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fellowshippers2006-01-21 01:53 am
smutcutter.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-01-21 01:53 am
Don't Ask, Don't Tell (1/8)
Title: Don't Ask, Don't Tell (1/8)
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smutcutter
Pairing: SB/OC (Harris)
Rating: NC-17 (for this chapter and scattered throughout)
Warning: This contains and original character... don't hate the playa...
Disclaimer: This is totally fake! Beyond fake! Never happened, never will - hell, some of the main characters are out my own demented mind.
Summary: Sean falls for a man, Harris - it was the best of times - it was the worst of times - it's told in many flashbacks - this is not a work in progress, it's done - I will be posting a chapter every few days. I wrote this originally over ten years ago and after my dive into RPS, I took it out, dusted it off and rewrote a good chunk of it. I want to thanktiggothy for her super fast and amazing beta work, hippediva for her constant support, and frahulettaes for everything....
The new day poked its nose over the horizon and halted, not sure what it would greet. Damp streets filled slowly and the grey clouds had not given the day a full welcome. London does not allow days of sunshine often.
Several people trudged into Hyde Park with wooden boxes and crude platforms, all vying for a prime shouting spot for the Sunday crowd. Today was going to be different, things would change. An impossibly wrinkled old man with a faded sign that claimed the end was near squinted into the morning glare. Sunshine? The man crossed himself and sought shelter. Vendors with steaming carts made their way between early joggers and baby carriages as the morning marched on. Stifling a yawn over a cup of bitter coffee, a young man let his mind wander up Edgeware Road to the larger houses and decided that if he lived there, things would be better for him.
The sunlight streamed onto the dark wood in the library and made Harris want to scream. He had been mechanical in his packing chore for most of the night and pulled the heavy drapes from the bay windows to allow in the new day. In the main hall, the large grandfather clock majestically chimed 8:15am. His auto pilot mood faltered and the aches of fatigue took over.
Harris sighed heavily and turned his back on the glare. He stretched and yawned like a lazy cat, mouth huge, knuckled the non-sleep from his deep green, bleary eyes. The boxes were all the same size, marked with the address of his place in Los Angeles, this London address concealed underneath. He was going back home. He plopped down on the sofa and took in the look of the tasteful room. Above dark hardwood floors, the walls were inset bookcases filled to the ceiling with antique volumes, faded paperbacks, crammed with scripts. The rumpled overused leather club chair matched the soft sofa. The feel and decor said this was indeed a man’s home. It was also a place he no longer felt welcome. He ran his fingers through his waist length blond hair and reached for his beer that had now reached room temperature and allowed his mind to seep droplets of memories, dribbling into conciousness as the warm liquid hit the back of his throat.
* * * * * * * * * *
The bartender nodded and smiled in recognition as Harris entered the stuffy little room. He could see his Hollywood haunt was packed, usual for a Friday night. Before he reached the bar, the vodka tonic was poured and ready.
"What's up?", Gill, the burly bald bartender yelled over the din of a base-loaded jukebox and loud conversations. He wore a Harley Davidson t-shirt and sported a weeks growth on his chin.
"Just work, action sequence on some cop show pilot. The director is a complete asshole and I need a drink" Harris raised the glass to his lips too quickly and the ice threatened to spill out. The bartender chuckled darkly.
"I can see that." He went back to prouring drinks with a shake of his head. A barstool became available and Harris slid onto it. The regulars were already crowded in their booths and on their third pitcher of beer or the house special (no one really knew what it was but it dared you to walk straight after drinking just one glass of the viscous green liquid). He leaned back on the edge of the bar and hooked a boot heel on a rung of the stool. With a practiced toss, his hair fell over his shoulders and he readjusted his wire-rim glasses. He got a couple of looks some smiles he wanted and turned back to the bar for his usual game of gin rummy with Gill.
The night progressed and Harris won as many games as he lost, so he never really paid for any of his drinks, which seemed to get stronger and stronger. Some people came up to talk to him, flirt, or impart the secrets of the universe through a haze of Budweiser and cigarette smoke. One table, near the outdoor patio, would every so often let out a battle cry to rattle the little windows then collapse into deep laughter.
"Whose turn to deal?" Gill asked, cigar clamped between his teeth.
"Yours." Harris lit up a cigarette.
"You bloody bastard! You take that back right now!" A slurred English accent boomed from the loud table as a chair crashed backwards. The room fell silent except for the bass ridden juke box that still groaned out an old Kiss tune. No one heard the whispered answer, or who it came from, but suddenly an empty bottle of Guiness flew across the room, missed its target and crashed into in an antique Michelob mirror, a large crack split the faded logo. The room erupted in a fury of fists and flying glassware as Gil disappeared under the bar, the cards taking to the air, one hand on the cordless phone the other on a sawn off shotgun.
Harris jumped to his feet, instinctively shoved his glasses in their case and slipped them into the inside pocket of his bomber jacket. He squinted at the front door which was blocked by two brawling, grunting bodies, and began his maneuver to the outside patio.
"Hey blondie! Where YOU goin?" A thick voice slurred and a hand gripped his shoulder to spin him around.
Harris’ hand clenched into a fist and connected squarely with the guy’s jaw. He watched the blood spurt and a few teeth fly out of the unshaven face.
"Oh Christ, man - leave me out of this." Harris muttered. He suddenly felt a jolt from behind that pitched him forward a step and he spun fast, fist ready, to meet a pair of widened green eyes.
"WAIT!" the eyes spoke, hands up in surrender. "I'm on your side! Hell, I'm not on any bloody side - 'ow do I get out ov this rat trap?" A thick English accent gulped from under a mop of blonde hair. Harris squinted at the fuzzy outline of the back door and pointed.
"Only way." He shouted over the brawl. "It's where I'm going."
"I'm with you then, mate." The blonde Englishman smiled crookedly and patted him on the back.
Throwing expert punches, standing back to back, the two men clawed a path through the tangle of warring bodies. Harris reached the steps first and the Englishman stopped, smiled, arms crossed to watch the waves of the fight while the occasional shark fin of a broken beer bottle rose and fell.
"Come on if yer comin!" Harris yelled, grabbed the Englishman's jacket collar and yanked him backwards over the last step into the crisp night air. He pushed him down the narrow alley and they emerged on the empty street, trying to catch their breath.
"Wait. . . ." Harris whispered as he pricked up his ears to the approaching sirens. "They'll be here soon. You 'd better get going. Where's your car?"
"My ride," The Englishman gestured with a crooked thumb. "is back in there, unconscious." He hissed through his teeth, his once easy voice now rigid with frustration. Absently, he rubbed the back of his neck and his hand came away red.
The sirens screamed closer. "Damn." Harris whipped his head around trying to pick up their direction. "Look, trust me, you don't have much time and you shouldn't even be seen using a pay phone out here. I only live a few blocks away. Why don't you come over, use the phone if you need to, I'll take care of that." Harris nodded to the bloody neck, took out his glasses, and slipped them on.
The Englishman looked up and down Hollywood Blvd.
"Sounds good to me, got any whiskey?" His crooked smile made his eyes sparkle.
"We can get some on the way. " Harris, smirked, a little unsure, but extended his hand. "Harris."
"Sean." They shook and Harris looked at the blood residue that came way from Sean's grip. He wiped his hand on his jeans and thought to himself, I must be out of my mind.
Sean followed Harris up the brightly lit back stairs attached to an old house.
"It was sub-divided in 1925." Harris smiled over his shoulder, keys working in one hand, bottle of whiskey wrapped in brown paper in the other. Sean looked at the peeled paint and oddly built staircase, hands thrust in his jacket pockets as he watched the tall man give the door a pound with his fist above the knob. It popped open with a rattle. Harris shrugged.
"Its worse in the heat."
Harris clicked on a few lights and gave a scritch to a golden brown cat that immediately purred loudly upon seeing her master home.
"Have a seat anywhere." Harris tossed his jacket on a chair and went to the kitchen for glasses.
"Oh!" He popped his head back around the corner. "The phone is right there, help yourself." While in the kitchen, Harris secretly hoped this guy wasn’t a psycho. He wandered back to the living room and settled into a chair, putting the glasses on the table and pouring the drinks.
Sean sighed heavily, resting his hand on his hip as listenened to a tired answering machine.
"Hey, I guess you're not there." He said to the machine. " Well, I didn't make it either. I'm still in Hollywood - not far from that bar. But, I'm okay. I'll ring you back later." He began to put the phone back down then quickly put it back to his ear."Oh - by the way, don't bother paging me - lost the bloody thing in the fight - I'll explain later." The phone rattled in the cradle when he set it down.
"You can give who-ever-it-is the number here if you need to." Harris said before he realized what he had just offered.
"Naw, its alright." Sean sat on the couch, exhaled with frustration and grabbed a glass. "Nice to be out of touch for a while." He flashed a mischevious grin. "That'll make ‘em worry."
"Do I want to know?"
Sean laughed. "Just my mates. I've been around them for months, we work together. Nice to get away for a bit." He raised his glass. "Thanks for the refuge." Harris did the same.
"Sure." Harris refilled the glasses as soon as they hit the table. A silence followed that Harris was about to fill with questions about the origins of the fight at the bar. But, the cat took the opportunity to break the ice herself and leapt into Sean's lap.
"Arlene! Don't!" Harris started to stand but Sean held his hand out.
"It's okay, I love cats." He stroked the animal's head, who greedily rubbed against him.
"She's kind of a slut." Harris explained as he eased back into the chair. "Loves men. She practically jumped the gas man when he came to relight the pilot on the heater."
Sean smiled at Arlene. "Yes, that's because you are so beautiful." He purred back and rubbed noses with Arlene, who was already in love.
The small talk continued, with no real secrets told, until the bottle was empty. Harris dug a new one out of his private stash. They had somehow stumbled their way to the open futon when Harris' black and white kitten decided to show himself and needed to play. Sean's smile and warm laugh made Harris stare for too long more than once. Stop it, he scolded himself, this guy is so straight he probably doesn't even buy paper towels if they've got flowers on them. He laughed to himself as the kitten fell over his own feet backwards when Sean threw a small rubber ball for him to fetch.
"What a silly cat." He laughed, flopping back onto the futon. Harris rested on his elbow looking down at him. He could still smell the bar on Sean's skin, under that was the clean scent of soap and sunlight. Oh brother, he thought, will you just stop it!
"Yea, he's pretty dim." Harris watched the kitten get his claws caught in the carpet. "Do you want to call your friend again?" Harris heard the slight slur in his own voice.
"Naw, I'll get a cab." Arlene and the kitten were tangled with each other, Arlene holding the kitten down to clean his ears. "But I would like another drink." Sean's unfocused eyes danced, shaking the empty glass. Harris chuckled and reached for the bottle, both men trying to steady themselves long enough to pour. They finally managed it by pressing their shoulders together. Harris watched the glass go to Sean's lips, the dark liquid disappear between them. Before he realized it, he tentatively kissed him and tasted the dark alcohol. Sean’s eye’s widened and Harris waited to get slugged. Sean’s easy smile was gone. What replaced it was a pair of parted lips being licked, his mouth suddenly dry, Sean’s entire blood supply had gone south. He reached a hand up to grab Harris’ hair and pulled him into a hard, desperate kiss, tongues warrring, deep throated moans filling the room. It was almost a fight to see who could out kiss who.
Sean shoved Harris onto his back and kept up the frenzied attack, his tongue moving to lick his throat, nip an earlobe almost painfully, hands ripping and grabbing to remove his own shirt. Harris lost his breath and his cock hardened instantly. Clothes were quickly shed, lights were clicked off and the wrestling match continued.
Harris managed to get some leverage and pinned Sean’s arms to his side, maneuvering himself to the dominant position. His mouth worked the man’s nipples just to hear him groan. He traced a wet path down Sean’s stomach, stopping only briefly at his navel, and wasted no time sliding his cock deep into his mouth. Sean’s back arched and he gasped, trying to break free so he could get a grip on Harris’ head. He held the man’s wrists firm and frantically sucked. He slowed, licked up the entire shaft, his eyes looking up to meet Sean’s with a wolf grin, his hair brushed over Sean’s thighs. His tongue cricled the head, flitting over the crown, teasing as Sean’s eyes pleaded with him. Ever so slowly, he slid the length back down into his throat, his tongue tickling Sean’s tightening balls. He released his hands, and felt Sean’s fingers dig into his scalp with a growl as Harris choked, his own hands trying to fight him off. This only seemed to make him tighten his grip. Harris grabbed Sean’s ball’s and yanked. He cried out and let go of Harris’ head, startled. With his mouth free, he sucked in Sean’s balls, hot tonuge working over every inch. Sean grabbed Harris’ hands painfully and held them fast, Harris working the rock hard dick until he couldn’t breathe, his head spinning. Sean pulled him up and the kissing resumed with grunts and growls. Harris wrenched one hand free and reached between them to stroke their dicks together. Sean’s head fell back with a deep moan and he nipped at the man’s throat.
With another animal growl, Sean jockeyed for position and shoved Harris face down onto the futon. Harris whipped his head around and Sean caught a handful of that long hair and hung on tight. He spat into his hand and pressed two fingers deep into Harris’ ass without ceremony. His struggles continued, one hand gripping Sean’s wrist, shoving the fingers in deeper, the other flaling towards his discarded jeans. More spit and another finger, he felt the head of Sean’s dick slick against his ass. His arm knocked into him and Sean grabbed Harris’ hand hard, looking at what was catching the light. Sean plucked the condom out of his hand, letting go of his’ hair. Harris panted.
“I may like it rough, but I’m not stupid.”
Sean had already ripped open the packet and was slipping the thing on, wordlessly.
More spit and Sean slid in slowly; Harris relaxed his muscles and eagerly pushed back to meet the hard cock. Once inside, Sean grabbed a handful of Harris’ hair again and began to slowly pump in and out. Harris pushed up on his arms and tried to look over his shoulder but Sean held his hair fast. Again, without words, he pulled out and non-too gently turned Harris onto his back, lifting the man’s legs to rest on his shoulder’s. Sean then gripped Harris’ wrists tight and held then above his head, pressed into the matress. He slid back in deep and leaned down to kiss him. Harris growled and bit at the man’s lower lip. Sean reacted by slamming harder, Harris cried out loud and long.
With his legs still on Sean’s shoulders, he pushed hard and landed him on his back. Harris crawled over him like an animal, Sean’s hands reaching out like claws to grip his arms. Harris knelt and slid himself down onto Sean’s cock, taking him in to the hilt, long hair nearly hiding his face. He flipped his head back and stared at Sean while he rode him, hands splayed over the man’s chest, fingers painfully teasing his nipples.
Harris streched out one leg, awkwardly sliding off; turned himself over and crawled back to the futon; Sean hot on his heels, he pounced and pulled open Harris’ legs and slid in once more. Harris reached down and stroked his own cock and knew the game was ending; time to hit the finish line. He fucked Harris hard and fast, forehead pressed to his back. Harris gripped the pillow and matched the urgent stokes with his own. He felt the coil of heat start at the back of his balls and make its way up, soon he was shooting onto the futon, body convulsing, nearly screaming.
Sean thought that hole couldn’t get any tighter, but it did - and hotter. Soon after Harris’ release, he had his own deep inside. His heart pounded painfully as he flopped onto his back, watching the room spin. Harris took care of the condom silently and pulled the comforter over both of them, without a word.
Stephen dragged his lanky form up the back stairs after a hard night's bartending, fighting a headache from having his long black curls clipped back, pale blue eyes just plain tired. He popped the door and his bubblegum at the same time. One foot in the apartment, he heard Harris' familiar cry and smiled. He closed the door as quietly as possible, and his dick jumped with every grunt and groan. The cats purred around his ankles as he leaned against the front door trying to picture what was
taking place, hand sliding down to his crotch. Harris on his knees, maybe, hair flying as his head whips around, partner shoving his way into Harris' body. Yep, Stephen thought, I know that noise.
He tiptoed to his bedroom and undressed quickly. The sheets felt cool against his hot skin, as cool as the small plastic bottle of lube from his nightstand felt in his hand. There was a clench in his stomach that ran straight to his cock when Harris let out a deep moan following a particularly loud scream. Stephen dropped his head against the headboard and bit his lip, his hand stroking slowly, cool lube sticky and dripping over his fingers.
"Go boy - do it Harris." He whispered, then listened, and came silently.
Sean opened his eyes to find Arlene on his chest, eyes wide, purring.
"I thought there was a reason I couldn't breathe." He yawned and raised himself up on his elbows. They had somehow made it to Harris’ bedroom where they had fucked again with the same urgency and fallen asleep. The amber glow of Harris' cigarette was followed by a puff of dragon smoke. "Did I fall asleep?"
"Just for a minute; I did too." Harris stretched, running a hand over his brow, and throuhg hair dampened by cooling sweat. Arlene lumbered to the edge of the bed and Sean sat up, lighting his own cigarette. Harris watched him with questioning eyes. The flush of the fight and the passion subsided, his vision was clearer. Hell, this is probably the only night I'll get out of him, Harris snorted to himself. Sean turned his head.
"What?"
"Hm?"
"Why’d you laugh?" Sean asked with a tilt of his head.
"Oh." Harris blushed and quickly averted his eyes, fingers toying with a loose thread form the blanket. "Nothing, I've -well - I haven't done this sort of thing in a long time." He lied badly.
"Oh, me either." Sean tapped his ashes into the glass ashtray on the nightstand.
Harris hated this silence. It was that turning point after a good fuck that would dictate the ‘relationship’ from here on. You could either play the ‘I have to get up early’ card and toss him out, or start talking sex and put him on your list as a fuck buddy. Harris didn’t believe in this whole ‘feelings’ and ‘love’ thing. It was just an invention from Hallmark. Like Grandparents Day. And, Harris knew, he could never stay with just one guy. He loved sex way too much to deal with a boyfriend. He shuddered inside at the very word. Been down that road too, he thought, a tree lined street filled with promise, happiness, and hidden tiger traps that drop your ass into a hole filled with spikes that you never see coming and can NEVER get out of.
He went for the casual approach; fuck buddy seemed to be the obvious choice, for the moment.
"So, you an ax-murderer?" Harris asked casually.
Sean laughed lightly. "Worse, actor.”
"So, an actor in Hollywood, eh? What restaurant?" He joked.
"Beg pardon?"
"What restaurant do you work at?"
"I don't."
Harris fell silent, eyes widening a little. "Oh, you mean you’re a real actor, a working actor."
Sean blinked. "I'm afraid I - "
"I'm sorry, its sort of a joke. A Hollywood joke; see all actors are waiters in this town - so they can... know what? Skip it. Silly joke I guess." His voice trailed off.
Sean looked at Arlene, who looked at him blankly.
"Oh! I get it! What restaurant!" His voice was playful, not mocking.
Harris smacked Sean's arm and they shared the companionable laugh. I could die in those eyes, he thought, then took the thought and burned it like flash paper. Yep, fuck buddy.
"So, what do you do?" Sean ventured.
"Me? I'm in porno movies."
"Excuse me?"
"Yea, couple of years now."
Silence. Then Harris’ laugh rose. "I'm sorry, I’m a stunt co-ordinator – office shit - boring." He was still giggling as he stubbed out his cigarette. Sean took a deep breath and put a hand to his pounding heart.
"Touche."
Harris clicked off the light and curled into Sean's chest, pulling the covers around them both. This was one of the good things about fuck buddies; someone to hang on to while you slept. Sometimes better than that stupid body pillow Steph bought me, Harris thought. Sean slipped down to cradle Harris gently.
"You staying for breakfast?" Harris whispered into the darkness. Silence. A cigarette being crushed.
"Aye." Sean kissed the top of his head.
The next morning, Sean left his number which Harris did not ask for. Out of courtesy, Harris told himself, then he handed over his own business card.
Harris sat up in bed as the the sun bathed the room in golden late morning light. He lit a cigarette and noted his clothes were a rumpled pile on the floor which matched the decor of the room. He rarely saw this room in daylight anyway. That’s a good thing, he thought, chuckling. The smell of strong coffee and toasted onion bagels caught him and Stephen appeared in the doorway juggling a bag and two large styrofoam cups.
"You look entirely too pleased." Stephen tossed the bag at Harris and handed him a cup,
"Don’t start." Harris sipped his coffee.
“Well, he certainly made you scream." Stephan mumbled into his cup as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Harris’ face broke into a smile, lower lip caught in his teeth. "You jacked off, didn't you?"
"He had you on your knees, right?"
Harris nodded, smiling wider. Then, he relayed the story of the fight and how Sean had ended up here.
“Probably a one nighter. Nice dick.” Harris sighed and sat back.
Stephen climbed under the covers and clicked on the Cartoon Network.
"Harris, don't go falling for a straight guy. You know much better than that!" Stephen propped up his pillows to get a better view of Scooby Doo, “Glass head, huh?”
“Your forehead has Pyrex stamped on it.”
“Dude... that’s harsh. I mean, Pyrex? Not even Waterford?”
Steph smiled. “You’ve got too thick a skull for Waterford.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you, too.”
TBC
Author:
smutcutterPairing: SB/OC (Harris)
Rating: NC-17 (for this chapter and scattered throughout)
Warning: This contains and original character... don't hate the playa...
Disclaimer: This is totally fake! Beyond fake! Never happened, never will - hell, some of the main characters are out my own demented mind.
Summary: Sean falls for a man, Harris - it was the best of times - it was the worst of times - it's told in many flashbacks - this is not a work in progress, it's done - I will be posting a chapter every few days. I wrote this originally over ten years ago and after my dive into RPS, I took it out, dusted it off and rewrote a good chunk of it. I want to thank
tiggothy for her super fast and amazing beta work, hippediva for her constant support, and frahulettaes for everything....The new day poked its nose over the horizon and halted, not sure what it would greet. Damp streets filled slowly and the grey clouds had not given the day a full welcome. London does not allow days of sunshine often.
Several people trudged into Hyde Park with wooden boxes and crude platforms, all vying for a prime shouting spot for the Sunday crowd. Today was going to be different, things would change. An impossibly wrinkled old man with a faded sign that claimed the end was near squinted into the morning glare. Sunshine? The man crossed himself and sought shelter. Vendors with steaming carts made their way between early joggers and baby carriages as the morning marched on. Stifling a yawn over a cup of bitter coffee, a young man let his mind wander up Edgeware Road to the larger houses and decided that if he lived there, things would be better for him.
The sunlight streamed onto the dark wood in the library and made Harris want to scream. He had been mechanical in his packing chore for most of the night and pulled the heavy drapes from the bay windows to allow in the new day. In the main hall, the large grandfather clock majestically chimed 8:15am. His auto pilot mood faltered and the aches of fatigue took over.
Harris sighed heavily and turned his back on the glare. He stretched and yawned like a lazy cat, mouth huge, knuckled the non-sleep from his deep green, bleary eyes. The boxes were all the same size, marked with the address of his place in Los Angeles, this London address concealed underneath. He was going back home. He plopped down on the sofa and took in the look of the tasteful room. Above dark hardwood floors, the walls were inset bookcases filled to the ceiling with antique volumes, faded paperbacks, crammed with scripts. The rumpled overused leather club chair matched the soft sofa. The feel and decor said this was indeed a man’s home. It was also a place he no longer felt welcome. He ran his fingers through his waist length blond hair and reached for his beer that had now reached room temperature and allowed his mind to seep droplets of memories, dribbling into conciousness as the warm liquid hit the back of his throat.
* * * * * * * * * *
The bartender nodded and smiled in recognition as Harris entered the stuffy little room. He could see his Hollywood haunt was packed, usual for a Friday night. Before he reached the bar, the vodka tonic was poured and ready.
"What's up?", Gill, the burly bald bartender yelled over the din of a base-loaded jukebox and loud conversations. He wore a Harley Davidson t-shirt and sported a weeks growth on his chin.
"Just work, action sequence on some cop show pilot. The director is a complete asshole and I need a drink" Harris raised the glass to his lips too quickly and the ice threatened to spill out. The bartender chuckled darkly.
"I can see that." He went back to prouring drinks with a shake of his head. A barstool became available and Harris slid onto it. The regulars were already crowded in their booths and on their third pitcher of beer or the house special (no one really knew what it was but it dared you to walk straight after drinking just one glass of the viscous green liquid). He leaned back on the edge of the bar and hooked a boot heel on a rung of the stool. With a practiced toss, his hair fell over his shoulders and he readjusted his wire-rim glasses. He got a couple of looks some smiles he wanted and turned back to the bar for his usual game of gin rummy with Gill.
The night progressed and Harris won as many games as he lost, so he never really paid for any of his drinks, which seemed to get stronger and stronger. Some people came up to talk to him, flirt, or impart the secrets of the universe through a haze of Budweiser and cigarette smoke. One table, near the outdoor patio, would every so often let out a battle cry to rattle the little windows then collapse into deep laughter.
"Whose turn to deal?" Gill asked, cigar clamped between his teeth.
"Yours." Harris lit up a cigarette.
"You bloody bastard! You take that back right now!" A slurred English accent boomed from the loud table as a chair crashed backwards. The room fell silent except for the bass ridden juke box that still groaned out an old Kiss tune. No one heard the whispered answer, or who it came from, but suddenly an empty bottle of Guiness flew across the room, missed its target and crashed into in an antique Michelob mirror, a large crack split the faded logo. The room erupted in a fury of fists and flying glassware as Gil disappeared under the bar, the cards taking to the air, one hand on the cordless phone the other on a sawn off shotgun.
Harris jumped to his feet, instinctively shoved his glasses in their case and slipped them into the inside pocket of his bomber jacket. He squinted at the front door which was blocked by two brawling, grunting bodies, and began his maneuver to the outside patio.
"Hey blondie! Where YOU goin?" A thick voice slurred and a hand gripped his shoulder to spin him around.
Harris’ hand clenched into a fist and connected squarely with the guy’s jaw. He watched the blood spurt and a few teeth fly out of the unshaven face.
"Oh Christ, man - leave me out of this." Harris muttered. He suddenly felt a jolt from behind that pitched him forward a step and he spun fast, fist ready, to meet a pair of widened green eyes.
"WAIT!" the eyes spoke, hands up in surrender. "I'm on your side! Hell, I'm not on any bloody side - 'ow do I get out ov this rat trap?" A thick English accent gulped from under a mop of blonde hair. Harris squinted at the fuzzy outline of the back door and pointed.
"Only way." He shouted over the brawl. "It's where I'm going."
"I'm with you then, mate." The blonde Englishman smiled crookedly and patted him on the back.
Throwing expert punches, standing back to back, the two men clawed a path through the tangle of warring bodies. Harris reached the steps first and the Englishman stopped, smiled, arms crossed to watch the waves of the fight while the occasional shark fin of a broken beer bottle rose and fell.
"Come on if yer comin!" Harris yelled, grabbed the Englishman's jacket collar and yanked him backwards over the last step into the crisp night air. He pushed him down the narrow alley and they emerged on the empty street, trying to catch their breath.
"Wait. . . ." Harris whispered as he pricked up his ears to the approaching sirens. "They'll be here soon. You 'd better get going. Where's your car?"
"My ride," The Englishman gestured with a crooked thumb. "is back in there, unconscious." He hissed through his teeth, his once easy voice now rigid with frustration. Absently, he rubbed the back of his neck and his hand came away red.
The sirens screamed closer. "Damn." Harris whipped his head around trying to pick up their direction. "Look, trust me, you don't have much time and you shouldn't even be seen using a pay phone out here. I only live a few blocks away. Why don't you come over, use the phone if you need to, I'll take care of that." Harris nodded to the bloody neck, took out his glasses, and slipped them on.
The Englishman looked up and down Hollywood Blvd.
"Sounds good to me, got any whiskey?" His crooked smile made his eyes sparkle.
"We can get some on the way. " Harris, smirked, a little unsure, but extended his hand. "Harris."
"Sean." They shook and Harris looked at the blood residue that came way from Sean's grip. He wiped his hand on his jeans and thought to himself, I must be out of my mind.
Sean followed Harris up the brightly lit back stairs attached to an old house.
"It was sub-divided in 1925." Harris smiled over his shoulder, keys working in one hand, bottle of whiskey wrapped in brown paper in the other. Sean looked at the peeled paint and oddly built staircase, hands thrust in his jacket pockets as he watched the tall man give the door a pound with his fist above the knob. It popped open with a rattle. Harris shrugged.
"Its worse in the heat."
Harris clicked on a few lights and gave a scritch to a golden brown cat that immediately purred loudly upon seeing her master home.
"Have a seat anywhere." Harris tossed his jacket on a chair and went to the kitchen for glasses.
"Oh!" He popped his head back around the corner. "The phone is right there, help yourself." While in the kitchen, Harris secretly hoped this guy wasn’t a psycho. He wandered back to the living room and settled into a chair, putting the glasses on the table and pouring the drinks.
Sean sighed heavily, resting his hand on his hip as listenened to a tired answering machine.
"Hey, I guess you're not there." He said to the machine. " Well, I didn't make it either. I'm still in Hollywood - not far from that bar. But, I'm okay. I'll ring you back later." He began to put the phone back down then quickly put it back to his ear."Oh - by the way, don't bother paging me - lost the bloody thing in the fight - I'll explain later." The phone rattled in the cradle when he set it down.
"You can give who-ever-it-is the number here if you need to." Harris said before he realized what he had just offered.
"Naw, its alright." Sean sat on the couch, exhaled with frustration and grabbed a glass. "Nice to be out of touch for a while." He flashed a mischevious grin. "That'll make ‘em worry."
"Do I want to know?"
Sean laughed. "Just my mates. I've been around them for months, we work together. Nice to get away for a bit." He raised his glass. "Thanks for the refuge." Harris did the same.
"Sure." Harris refilled the glasses as soon as they hit the table. A silence followed that Harris was about to fill with questions about the origins of the fight at the bar. But, the cat took the opportunity to break the ice herself and leapt into Sean's lap.
"Arlene! Don't!" Harris started to stand but Sean held his hand out.
"It's okay, I love cats." He stroked the animal's head, who greedily rubbed against him.
"She's kind of a slut." Harris explained as he eased back into the chair. "Loves men. She practically jumped the gas man when he came to relight the pilot on the heater."
Sean smiled at Arlene. "Yes, that's because you are so beautiful." He purred back and rubbed noses with Arlene, who was already in love.
The small talk continued, with no real secrets told, until the bottle was empty. Harris dug a new one out of his private stash. They had somehow stumbled their way to the open futon when Harris' black and white kitten decided to show himself and needed to play. Sean's smile and warm laugh made Harris stare for too long more than once. Stop it, he scolded himself, this guy is so straight he probably doesn't even buy paper towels if they've got flowers on them. He laughed to himself as the kitten fell over his own feet backwards when Sean threw a small rubber ball for him to fetch.
"What a silly cat." He laughed, flopping back onto the futon. Harris rested on his elbow looking down at him. He could still smell the bar on Sean's skin, under that was the clean scent of soap and sunlight. Oh brother, he thought, will you just stop it!
"Yea, he's pretty dim." Harris watched the kitten get his claws caught in the carpet. "Do you want to call your friend again?" Harris heard the slight slur in his own voice.
"Naw, I'll get a cab." Arlene and the kitten were tangled with each other, Arlene holding the kitten down to clean his ears. "But I would like another drink." Sean's unfocused eyes danced, shaking the empty glass. Harris chuckled and reached for the bottle, both men trying to steady themselves long enough to pour. They finally managed it by pressing their shoulders together. Harris watched the glass go to Sean's lips, the dark liquid disappear between them. Before he realized it, he tentatively kissed him and tasted the dark alcohol. Sean’s eye’s widened and Harris waited to get slugged. Sean’s easy smile was gone. What replaced it was a pair of parted lips being licked, his mouth suddenly dry, Sean’s entire blood supply had gone south. He reached a hand up to grab Harris’ hair and pulled him into a hard, desperate kiss, tongues warrring, deep throated moans filling the room. It was almost a fight to see who could out kiss who.
Sean shoved Harris onto his back and kept up the frenzied attack, his tongue moving to lick his throat, nip an earlobe almost painfully, hands ripping and grabbing to remove his own shirt. Harris lost his breath and his cock hardened instantly. Clothes were quickly shed, lights were clicked off and the wrestling match continued.
Harris managed to get some leverage and pinned Sean’s arms to his side, maneuvering himself to the dominant position. His mouth worked the man’s nipples just to hear him groan. He traced a wet path down Sean’s stomach, stopping only briefly at his navel, and wasted no time sliding his cock deep into his mouth. Sean’s back arched and he gasped, trying to break free so he could get a grip on Harris’ head. He held the man’s wrists firm and frantically sucked. He slowed, licked up the entire shaft, his eyes looking up to meet Sean’s with a wolf grin, his hair brushed over Sean’s thighs. His tongue cricled the head, flitting over the crown, teasing as Sean’s eyes pleaded with him. Ever so slowly, he slid the length back down into his throat, his tongue tickling Sean’s tightening balls. He released his hands, and felt Sean’s fingers dig into his scalp with a growl as Harris choked, his own hands trying to fight him off. This only seemed to make him tighten his grip. Harris grabbed Sean’s ball’s and yanked. He cried out and let go of Harris’ head, startled. With his mouth free, he sucked in Sean’s balls, hot tonuge working over every inch. Sean grabbed Harris’ hands painfully and held them fast, Harris working the rock hard dick until he couldn’t breathe, his head spinning. Sean pulled him up and the kissing resumed with grunts and growls. Harris wrenched one hand free and reached between them to stroke their dicks together. Sean’s head fell back with a deep moan and he nipped at the man’s throat.
With another animal growl, Sean jockeyed for position and shoved Harris face down onto the futon. Harris whipped his head around and Sean caught a handful of that long hair and hung on tight. He spat into his hand and pressed two fingers deep into Harris’ ass without ceremony. His struggles continued, one hand gripping Sean’s wrist, shoving the fingers in deeper, the other flaling towards his discarded jeans. More spit and another finger, he felt the head of Sean’s dick slick against his ass. His arm knocked into him and Sean grabbed Harris’ hand hard, looking at what was catching the light. Sean plucked the condom out of his hand, letting go of his’ hair. Harris panted.
“I may like it rough, but I’m not stupid.”
Sean had already ripped open the packet and was slipping the thing on, wordlessly.
More spit and Sean slid in slowly; Harris relaxed his muscles and eagerly pushed back to meet the hard cock. Once inside, Sean grabbed a handful of Harris’ hair again and began to slowly pump in and out. Harris pushed up on his arms and tried to look over his shoulder but Sean held his hair fast. Again, without words, he pulled out and non-too gently turned Harris onto his back, lifting the man’s legs to rest on his shoulder’s. Sean then gripped Harris’ wrists tight and held then above his head, pressed into the matress. He slid back in deep and leaned down to kiss him. Harris growled and bit at the man’s lower lip. Sean reacted by slamming harder, Harris cried out loud and long.
With his legs still on Sean’s shoulders, he pushed hard and landed him on his back. Harris crawled over him like an animal, Sean’s hands reaching out like claws to grip his arms. Harris knelt and slid himself down onto Sean’s cock, taking him in to the hilt, long hair nearly hiding his face. He flipped his head back and stared at Sean while he rode him, hands splayed over the man’s chest, fingers painfully teasing his nipples.
Harris streched out one leg, awkwardly sliding off; turned himself over and crawled back to the futon; Sean hot on his heels, he pounced and pulled open Harris’ legs and slid in once more. Harris reached down and stroked his own cock and knew the game was ending; time to hit the finish line. He fucked Harris hard and fast, forehead pressed to his back. Harris gripped the pillow and matched the urgent stokes with his own. He felt the coil of heat start at the back of his balls and make its way up, soon he was shooting onto the futon, body convulsing, nearly screaming.
Sean thought that hole couldn’t get any tighter, but it did - and hotter. Soon after Harris’ release, he had his own deep inside. His heart pounded painfully as he flopped onto his back, watching the room spin. Harris took care of the condom silently and pulled the comforter over both of them, without a word.
Stephen dragged his lanky form up the back stairs after a hard night's bartending, fighting a headache from having his long black curls clipped back, pale blue eyes just plain tired. He popped the door and his bubblegum at the same time. One foot in the apartment, he heard Harris' familiar cry and smiled. He closed the door as quietly as possible, and his dick jumped with every grunt and groan. The cats purred around his ankles as he leaned against the front door trying to picture what was
taking place, hand sliding down to his crotch. Harris on his knees, maybe, hair flying as his head whips around, partner shoving his way into Harris' body. Yep, Stephen thought, I know that noise.
He tiptoed to his bedroom and undressed quickly. The sheets felt cool against his hot skin, as cool as the small plastic bottle of lube from his nightstand felt in his hand. There was a clench in his stomach that ran straight to his cock when Harris let out a deep moan following a particularly loud scream. Stephen dropped his head against the headboard and bit his lip, his hand stroking slowly, cool lube sticky and dripping over his fingers.
"Go boy - do it Harris." He whispered, then listened, and came silently.
Sean opened his eyes to find Arlene on his chest, eyes wide, purring.
"I thought there was a reason I couldn't breathe." He yawned and raised himself up on his elbows. They had somehow made it to Harris’ bedroom where they had fucked again with the same urgency and fallen asleep. The amber glow of Harris' cigarette was followed by a puff of dragon smoke. "Did I fall asleep?"
"Just for a minute; I did too." Harris stretched, running a hand over his brow, and throuhg hair dampened by cooling sweat. Arlene lumbered to the edge of the bed and Sean sat up, lighting his own cigarette. Harris watched him with questioning eyes. The flush of the fight and the passion subsided, his vision was clearer. Hell, this is probably the only night I'll get out of him, Harris snorted to himself. Sean turned his head.
"What?"
"Hm?"
"Why’d you laugh?" Sean asked with a tilt of his head.
"Oh." Harris blushed and quickly averted his eyes, fingers toying with a loose thread form the blanket. "Nothing, I've -well - I haven't done this sort of thing in a long time." He lied badly.
"Oh, me either." Sean tapped his ashes into the glass ashtray on the nightstand.
Harris hated this silence. It was that turning point after a good fuck that would dictate the ‘relationship’ from here on. You could either play the ‘I have to get up early’ card and toss him out, or start talking sex and put him on your list as a fuck buddy. Harris didn’t believe in this whole ‘feelings’ and ‘love’ thing. It was just an invention from Hallmark. Like Grandparents Day. And, Harris knew, he could never stay with just one guy. He loved sex way too much to deal with a boyfriend. He shuddered inside at the very word. Been down that road too, he thought, a tree lined street filled with promise, happiness, and hidden tiger traps that drop your ass into a hole filled with spikes that you never see coming and can NEVER get out of.
He went for the casual approach; fuck buddy seemed to be the obvious choice, for the moment.
"So, you an ax-murderer?" Harris asked casually.
Sean laughed lightly. "Worse, actor.”
"So, an actor in Hollywood, eh? What restaurant?" He joked.
"Beg pardon?"
"What restaurant do you work at?"
"I don't."
Harris fell silent, eyes widening a little. "Oh, you mean you’re a real actor, a working actor."
Sean blinked. "I'm afraid I - "
"I'm sorry, its sort of a joke. A Hollywood joke; see all actors are waiters in this town - so they can... know what? Skip it. Silly joke I guess." His voice trailed off.
Sean looked at Arlene, who looked at him blankly.
"Oh! I get it! What restaurant!" His voice was playful, not mocking.
Harris smacked Sean's arm and they shared the companionable laugh. I could die in those eyes, he thought, then took the thought and burned it like flash paper. Yep, fuck buddy.
"So, what do you do?" Sean ventured.
"Me? I'm in porno movies."
"Excuse me?"
"Yea, couple of years now."
Silence. Then Harris’ laugh rose. "I'm sorry, I’m a stunt co-ordinator – office shit - boring." He was still giggling as he stubbed out his cigarette. Sean took a deep breath and put a hand to his pounding heart.
"Touche."
Harris clicked off the light and curled into Sean's chest, pulling the covers around them both. This was one of the good things about fuck buddies; someone to hang on to while you slept. Sometimes better than that stupid body pillow Steph bought me, Harris thought. Sean slipped down to cradle Harris gently.
"You staying for breakfast?" Harris whispered into the darkness. Silence. A cigarette being crushed.
"Aye." Sean kissed the top of his head.
The next morning, Sean left his number which Harris did not ask for. Out of courtesy, Harris told himself, then he handed over his own business card.
Harris sat up in bed as the the sun bathed the room in golden late morning light. He lit a cigarette and noted his clothes were a rumpled pile on the floor which matched the decor of the room. He rarely saw this room in daylight anyway. That’s a good thing, he thought, chuckling. The smell of strong coffee and toasted onion bagels caught him and Stephen appeared in the doorway juggling a bag and two large styrofoam cups.
"You look entirely too pleased." Stephen tossed the bag at Harris and handed him a cup,
"Don’t start." Harris sipped his coffee.
“Well, he certainly made you scream." Stephan mumbled into his cup as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Harris’ face broke into a smile, lower lip caught in his teeth. "You jacked off, didn't you?"
"He had you on your knees, right?"
Harris nodded, smiling wider. Then, he relayed the story of the fight and how Sean had ended up here.
“Probably a one nighter. Nice dick.” Harris sighed and sat back.
Stephen climbed under the covers and clicked on the Cartoon Network.
"Harris, don't go falling for a straight guy. You know much better than that!" Stephen propped up his pillows to get a better view of Scooby Doo, “Glass head, huh?”
“Your forehead has Pyrex stamped on it.”
“Dude... that’s harsh. I mean, Pyrex? Not even Waterford?”
Steph smiled. “You’ve got too thick a skull for Waterford.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you, too.”
TBC