then, Perry looked like that a lot. "I don't believe you."

Perry stared. "You got to be kidding."

Harry shook his head. "Nope," he said. "You just told me that you lied because you didn't want to upset me. Now I'm upset and you're just trying to calm me down again."

"I can't have been lying both times!" Perry barked. "Use logic, idiot!"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "I can't be sure of when you were lying," he said, primly.

Perry stared at him for a moment longer. Then his eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up out of his chair decisively and strode across the room. Harry had just enough time to wonder if maybe he should have just let this go because now Perry looked kind of pissed before Perry reached down, grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt, and jerked him to his feet. "Perry--" Harry began, alarmed.

He never finished. Perry's mouth collided with Harry's, cutting off any further words. Harry had thought Perry had kissed him before. That, he realized suddenly, hadn't been a kiss. That had been a play, a game, a fake. This was a kiss. This was Perry's lips hot and insistent against his, not letting go, not backing off until there was nothing left for Harry to do but kiss back. The moment he started to give back Perry took advantage, sliding his tongue into Harry's mouth, slick and undeniable.

Harry felt like he was teetering on the edge of something. His heart was pounding, his stomach tight with anxiety. He didn't know what to do with his hands, couldn't decide whether to pull away or lean in and he'd asked for this, hadn't he? Oh God, Harmony had been right, and he could feel the panic rising--

--and Perry's hand unclenched from his shirt and slipped around his waist and pulled him a step closer and it was as if that step took him over that precipice because it was suddenly so good, so fucking good. Harry moaned into the kiss, moulding his body to Perry's. His hands gripped Perry's arms firmly, holding on as he sucked on Perry's tongue and shuddered in pleasure when Perry shifted his body, just a little, and pressed the hard, hot ridge of his cock into Harry's hip.

It was Perry who pulled back at last, just far enough to look Harry in the eye and speak, their bodies still pressed together. "Believe me now?" he asked, smirking.

Harry swallowed heavily, his body humming with arousal. "I think I need some more convincing," he said.

Perry's smirked deepened and he slid his hand down to palm Harry's ass as he leaned in for another kiss. The action sent a startling shot of heat along Harry's nerves, but Perry was kissing him again, rough and hungry, and there was no time to wonder what that bolt of sensation meant. Instead Harry just threw himself into the kiss, clinging to Perry and grinding helplessly against him, his movements driven by the pleasure that swelled inside him. He could feel Perry's hard cock pressing against him and some part of Harry's brain noted that he should probably be freaking out about now, but instead all he could think was, Hah! He does want me!, triumphant and smug and pleased in a way that seemed to bleed over into the feelings wracking his body.

Perry broke the kiss again and Harry noted, distantly, that he was a little short of breath. That was good. That was really good, given that Harry was sucking in oxygen like he was starved for it. "Convinced yet?" Perry asked, challenging.

It wasn't just Harry's cock aching with need, it was his whole fucking body, and Perry hadn't taken his hand off of Harry's ass. Harry found himself wishing Perry would do something with it, give him a squeeze or a pat or something because it was feeling surprisingly hot and heavy and Perry had asked him a question, hadn't he? "I'm...not a 100% yet," he said, his voice surprising him with its hoarseness.

"If I'm going to do any more 'convincing'," Perry said, warning in his tone, "I'm going to do it in the bedroom."

Bedroom. With a bed. And Harry would bet anything that Perry wasn't planning on being on the receiving end of any fucking that was going to be happening in that bed. Harry tried to focus, but God he was turned on and Perry was right there and he wanted Harry and that hand on his ass really did feel good and Harry found himself licking his lips and saying, "Lead the way."

Perry didn't hesitate and he didn't ask Harry if he was sure or any of that bullshit. He just grabbed Harry by the hand--letting go of his ass, unfortunately--and hauled him out of their office area and into the more private parts of their home. Harry had been in Perry's bedroom before, of course--leading to at least one top-of-the-lungs lecture about personal boundaries--but as he stumbled into the room this time he couldn't help but think that the bed was looming unusually large.

Hands quickly and briskly went to work on Harry's belt, jerking his attention away from the bed. He almost asked Perry what he was doing, but that was pretty fucking obvious, wasn't it? So instead Harry grabbed the bottom of his shirt and hauled it over his head. Only after Perry pushed pants and boxers over Harry's hips did it occur to Harry that maybe he should have gone for Perry's shirt, because now he was standing there, naked but for the pants stuck around his ankles because he hadn't taken off his socks and shoes, and Perry was still fully dressed.

"Sort that out," Perry ordered, nodding at the tangle of pants and shoes and socks and feet.

By the time Harry had his feet free and could bring himself to look up again, Perry was just as naked as he was, his clothing folded in a neat pile on the dresser behind him. Harry stared at the pile. "That's obsessive," he said, momentarily distracted.

"That's being neat," Perry said, striding towards Harry. He put a hand in the middle of Harry's chest and pushed him backwards as he walked. "Something which you wouldn't recognize if it was tattooed on your dick."

"On my dick?" Harry asked incredulously, momentarily distracted from their state of undress. "How much time do you think I spend staring at my own dick?"

"I live with you and I have ears," Perry shot back. "I know exactly how much time you spend with your cock out."

Harry flushed red just as he collided with the bed behind him and tumbled down onto it. He scrambled fully onto the bed, glanced up...and froze. Perry wasn't a big guy compared to some of the bruiser-type bodyguards Harry had encountered since moving to L.A. and he didn't often have reason to compare Perry to himself, but he was comparing now and he was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how much bigger Perry was. Not just taller, which he was, but also broader in frame and a lot more built. And he was definitely...in proportion. Was he seriously planning on sticking that up Harry's ass?

Perry climbed onto the bed with him and Harry just barely managed to suppress the urge to go skidding off the other side and bolt for the door. Perry grabbed Harry's legs just above the knees--God, his hands were strong--and pulled and Harry slipped towards Perry instead and oh God, hot, wet, good!

A surprised, ecstatic moan spilled from Harry's lips, the kind of sound that he would have been humiliated to make if he could think about anything except Perry's mouth on his cock right now. Perry had taken him all the way down his throat on the first try and Harry realized dimly that none of his previous lovers had ever completely deep throated him before, because nothing had ever felt like this. Totally surrounded by slick pressure and heat and the flicker of Perry's tongue... Harry moaned helplessly and struggled not to move too much, afraid Perry might stop.

For long moments Harry forgot everything but the waves of sensation washing through his body, driven by the grip of Perry's hands on his hips and the sweet caresses of his mouth. And then...it all stopped. Harry lifted his head. "Why are you stopping?" he asked indignantly.

Perry crawled up the bed and, stretching out half on top of Harry, leaned down to kiss him again, deep and demanding. When he pulled back he was smirking again. "I have other plans for you," he said, running a hand down Harry's body. "I just needed to stop you from panicking."

"I wasn't..." Harry trailed off, mouth dropping open as Perry's hand drifted over his hip, the pads of his fingers tracing almost ticklish lines across the curve of his ass. It felt...good. Really good. Perry's fingers found the cleft of his ass and brushed deeper, sending an unexpected tremor of anticipation through Harry. "Don't you need...um..." Harry trailed off uncertainly, suddenly half embarrassed and half afraid of making what was going to happen here real.

"Lube?" Perry finished, not the least bit hesitant. "Yeah." He rolled away from Harry to root around in the night stand for a moment.

Harry lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He was not panicking. He was not panicking at all. Really. He was calm. Hell, he was aroused. This was going to be good. No, this was going to be fantastic. Perry, after all, knew exactly what he was doing. Harry, on the other hand, was effectively a virgin all over again. Fuck, he shouldn't have thought that, that was not a good thing to think, it wasn't like his first round at losing his virginity had been a wild success. Thirty seconds and Katie Waters rolling away in frustration was not the example he wanted--

Abruptly he was being kissed again. Harry focused on that, focused on Perry's mouth and Perry's tongue. He knew those things and they were good, very, very good. Tentatively, Harry pressed up against Perry, really feeling Perry's body against his. Solid, broad muscles instead of soft, giving breasts and the coarse friction of body hair and most of all the hot length of Perry's cock, pressing into Harry's belly. It was...different. Exciting. Harry shifted a little, rubbing harder against Perry and making space for the hand Perry was sliding between his thighs. To be honest he'd never done much--what was it called? the name was right on the tip of his tongue...right! that was it--frottage with women, he usually just went right for the money, but this was good. He was hard and aching and grinding against Perry's body sent these little shocks of--

"Oh, God," Harry gasped as Perry's slick finger slid deep inside him. "Oh, God. What the fuck-- Jesus Christ, Perry." Harry couldn't seem to get a whole sentence out. The sudden stretch was almost like a burning sensation and it seemed to go straight to his cock. He'd thought he was hard before! God, now it was almost painful, he was so turned on. Harry whimpered.

"Harry?" Perry asked, not moving that finger, damn it, and he sounded almost concerned.

Now, Harry decided, was not an appropriate time for concern. "If you stop," Harry said, trying to growl--it came out a little too breathless--"I may have to kill you."

A moment passed and then Perry smirked, the bastard. He twisted his finger and Harry gasped, the sensation shooting through him like lightning. "You like this," Perry said smugly. "One little finger and you're ready to beg for it. Harry, Harry, Harry. I should have known."

"I'm not--" Harry gasped, lifting his hips to meet Perry's touch. He bit his lip. "I'm not ready to beg."

A second finger nudged at Harry's hole. "Are you sure about that?" Perry drawled, slowly pushing inside.

Harry reached up and grabbed Perry's shoulder, hanging on as if to anchor himself against the tide of heat that swelled inside of him. He could hear himself panting, short, hot breaths and he had to wonder if he looked ridiculous to Perry, shuddering and whimpering when they hadn't even gotten to the main event yet. God, he hoped he could make it to the main event. Harry struggled for coherence, "Not...begging yet," he managed.

"Not with your mouth, maybe," Perry said. There was a bit of a rough edge to Perry's voice, for some reason. "But your body? You're panting for it and pushing against my hand, trying to make me go deeper, and your cock is so hard I bet you're having to struggle not to come."

Harry shut his eyes, but that didn't help at all, because now he had nothing to concentrate on but Perry's fingers twisting inside of him, sending shots of pleasure skittering along his nerves and Perry's voice in his ear and that rough edge was arousal, wasn't it? "You want more," Perry went on, low and intent. A third finger joined the first two and Harry caught his breath. "You like my fingers inside you, stretching you out, but they're not enough. You want something bigger, thicker. You want my cock forcing you open, don't you? You want to be full of hard, hot cock."

Harry whimpered half because he wanted it and half because he wanted it. "Perry," he said, a little desperately.

"It's okay, Harry," Perry said, and his voice might have been thick with desire, but it was also full of self-assurance. He thrust his fingers deep into Harry's body, slowly easing them back before thrusting again. "Don't worry. I'm going to make this very good for you." He leaned down, his lips brushing against Harry's ear. "You're not going to regret this." Perry capped off the whispered words with a flick of his tongue, hot and wet, over Harry's earlobe. Harry cried out, even that little touch almost enough to push him over the edge, he was so sensitive right now.

Perry's fingers slipped free of his body and okay, so he'd had a moment of uncertainty there, but that didn't mean Harry wanted Perry to stop. Harry opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at Perry, ready to snap at him to get moving. Instead he froze, his mouth going dry with anticipation and maybe a little fear.

Perry was sitting back on his heels, squeezing lube out of the bottle and onto his other hand. He set the lube aside and wrapped his hand around his cock, already sheathed in a condom, to slick it, watching Harry with heavy lidded eyes. His cock was dark with arousal under his hand, thick and curved a little and damn, but it looked a lot bigger than his fingers. But then, he'd wanted more and bigger, hadn't he? Harry swallowed heavily, reminding himself how much he'd liked Perry fingers.

"Harry," Perry said, letting go of himself and tapping Harry on the knee. "Put your legs up on my shoulders."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Lift your legs up onto my shoulders," Perry said slowly. He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'd rather not do this face to face?"

"Face to face is good," Harry said hurriedly, shying away from the thought of rolling over for Perry. He hooked his knees over Perry's shoulders and Christ, but that was an exposed position. That was kind of the point though, wasn't it? Exposure, access--

A hot, blunt touch at his hole. Harry's eyes snapped shut; he sucked in a shaky breath and it suddenly occurred to him that this time around he wasn't the guy getting off too fast and leaving the girl frustrated, this time he was the girl, scared and excited and hoping it wouldn't hurt too much and he wondered suddenly if Katie Waters had been as much relieved as frustrated.

Perry, thank God, didn't try to tell him to relax. He just pushed forward, opening Harry just the way his fingers had only more, the hot, sharp sensation stopping Harry's breath in his throat. Maybe it should have hurt, maybe it did hurt, but all Harry knew was that it went right to his cock. He let his breath go in a long, low moan and pressed his heels into Perry's back in unconscious encouragement.

By the time Perry was buried completely inside him Harry was panting again, his whole body flushed with the heat of arousal. Perry paused, their bodies pressed together, and Harry forced his eyes open again.

"You know," Perry said breathlessly, "most guys get softer during that first part, not harder."

"I've always been...a little contrary," Harry gasped out.

"A little?"

"Are you going to fuck with me, or are you just going to fuck me?" Harry shot back.

Perry chuckled and answered with his body, slowly withdrawing, and the friction of that motion was damn near as good as the aching stretch of his entry had been. Harry watched Perry, his expression intent, focused, as he paused, just for moment before driving back into Harry. Stretch and heat and pleasure condensed into a few seconds and Harry cried out because it was good, so good and he was begging now. "More," Harry gasped out, hardly aware of what he was saying. "Please, Perry, please, I need--" Harry's voice broke off into a startled cry as Perry nudged something inside him and all his nerves seemed to light up at once.

"Harry, meet your prostate, the gay man's best friend," Perry said.

Harry could hear the laughter in his voice, but he didn't care right now. "Do that again," he demanded instead.

Perry smirked at him, the expression less irritating and more hot with Perry's hair in disarray and his face flushed and shining with sweat. "If you insist," he mocked gently.

Harry attempted a glare, but it dissolved instantly when Perry moved again, setting off another electric wave of pleasure. Mindlessly, Harry struggled to lift his hips to meet Perry's thrusts, to draw him closer with the legs hooked over his shoulders, grasping in any way he could for more heat, more friction, more of the hot, full feeling of Perry buried completely inside him.

Harry wasn't even thinking about coming now, climax forgotten in the sea of pleasure and the newness of every sensation. But even without thinking of it, even without straining for it, his muscles wound tighter and his breath came faster and he climbed closer to the edge. He was lost in the hot, sweet slide of Perry into his body when something inside of him just let go and he was coming, breath stuttering in surprise, hot seed spilling onto his belly even though neither of them had so much as touched his cock.

Through it all Perry never stopped moving, drawing Harry's climax out longer and more intense than he could have imagined. As he came down from his high Harry met Perry's dark, hungry gaze and found he couldn't look away. He watched, captivated, as Perry fucked him, shivers of pleasure still running through him as he watched Perry's control fracture and break, his face twisting in ecstasy as he cock pulsed heavily within Harry.

Disentangling themselves, Perry stretched out on the bed next to Harry and let out a satiated sigh. "You are a surprisingly good fuck, for a straight boy."

"Considering that I just had the best sex of my life with a man, I don't think I qualify as a straight boy any more," Harry commented.

Perry turned his head and gave Harry a wary look. "Are you going to have your heterosexual freak out now?"

"Will it get me kicked out of bed?"

"Yes," Perry said, glaring.

"I think I can postpone the heterosexual freak out," Harry said. If he was going to have one at all. Surprisingly, he felt pretty mellow right now. Okay, maybe not so surprisingly, considering that he'd just come harder than he ever had in his life, but still, he was feeling pretty good. And he'd been thinking about this for days; it hadn't come completely out of the blue.

Harmony was going to laugh her ass off when she found out.

"Good," Perry said. He stretched and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Because it's the middle of the day and we have work to do."

"Work?" Harry protested. He pushed himself into a sitting position and gasped as he ass protested. "Perry, you're the boss, you can give yourself the day off."

"I can't, but I'm not going to." Perry stood up and frowned down at Harry. "Get your ass out of bed, Harry."

Harry scowled but eased out of bed. "You are a sadist," he accused, moving stiffly to gather up his clothes.

Perry chuckled. "Fortunately, you are a masochist," he shot back.

Fortunately. If Perry thought that was fortunate, then he really had wanted to fuck Harry. Of course, Harry wasn't actually a masochist, but Perry wasn't really a sadist, so it all worked out. Harry grinned on his way to the bathroom.

***

Three weeks later, at another ridiculous L.A. party, Harry spotted Dress Shirt and The Doubter standing less than ten feet away. He poked Perry. "Kiss me."

Perry frowned at him. "What?"

"Kiss me right now or you aren't getting laid tonight," Harry hissed.

Perry raised his eyebrows, but pulled Harry into a deep, intense kiss anyway. Harry kissed back eagerly and okay, maybe he was playing it up a bit, but that wasn't difficult; Perry tended to favor involved, dramatic kisses.

After they parted Harry forced himself to wait a second before glancing back towards Dress Shirt and The Doubter. Judging by Dress Shirt's smug expression and The Doubter's startled one, they'd definitely caught the show.

"What was that about?" Perry asked.

"Nothing," Harry said, grinning.

--End--