HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!
Feb. 14th, 2011 11:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesSince I know my f-list well and understand that while chocolate and hearts are all well and good, what you REALLY like is PORN. AMIRITE?
Some of you have already read this since I posted it as comment fic for my own amusement on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
insaners , but for the rest of you, here is my CROSSOVER/CROSSOVER Harry, Draco, Arthur, Eames, Arthur and Merlin all meet up (sort of) at the same Muggle club. I think it has something for everyone, so if it's not your fandom, feel free to skip to the next part. YOU CAN DO IT. I WROTE IT THAT WAY. :D
Harry plucked self-consciously at the top button of his pyjama shirt. He wished there was at least one more button—his chest felt exposed, although he supposed the pyjamas were normal enough. He was used to t-shirts.
"This is ridiculous," he said.
"Harry, lighten up and enjoy yourself, for once," Hermione said. "I'm going to get a drink."
Harry pouted a bit as she made her way through the crowd, looking comfortable in her fluffy white robe and matching slippers. Sometimes her lack of sympathy was—
"Wonder what she's wearing under that robe?" Ron mused for the sixth time.
Harry thought it more likely to be a comfortable t-shirt and fleece shorts than anything Ron envisioned, but he allowed his friend to keep his fantasies. "Where is Dean? I want to say hello and get out of here."
Dean's new Muggle nightclub was all the rage with its bedtime theme. Patrons were requested to wear nightclothes, but Harry saw more than a few outfits that would have been better suited to a strip club. The place was named Slumber; a definite misnomer considering the lively crowd.
A slender expanse of bare back beneath gleaming blond hair caught Harry's eye and he admired it appreciatively. The bloke had beautiful shoulders and a delicious curve to his waist. He wore black silk pyjama bottoms that showcased a spectacular arse and a pair of legs that seemed to go on forever. His arse swayed back and forth in time with the song playing.
"Hello," Harry purred to himself and then grinned at Ron. "This evening might not be a total waste after all. Be back in a minute—or not, if I'm lucky."
Harry started toward the gorgeous arse whose blond hair was now haloed by a new set of glittering lights that had come up. Other lights went down, keeping the place dim for gyrating bodies and wandering hands.
"Um, Harry?" Ron's voice was dubious and Harry felt fingers graze his arm, but they missed their grip and Harry didn't give him a second opportunity to stop him. Ron was over his homophobia thing, thank goodness, but now he acted like a protective brother, approving or disapproving each of Harry's choices.
Harry walked up behind the dancer. He pretended to bump into the man, who jolted and then turned. Harry smiled winningly. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, "I didn't—Malfoy?"
Familiar grey eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed as he took in Harry's attire. Harry felt as though the air had been sucked from his lungs. When had Malfoy lost his sallow, pointy, annoying gitness and turned into… this? He couldn't help but admire Malfoy's pale chest, gleaming with a sheen of what looked like superfine glitter. His nipples were small pink nubs that Harry would love to have under his tongue. Malfoy's stomach was flat and lovely and his hipbones—fuck, his hipbones were…
"Well, well, well," Malfoy said. To Harry's surprise, Malfoy reached out and trailed long fingers over Harry's lapel in a caress. "Is this really what you wear to bed, Potter? I would have imagined red flannel adorned with golden Snitches."
Harry flushed. He had been close to choosing something like that, but Hermione had put her foot down and dragged him off to purchase the black pinstriped pyjamas he now wore.
"Um… why are you here?" Harry asked, striving for casual despite the blush on his cheeks announcing he had just been caught checking out his childhood rival.
"Still oblivious, I see," Malfoy said. His fingers continued to slide over Harry's lapel, travelling downward until they reached the button Harry had tugged earlier. "Dean is currently dating Daphne Greengrass. She invited us."
"Us?" Harry asked and then gasped as he was jostled from behind. He fell forward, scrambling for balance. His hands flew quite naturally to Malfoy's hips.
Malfoy's chuckle sounded loud and his breath was hot in Harry's ear. "Pansy and I," he said. One hand snaked around Harry's waist, ostensibly to keep them both upright.
"Pansy," Harry repeated, trying to fight off a sense of disappointment. "Oh." His attempt to pull away was halted when Malfoy's arm did not loosen and his lips did not move from their proximity to Harry's ear. Their torsos were pressed closely together and Harry wondered if Malfoy could feel his hammering heartbeat.
"She's otherwise occupied."
Curious, Harry turned his head, trying to ignore the glide of Malfoy's lips against his jaw when he did so. He saw Pansy Parkinson wearing an astonishingly sparse leather teddy and thigh-high stockings. She was also wrapped around two boys who looked barely old enough to have entered the club without fake IDs.
"Are those twins?" Harry asked.
"Yes, the lucky bitch. They are disgustingly straight."
"And you're not?" The question was answered by his shirt gaping open—Malfoy's deft fingers had unbuttoned it without Harry noticing. "Hey!"
"I'm not straight at all, Potter," Malfoy replied and his hand skated over Harry's chest and then tweaked at one nipple. It sent a jolt to Harry's cock. "I'm beginning to think you aren't, either, if your lack of protest is indicative."
Harry knew that was his signal to stop the madness, but he found his hands sweeping over the warm skin of Malfoy's back and stepping even closer, fitting their legs together as he pushed his partially-erect cock against Malfoy's hip.
"Aren't," he admitted and dipped his head to place a nibbling kiss on Malfoy's neck.
Malfoy went completely stiff for only an instant and Harry smirked at having apparently shocked him. And then Malfoy's hands were on Harry's arse and his hot breath was back in Harry's ear.
"Care to prove it?" Malfoy asked.
"Where?"
"Loo."
"Lead the way," Harry replied, feeling reckless and overly warm. He was nearly pulled off his feet by the alacrity of Malfoy's response, which was to grab Harry by the hand and lead him at a quick pace through the crowd to the darkened hallway that marked the loo.
***
Near the front door, Arthur surveyed the crowd and then frowned when his companion lifted a hand and waved with a shouted, "Hello, everyone! Now that I am here the party can begin!"
A loud, drunken cheer met his words and he laughed.
"Honestly, Eames, we're here to gather information on a mark, not get drunk and make a spectacle of ourselves, which is frankly impossible considering the atrocity that is your outfit."
Eames plucked at his pyjama top and pursed his lips into an offended moue. "Arthur, darling, you wound me. These are my tasteful ones."
Arthur groaned and made a retching sound before shaking his head and making his way toward the bar. Eames followed. "Yours, however, are glorious. Or perhaps it's simply your arse that is glorious and the pyjamas are a lovely decoration."
"Shut up, Eames."
"There is our bountiful target now," Eames said and jostled him. "Cuddled up to a Blue Hawaiian at the bar."
Arthur nodded. The woman was nibbling listlessly at a pineapple skewer, looking fairly deep in her cups already. Before Arthur could make a suggestion, Eames brushed by him—and Arthur was fairly sure the hand that grazed over his ass was not an accident—and took the empty bar stool next to the woman.
She glanced at Eames, did a double-take and sat up with an expression Arthur recognized with annoyance. Was it necessary for everyone to give Eames that particular look? The look that suggested if he only asked they would drop straight to their knees and give him whatever he desired.
Arthur took the seat next to Eames and lifted a finger to signal the bartender. He seldom drank on a fact-finding mission, but something told him he might need one tonight.
"Hello, love," Eames said in a purring tone to the girl, who beamed at him. "What are you drinking tonight? It looks like you need a refill. May I?"
Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and ordered a Scotch.
The girl chuckled. "You certainly may." She rattled off the name of her drink—not quite a Blue Hawaiian—and Eames ordered it as well as a lager. Eames made small talk with her while Arthur sipped at his drink and repressed a shudder. He had forgotten how much he hated straight liquor.
The girl made a joke and Eames laughed heartily, leaning over her. "You smell delightful," he said and she blushed and tittered. Something bumped into Arthur's knee and he reached down to take the girl's wallet. He slipped it into his pyjama pocket and turned to Eames. "Watch my drink, mate?"
Eames made a noncommittal sound and Arthur went to the loo where he quickly photographed all of the girl's credit cards. He could have dug up the information online, but time was of the essence and this was so much quicker. As a bonus, the idiot even had her National Insurance card. This mission would be like taking candy from a baby.
He was placing the items back into the wallet when he heard a distinct moan and the wall of the stall next to him bowed slightly. The metal bolts protested. Arthur froze and leaned his head close to the wall.
"Potter," he heard. The sound was breathless, a whisper. "God."
The slurping sound that followed was clearer and brought a smile to Arthur's face, as well as a spear of lust. His mind went to Eames' lips and he thought about them wrapping around his cock. He pushed his way out of the stall quickly lest the men realize he was eavesdropping. Now was not the time to be turned on—not when the champagne-coloured pyjamas would reveal everything.
He hurried back to the stool and put a hand on Eames' back for just a moment. "Thanks, mate," he said, leaning close to be heard over the music and depositing the wallet in Eames' lap, where it would be returned to the woman's purse without her ever knowing it had gone.
She was laughing borderline hysterically. "No, it's really horrible. Honestly, duckies? They are seriously unsexy."
"Duckies are perfectly sexy," Eames said, justifying the terrible flannel pyjamas he wore. Not only were they lavender, but they were scattered with smiling yellow ducks, complete with molars. They were truly horrendous.
"Not sexy," the woman replied through a giggle. "Terrible."
Arthur hoped Eames wouldn't take much longer picking up her mannerisms. Now that he had his information he was ready to leave, but Eames had to forge her, so he needed to know her quirks.
"Fine, then I'll just take it off, shall I?"
Arthur nearly choked on his Scotch. He had unwisely taken a drink when he'd sat down and now he coughed as he watched Eames do a strip-tease out of the heinous pyjama shirt, complete with hummed raunchy music.
The mark laughed, obviously delighted. Arthur glared. "What are you doing?" he hissed under his breath.
"Patience, darling," Eames retorted in a sing-song tone. The girl didn't seem to notice—her eyes had widened in obvious appreciation at the revelation of Eames' not-inconsiderable tattoos.
"Oh my," she said.
"Oh my," Arthur mimicked in a muttered falsetto, glad that she was on the other side of Eames and couldn't hear him.
"Look at you!" she continued and then reached out a hand to splay it over Eames' chest. Arthur tossed back the rest of his drink.
"I need some fucking air," he snapped and left the stool to shove his way through the crowd and outside, where he took in gulping breaths of damp, rain-tinged air and wondered what the hell was wrong with him.
***
Merlin looked at the man who had burst from the club and stood looking agitated while he drew in several deep breaths. "You all right?" he asked.
The dark-haired man nodded and gave him a thumbs-up before straightening and walking quickly in the opposite direction. Merlin shrugged and cocked his head a bit, watching him leave. The man had an amazing arse…
"What are you doing, Merlin?" a familiar voice asked and then Merlin felt something soft whack against the side of his head. "Were you ogling that man?"
Merlin put up a defensive arm and turned to bestow a warning stare on Arthur. "No! Ouch, stop that!" He snatched at the item Arthur was attempting to beat him with and managed to curl his fingers around a bit of it. He pulled hard.
"Careful, Merlin. You will damage your prop."
Merlin looked it. Glassy black eyes peered at him from a fuzzy face. "A bear?" he asked dubiously.
"Yes, a bear. Otherwise no one would be able to tell you're in pyjamas. You look the same as always."
"I sleep in my t-shirt and pants. And sometimes fleece trousers like these if it's cold."
Arthur shook his head, but Merlin thought his expression looked somewhat fond. He reached out and hooked an arm around Merlin's neck. "Come on, idiot. I am ready for a drink. Exams are over and we are free men! For a bit. Let us celebrate."
Merlin clutched the teddy and allowed Arthur to drag him into the club. It was dimly lit and very crowded, but Arthur's charm gave them swift passage through the crush and even scored them a table in a darkened corner that a couple abandoned as soon as Arthur passed over a crisp bribe. Where charm failed Arthur, currency would normally succeed. Merlin envied him both, at times.
"What'll it be, Merlin?" Arthur asked and gave him a clap on the shoulder. While he appreciated Arthur's affection, he sometimes wished it were less painful.
He rubbed his shoulder. "Um… white wine?"
Arthur heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Merlin. You are such a girl. Never mind. I will be right back with our drinks. Guard my seat with your life. Your life."
Merlin rolled his eyes, but as soon as Arthur turned away he grinned, and he definitely ogled Arthur's arse. It looked particularly divine encased in the royal blue pyjama bottoms. The satin sheen seemed to highlight the fine lines of his thighs as he walked. Merlin sighed appreciatively.
Arthur returned shortly with two large drinks that bore no resemblance to wine.
"What is that?" Merlin asked, eyeing the monstrosity.
"They call it The Grail. Fitting, don't you think, considering our names? Now, drink up, Merlin."
Arthur lifted his huge glass and took a drink. Merlin sighed, but lifted the cold concoction to his lips, wondering absently why he always obeyed Arthur, even reluctantly.
When Arthur lowered the glass and smiled at him with liquid gleaming on his lips, Merlin's heart flipped over and he suspected he knew the answer.
***
Draco dragged Potter into the bathroom, thinking to call Potter's bluff as quickly as possible and then go home and wank for an hour to rid himself of the memory of Potter groping him and kissing his neck and—well, it was an amusing joke for Potter, but enough was enough.
And on the remote chance that Potter wasn't joking… Draco was already hard at the mere thought of it. He had been bored witless until Potter and his messy hair and elegant pyjamas had bumped into him.
Without pausing, Draco walked to the farthest stall and pushed the door open. He thought he would have to drag Potter inside, but the man entered willingly enough and then, wonder of wonders, closed the door and slid the metal latch closed.
"Silencing Charm?" Draco asked with one brow cocked. His heartbeat had begun to race at the sound of the lock and the increasing possibility that Potter was actually serious.
"I don't think so," Potter said with a feral grin and then dropped to his knees between Draco's feet, pushing them wider with a nudge.
Draco's breath caught and then Potter's hands were on the bulge of his trousers, pressing Draco's cock with one hand while the other pulled at the drawstring. The pressure was delicious and Potter's eyes glinted with something that—thank Merlin—was nothing near amusement, and then he tugged Draco's pyjama bottoms down with a swift movement and fixed his green stare on Draco's cock.
Potter seemed transfixed for so long that Draco felt a stab of anxiety. He wanted to make a sardonic quip, but clever words seemed to have abandoned him next to the reality of Harry Potter on his knees.
"Beautiful," Potter murmured and then he shot Draco a look of pure heat and his teeth flashed white. "Best be quiet." With that, the Saviour opened up and took Draco's cock straight into his mouth.
Draco's head hit the wall of the stall and his hands went Potter's hair. He hadn't expected Potter to be so eager—oh bloody hell did that feel good—nor take Draco so completely— where had he learned to do that?—and the feel of his tongue sliding over the ridge and swirling—oh fuck, there, yes—and then coherent thought fled completely.
Potter's hair was soft and the sight of his mouth wrapped around Draco, drawing back to expose Draco's glistening cock, a flash of green eyes beneath skewed glasses, before pushing forward to slide deliciously back up Draco's length was—Draco wasn't going to last long; it was impossible.
A small creak announced the opening of the outer door and then footsteps sounded on the tile floor. Draco's hands tightened in Potter's hair, but Potter's movements did not cease. If anything, he increased his efforts and slid both hands up Draco's thighs. Bastard.
Odd sounds came from the stall next to them, but Draco only dimly registered then. Under other circumstances, he might have been curious, but at the moment he could only think about the feel of Potter's hot, wet, talented tongue and the way he sucked—Potter's fingers grazed Draco's balls and the touch jolted through Draco like a frisson of electricity. He braced himself more firmly against the wall, which protested with a metallic groan.
"Potter," he murmured, unable to stop himself. "God."
He heard the stall door next to him open and close as the man departed, thankfully. Draco had half-expected him to stay and listen to the show, which was actually rather hot, as was the idea of him peering over the stall wall to see what Draco now saw.
The thought of it was enough for Draco and he gave a strangled cry and spilled himself into the incredible mouth of Harry Potter, hero of the world and fellatio wonder.
Potter swallowed it all and then got to his feet and pressed Draco against the possibly-not-strong-enough-for-this stall wall before kissing him soundly. He tasted bitter and salty and completely amazing.
"Convinced?" Potter asked with a rumbling laugh.
Draco tried to recover his aplomb, difficult when standing in a Muggle loo with his pyjama trousers around his ankles and Harry Potter in his arms. "Do you do this frequently?"
"Of course not." Potter's voice was derisive. "It would be all over the Prophet if I had." Potter made no move to pull away and Draco realized he was quite hard, his erection dug into Draco's thigh.
"How do you know it won't be?" Draco asked and fought back a moan when Potter's hands slid over his torso again and brushed over nipples sensitized by his orgasm.
"I trust you," Potter said simply.
Draco's arms tightened around him. "I'm taking you home where you will fuck me until neither of us can move."
"Best idea I've heard in years," Potter said and kissed him.
When the door opened again—many minutes later—Draco managed to shove Potter away and restore his clothing to some semblance of order. Potter leaned against the opposite wall and grinned at him, but he looked more like a predatory panther than the cat who had got the cream.
They left the bathroom and pushed their way through the crowd. Potter's hand on the small of his back was less guidance and more possessive, but Draco found that he didn't mind, bizarre though it seemed.
He scanned the crowd for Pansy, but she must have disappeared with her twins, the bint. She hadn't even said goodbye. Or stuck around for him to show off Potter, he admitted to himself. His wandering gaze did spy an interesting pair in the corner, however, almost looking like a copy of him and Potter. One was blond, the other dark, and they seemed to be lost in one another's eyes.
The sight gave him a pang and he turned to see Potter waving at the Weasel and Granger. Draco smiled and draped a possessive arm over Potter's shoulders just to see Weasley's brows shoot up into his hairline.
"Going to say goodbye?" Draco asked against the shell of Potter's ear while pushing one hand into the black pyjama shirt that Potter hadn't bothered to re-button. He half-expected Potter to push him away, but instead an arm snaked around his waist and pulled him closer.
"No. I'll send them an owl. Let's go." Potter lifted a final hand toward his friends and then they were through the crowd and free.
The cold air was a shock against Draco's bare skin, but Potter had collected a cloak from somewhere, even though his arm had never left Draco's waist. He draped it gallantly around Draco's shoulders.
"Apparate?" Draco asked, feeling self-conscious.
"Yeah, let's go in the alley. Too many Muggles out here." Potter jerked his head toward a small group of smokers lurking near the curb.
They rounded the corner and stopped short. A couple was wrapped in a very amorous-looking embrace, one pressed against the stone wall and the other—
"Damn," Potter swore and made as if to backtrack.
"Wait," Draco said and grasped Potter's wrist. "Come on, they won't even notice us. Look at them."
Potter glanced back at the couple and then bit his lip before stepping closer to Draco. "All right," he agreed and then Draco felt a whoosh as Potter Apparated them away.
***
Eames frowned as Arthur pushed away from the bar and disappeared. The girl next to him made a snorting noise.
"Rude!" she said.
Eames' jaw set for a moment and it was all he could do not to abandon her and rush after Arthur. It wasn't like him to flee during a mission. Normally Arthur was cool and unmovable as a block of polar ice.
The girl's hand trailed over Eames' chest again and she leaned closer. "Want to get out of here?" she asked suggestively, breasts spilling nearly over her low-cut blouse and perfume filling Eames' senses unpleasantly.
Fuck this, he thought and moved away abruptly. Her expression shifted into surprised disappointment and Eames forced a grin. "Absolutely. Just as soon as I visit the little lads' room. Be right back." He pushed away from the chair and headed towards the loo, stepping aside as the door opened to admit a dishevelled couple.
They were both lovely, one dark, one bright, and Eames smiled when he realized what they had been up to. It was painfully obvious by the flush on the blond's cheeks and the puffy redness of the dark-haired one's lips. The thought of desperate, hot loo sex made him think immediately of Arthur. With a quick check to see if the mark was watching—she had turned back to her drink, thankfully—Eames ducked through the crowd and outside.
Arthur was nowhere to be seen.
"Dammit," Eames murmured with a hiss. Where could he have gone? Bloody hell. The hotel was within walking distance, so Eames started that way at a quick pace, only to hear a familiar voice when he had taken only a few steps past the alley entrance.
"Finished so soon?"
Eames stopped short and let relief wash over him. He turned to see Arthur leaning against the wall, one foot propped up, looking like he would be more at home in a drawing room with a martini than waiting in a dingy alley, lit only by a dim bulb affixed to the doorstep of the building adjacent the club.
"More than finished," Eames admitted and made his way to Arthur, sliding effortlessly back into careful mode, because it always paid to be careful around Arthur, particularly when the point man's mood was an unknown factor.
"She seemed your type," Arthur said and pushed away from the wall. His dark leather slippers avoided a murky puddle as he headed deeper into the alley.
The words grated. "Why?" Eames asked. "And where are you going?"
"Shortcut to the hotel. She was willing. Isn't that your type?"
Eames stalked after him. Perhaps she had been his type, once upon a time, before an annoying pseudo-sophisticated, sarcastic, borderline obsessive-compulsive gun-toting prat had appeared in Eames life and turned every universal constant on its ear.
"Fuck you, Arthur." Eames nearly bit his own tongue, because he seldom allowed Arthur to goad him past control, but it had been a long time coming.
Arthur stopped and swung round. "Excuse me?" he asked, cocking a brow in that maddening way that made Eames want to hit him—or possibly shove his tongue down Arthur's throat until that smug expression was only a vague memory.
"You heard me."
"Merely stating the obvious, Mr Eames," Arthur said. Smug. With an undertone of disdain.
Eames launched himself forward with a growl. Even with the surprise attack, Arthur was quick, very quick. Eames very nearly missed, but he anticipated Arthur's direction of flight and compensated. Arthur slammed into the brick wall with a grunt and Eames held him there, careful to snare both of Arthur's wrists to prevent lethal retaliation.
"Perhaps a lesson in my type is in order, Arthur," Eames growled and then he crushed Arthur's lips with his own.
Eames expected a fight. He expected to be bitten, punched, and brutally savaged. He did not expect Arthur to relax as though suddenly turned to jelly. He did not expect Arthur to moan against his lips—a sound that went straight to Eames' cock—and he definitely did not expect Arthur to hook a leg around his thigh and drag him closer.
Thankfully, Eames was a master of improvisation. Wary of a ploy, he kissed Arthur thoroughly, only coming up for air when lack of it became painful.
A sound caught his attention and he noticed the two lovely men from the club in his peripheral vision. He ignored them, refusing to be distracted, and kissed a hot trail down Arthur's neck.
A sound that closely resembled a bullet travelling through a suppressor caused him to snap his head up again, staring toward the mouth of the alley, but the two men were gone.
"Eames," Arthur said. His voice was like silk, smooth and enticing.
Eames groaned. "Arthur, what you do to me."
"Show me," Arthur said.
Eames returned his lips to Arthur's throat and his fingers found the buttons of Arthur's expensive pyjama shirt. "Hotel," he managed, although pulling away to make the word possible did not seem to be an option.
"No. Don't want to reconsider." Arthur, imminently practical.
The fabric parted and Eames pushed his hand inside to touch Arthur intimately for the first time. He had groped him frequently, deftly avoiding a swinging fist or sharp object, but never anything like this. He had never dared, knowing he might never stop.
"What do you want? Tell me what you want," Eames said.
"I want you to fuck me. Right here."
It was starting to rain and the alleyway had already proven easily accessible to club patrons. Arthur had never seemed the sort to be adventurous in the bedroom—or out of it, apparently—although Eames had had several fantasies to the contrary, even those had not extended this far into the surreal. "Now?" he asked, just to be sure.
Arthur's lips thinned into a familiar line and he glared at Eames.
"Okay, yes! Here. Now. Excellent plan," Eames said quickly, moving his hands quickly around to cup Arthur's perfect arse to assure him that he was, indeed, on board with the public fucking scenario. Another mind melting kiss or two had his doubts quickly receding.
"Now," Arthur said against his lips.
"Certainly, darling. How do you want to do this?" While Eames was certainly up for anything now—and his cock was definitely up for it—the logistics of fucking in a wet alleyway were not exactly clear cut.
He supposed they could—Arthur made a huffing sound and turned around. "Do you need a manual?" Arthur asked dryly.
"Did you write one?" Eames countered, not bothering to keep the hopeful tone from his voice. Knowing Arthur, he had.
To his surprise, Arthur laughed, dropped his head until his hair brushed against the brick. "What do I see in you? Really, it makes no sense at all."
Eames grinned, delighted. He pushed his hands up over Arthur's back in a gentle caress and then tugged his pyjama pants down over his (incredible, amazing) arse on the downstroke. For a moment he was transfixed, staring at the pale mounds he had admired so long from afar.
Arthur shifted, probably uncomfortable, although his face was hidden now, and Eames quickly pressed forward, allowing Arthur to feel his erection through his duck-printed trousers, fitting his cock between the curves of Arthur's arse. It was incredible.
Arthur's head jerked up and he twisted to look back at Eames with eyes gone wild. "Fuck! What about lube? What am I thinking?"
"No, no, no!" Eames said hastily, gripping Arthur's arse with both hands lest it attempt escape. "I have that covered, darling. Just hold still."
"You have lube?" Arthur's tone was dubious. "You're wearing pyjamas."
Eames reluctantly let go with one hand and fished in his trouser pocket before lifting to display two foil packets. He grinned happily. "Lubricant and condom," he said smugly. "I carry them at all times, Arthur, just in case you ever stopped being a tease. Lucky me; tonight seems to be the night."
A growl made Eames realize he may have said too much, so he quickly lowered his hand to push into the crack of Arthur's arse and nudge the knuckle of his index finger against the tight ring of muscle that had been the star of many of Eames' fantasies.
Arthur made a lovely sound and froze, then he shifted his feet and—just barely—pushed back against Eames' hand. It was enough. Eames put the packets in his other hand without removing his knuckle. He ground it in a little, just to keep Arthur interested while he tore the foil with his teeth. The condom fell free and he managed to shove down his trousers and roll it onto his cock with his left hand alone, awarding himself a mental cheer and totting up another trophy on his wall of firsts.
The lube oozed out of the foil packet and dripped onto Arthur's arse. It was a complimentary-trial-size-flavour-of-the-week from some porn shop or another. It didn't matter, but the smell was nice as he finally took his questing finger away from Arthur's hole long enough to squirt forth the glistening gel.
He rubbed the last bit over his cock for good measure and then lined up and pushed into Arthur without so much as a warning.
Arthur collapsed against the wall on his forearms with a strangled cry. For a moment Eames thought he might have hit his head. "Fuck, Eames!"
"That's sort of the point, darling," Eames agreed, but he was curious. Despite Arthur's protest, Eames had breached him rather easily, which meant either that Arthur was having regular sex or he was shoving his own fingers—or a device—into himself while dreaming of Eames.
Eames leaned forward and jerked his hips forward to push himself even deeper. "Which is it, Arthur? Do you have other lovers or have you been preparing yourself for me?"
Arthur groaned and clenched his fists. "You," he panted. "Bastard, only you."
Eames paused in pure shock for a moment. His words had been in jest. Not only had he not expected an answer, but he had definitely not expected that answer. The experience became even more unreal and he bit his lip, wondering if he were dreaming. Unlike the others, he had no totem. His forging ability was totem enough. He tried to shift, just for a second, into a different body. Nothing happened.
"Not dreaming?" he murmured.
"Not dreaming," Arthur snapped. "Are you going to move, or not?"
Not dreaming, Eames validated with a grin. And then he began to move. The rain continued to spit fitful bursts at them, but Eames no longer noticed. The Queen herself could have stood in the mouth of the alley and taken notes; Eames thought he might have ignored her as well, because Arthur felt just that good.
He watched his own cock slide in and out of Arthur, joying in each hot caress. He reached down to feel Arthur's front, gripping Arthur's cock and tugging in time with each forward stroke. Arthur's arse slammed back with each movement, driving Eames even deeper.
The sound of laughter penetrated Eames' fog and he heard footsteps moving closer. With a muffling bite into his bottom lip, he came, throwing his head back and shuddering with the force of it.
"Arthur," he murmured.
The word seemed to be enough, for Arthur bucked thrice more and then hot liquid splashed over Eames' hand—still wrapped tightly around Arthur's cock—and dripped onto the wet pavement.
The footsteps grew louder and Eames moved quickly, straightening Arthur, who seemed to have gone boneless, and then tossing the condom on the ground and tugging up both their trousers before leaning against the wall on one arm while shielding Arthur with his body.
"Very gallant," Arthur said and gave him a suggestive smile when he turned around to bury his face in Eames' neck.
"Shall I show you how gallant I can be?" Eames murmured, listening with half an ear as the walking crowd moved on.
"How will you do that?"
"Take me back to the hotel and I will show you," Eames promised.
"All right," Arthur said and ducked out of Eames' grip. He threw a dimpled smile back over his shoulder. "Last one at the hotel bottoms." With that, Arthur launched into a wild run, pelting through the puddles and avoiding rubbish.
Eames watched him with an adoring smile for a moment and then bellowed and gave chase.
***
Arthur watched Merlin lift the tankard to his lips and take a drink. The liquid was half gone and Merlin had a delicious pink tint to his cheeks that spoke of the onset of inebriation. It was hard to tell when Merlin was drunk, as he merely became even quieter, but smiled more.
Arthur sipped at his own fruity concoction with a flare of satisfaction. Operation Seduce Merlin was well under way. The idiot had been painfully oblivious to Arthur's increasingly desperate flirting, so Arthur had decided to take matters into his own hands, hopefully literally. Except that he hadn't quite screwed up the courage to do it despite many potential opportunities, hence the addition of large amounts of alcohol to the Plan.
And if Merlin proved to be resistant, then the ever-popular "I was drunk" would be Arthur's escape clause.
His gaze sharpened as he noticed Merlin's attention fixed firmly on the bar. Or rather, on a man at the bar. The fellow was far too burly for Arthur's taste and seemed to be flirting with a busty woman, if her hand on his chest was any indication.
Merlin coughed. "He has some interesting tattoos."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. Did Merlin have a tattoo kink? "If you like that sort of thing," he said grudgingly and vaguely wondered if the dragon-on-a-shield tattoo he had vaguely considered getting now and again would capture Merlin's attention.
"He's, um… attractive," Merlin said.
Arthur straightened with a jolt. "Merlin!"
Merlin flushed. "What?"
Arthur looked at the man again and shook his head. "I don't think so. I much prefer the one next to him. I like them dark and slender." Arthur cocked his head. Actually, that one was very attractive, if a trifle angry, judging by the way he threw back his drink and flounced away. "Oh damn, he's escaped."
"Escaped?" Had Arthur imagined it, or did Merlin's voice have an indignant squeak to it? "You mean you would… You were thinking…?"
"Merlin, your eloquence is astounding at times, really." Arthur's voice was liquid and his lips curled into a smile at the thought that maybe, just maybe, Merlin was a tiny bit jealous.
"I just…" Merlin scowled and seemed to make an effort to create a full sentence. "I mean I didn't know, wasn't sure, if you were into blokes."
"Well, now you know. What about you, Merlin, would the touch of a man's hand cause you to run away screaming?" As a test, Arthur fired his next salvo, a casual but not-so-casual hand placed upon Merlin's thigh.
Merlin did not jump out of his skin, but it was a near thing. The glass in his hand jerked and would likely have sloshed liquid onto the table if it had been fuller. Merlin's eyes widened and locked with Arthur's before sharpening into something Arthur both recognized and did not.
"No," Merlin said firmly. "It would not."
For a moment the tableau was frozen, Arthur's hand on Merlin's leg and Merlin staring him down. Arthur's heartbeat sounded loud in his own ears and he debated sliding his hand farther up Merlin's thigh, but would Merlin take it as a ploy or realize Arthur was not joking around?
Merlin took another gulp of his drink, eyes sliding away, and a miraculous opportunity presented itself. Arthur was suddenly grateful that the Pendragons had always been born under a lucky star.
"You've got a bit of orange on your lip," Arthur said, eyes fixed on the speck of pulp caught on the edge of Merlin's lower lip. Merlin's hand lifted, but Arthur caught it with his free hand. "Let me."
He leaned forward slowly, alert for any sign of protest from Merlin, but his friend was immobile as Arthur's lips drew closer and closer. Arthur's tongue flicked out and captured the pulp, barely grazing Merlin's skin. He did not pull away, instead panting with half-open lips, breathing in Merlin's alcohol-scented breath with a near-blinding sense of longing. His eyes fluttered closed.
And then, miracle of miracles, he felt Merlin's lips against his own, a tentative brush. Arthur stopped breathing completely and pressed forward eagerly, tilting his head to fit his mouth more firmly against Merlin's, falling into a real kiss that quickly became staggering, with Merlin's tongue touching and then gliding over his, awakening every desire Arthur had fought down for the past six months of their near-agonizing friendship.
Arthur's hand curled on Merlin's thigh, probably painfully, and then he felt Merlin's fingers on top of his own, loosening his grip and then, incredibly, tugging his hand upward into formerly forbidden territory.
Merlin's cock—dear god, Merlin's cock—was hard and easily defined though the soft material of Merlin's ridiculous track pants. Arthur might have made a sound of need that was possibly a bit desperate.
"Closer," he murmured against Merlin's amazing, hot mouth.
Merlin obeyed, scooting his chair over until it banged into Arthur's. Arthur glanced around to see if anyone was paying them any mind, but the dancers continued to dance and the short tablecloth was just long enough to shield their activity from prying eyes. Heartened, Arthur tugged the drawstring to free the tie and then plunged his hand into Merlin's pants.
Merlin's teeth sank into Arthur's bottom lip for a moment and Arthur's cock jumped in response. Merlin tugged his lip briefly and then kissed him again, sloppy and eager. Arthur's hand rewarded Merlin's unexpected biting skill with a long stroke on his cock, sliding his hand from base to tip and curling his fingers around the crown, delighted to find a slick bead of wetness there.
Merlin's hand dropped to Arthur's crotch, pressing with the heel of his hand. Arthur bucked into the touch with a gasp. He stroked Merlin's cock again, encouraging him to continue his exploration, which he did, fumbling at Arthur's silken trousers until he found entrance and plunged his hand inside. The first touch of Merlin's hand was like a wish come true. Arthur was afraid he might actually combust at the heat suddenly thick and heavy between them.
He broke the kiss in order to breathe and tugged awkwardly at Merlin's prick in time with the lovely fingers stroking his own, unconsciously picking up the beat from the thudding music around them. His lips skid over Merlin's cheek and came to rest near one of Merlin's delightful ears.
"Merlin," Arthur whispered through panting breaths. Oh god the pressure was building quickly because the waitress or anyone could wander up at any moment and Arthur wouldn't care, would not be able to stop because it felt so incredibly good; and Merlin made the most amazing minute sounds that caused Arthur to wonder if they would be loud enough to annoy his neighbours should Merlin deign to come back to his and try this again properly on Arthur's bed…
Unsurprisingly, the thought, coupled with Merlin's fingers grazing his balls before rising again and taking a firmer grip, had Arthur coming like a frenzied teen all over Merlin's hand and quite probably ruining the pyjamas Arthur had bought just yesterday in preparation for this night.
And then Merlin made a choking cry, quickly silenced, and came with a shudder that shook his entire form. Arthur felt it completely, since he seemed to be barely clinging to his own chair in favour of pressing himself to Merlin's side.
Arthur pushed himself reluctantly back to his own seat and removed his hand from Merlin's pants, unceremoniously wiping the residue onto Merlin's thigh.
"Hey!" Merlin protested and Arthur chuckled.
"Come back to my flat and I'll wash them for you."
Merlin's eyes, looking blown and only slightly wary, narrowed and he asked, "Is that a ploy to get me naked?"
Arthur's delighted grin felt like it might split his face. "Yes. Yes, it is."
Merlin's answering smile was brilliant.
THE END OMG.
ALSO, thank you so much![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
demicus for my lovely CUPID DRACO CARD, and thank you byaghro for giving me a present for BREATHING - I'll try to continue doing that for quite some time now that I know there are PRESSIES involved. *snuggles and snuggles* XD Also, billions of thanks to those prettying up my profile page with v-gifts. I hope those MYSTERY GIFTS are full of PRETTY PRETTY BOYS. Hugs and thanks to aerisaturner , bootsy_mine , fireflavored , kitty_fic , cassie_black12 , callistianstar , envious_ema for the mystery gifts! Thank you bootsy_mine for the bear and candy, and nenne for the PENGUIN! :D Thank you for my lovely puppies ladydeth12 , faithwood , taradiane , ldydark1 , and bootsy_mine . AND THANK YOU MY BELOVED cleo_jay for the sleeping dragon and the ROSES! *twirls you and loves you forever and ever okay maybe not the twirling cuz you might get nauseous but the loving for SURE*
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PLASMA HEARTS TO EVERYONE! :D
Some of you have already read this since I posted it as comment fic for my own amusement on
insaners , but for the rest of you, here is my CROSSOVER/CROSSOVER Harry, Draco, Arthur, Eames, Arthur and Merlin all meet up (sort of) at the same Muggle club. I think it has something for everyone, so if it's not your fandom, feel free to skip to the next part. YOU CAN DO IT. I WROTE IT THAT WAY. :DHarry plucked self-consciously at the top button of his pyjama shirt. He wished there was at least one more button—his chest felt exposed, although he supposed the pyjamas were normal enough. He was used to t-shirts.
"This is ridiculous," he said.
"Harry, lighten up and enjoy yourself, for once," Hermione said. "I'm going to get a drink."
Harry pouted a bit as she made her way through the crowd, looking comfortable in her fluffy white robe and matching slippers. Sometimes her lack of sympathy was—
"Wonder what she's wearing under that robe?" Ron mused for the sixth time.
Harry thought it more likely to be a comfortable t-shirt and fleece shorts than anything Ron envisioned, but he allowed his friend to keep his fantasies. "Where is Dean? I want to say hello and get out of here."
Dean's new Muggle nightclub was all the rage with its bedtime theme. Patrons were requested to wear nightclothes, but Harry saw more than a few outfits that would have been better suited to a strip club. The place was named Slumber; a definite misnomer considering the lively crowd.
A slender expanse of bare back beneath gleaming blond hair caught Harry's eye and he admired it appreciatively. The bloke had beautiful shoulders and a delicious curve to his waist. He wore black silk pyjama bottoms that showcased a spectacular arse and a pair of legs that seemed to go on forever. His arse swayed back and forth in time with the song playing.
"Hello," Harry purred to himself and then grinned at Ron. "This evening might not be a total waste after all. Be back in a minute—or not, if I'm lucky."
Harry started toward the gorgeous arse whose blond hair was now haloed by a new set of glittering lights that had come up. Other lights went down, keeping the place dim for gyrating bodies and wandering hands.
"Um, Harry?" Ron's voice was dubious and Harry felt fingers graze his arm, but they missed their grip and Harry didn't give him a second opportunity to stop him. Ron was over his homophobia thing, thank goodness, but now he acted like a protective brother, approving or disapproving each of Harry's choices.
Harry walked up behind the dancer. He pretended to bump into the man, who jolted and then turned. Harry smiled winningly. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, "I didn't—Malfoy?"
Familiar grey eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed as he took in Harry's attire. Harry felt as though the air had been sucked from his lungs. When had Malfoy lost his sallow, pointy, annoying gitness and turned into… this? He couldn't help but admire Malfoy's pale chest, gleaming with a sheen of what looked like superfine glitter. His nipples were small pink nubs that Harry would love to have under his tongue. Malfoy's stomach was flat and lovely and his hipbones—fuck, his hipbones were…
"Well, well, well," Malfoy said. To Harry's surprise, Malfoy reached out and trailed long fingers over Harry's lapel in a caress. "Is this really what you wear to bed, Potter? I would have imagined red flannel adorned with golden Snitches."
Harry flushed. He had been close to choosing something like that, but Hermione had put her foot down and dragged him off to purchase the black pinstriped pyjamas he now wore.
"Um… why are you here?" Harry asked, striving for casual despite the blush on his cheeks announcing he had just been caught checking out his childhood rival.
"Still oblivious, I see," Malfoy said. His fingers continued to slide over Harry's lapel, travelling downward until they reached the button Harry had tugged earlier. "Dean is currently dating Daphne Greengrass. She invited us."
"Us?" Harry asked and then gasped as he was jostled from behind. He fell forward, scrambling for balance. His hands flew quite naturally to Malfoy's hips.
Malfoy's chuckle sounded loud and his breath was hot in Harry's ear. "Pansy and I," he said. One hand snaked around Harry's waist, ostensibly to keep them both upright.
"Pansy," Harry repeated, trying to fight off a sense of disappointment. "Oh." His attempt to pull away was halted when Malfoy's arm did not loosen and his lips did not move from their proximity to Harry's ear. Their torsos were pressed closely together and Harry wondered if Malfoy could feel his hammering heartbeat.
"She's otherwise occupied."
Curious, Harry turned his head, trying to ignore the glide of Malfoy's lips against his jaw when he did so. He saw Pansy Parkinson wearing an astonishingly sparse leather teddy and thigh-high stockings. She was also wrapped around two boys who looked barely old enough to have entered the club without fake IDs.
"Are those twins?" Harry asked.
"Yes, the lucky bitch. They are disgustingly straight."
"And you're not?" The question was answered by his shirt gaping open—Malfoy's deft fingers had unbuttoned it without Harry noticing. "Hey!"
"I'm not straight at all, Potter," Malfoy replied and his hand skated over Harry's chest and then tweaked at one nipple. It sent a jolt to Harry's cock. "I'm beginning to think you aren't, either, if your lack of protest is indicative."
Harry knew that was his signal to stop the madness, but he found his hands sweeping over the warm skin of Malfoy's back and stepping even closer, fitting their legs together as he pushed his partially-erect cock against Malfoy's hip.
"Aren't," he admitted and dipped his head to place a nibbling kiss on Malfoy's neck.
Malfoy went completely stiff for only an instant and Harry smirked at having apparently shocked him. And then Malfoy's hands were on Harry's arse and his hot breath was back in Harry's ear.
"Care to prove it?" Malfoy asked.
"Where?"
"Loo."
"Lead the way," Harry replied, feeling reckless and overly warm. He was nearly pulled off his feet by the alacrity of Malfoy's response, which was to grab Harry by the hand and lead him at a quick pace through the crowd to the darkened hallway that marked the loo.
Near the front door, Arthur surveyed the crowd and then frowned when his companion lifted a hand and waved with a shouted, "Hello, everyone! Now that I am here the party can begin!"
A loud, drunken cheer met his words and he laughed.
"Honestly, Eames, we're here to gather information on a mark, not get drunk and make a spectacle of ourselves, which is frankly impossible considering the atrocity that is your outfit."
Eames plucked at his pyjama top and pursed his lips into an offended moue. "Arthur, darling, you wound me. These are my tasteful ones."
Arthur groaned and made a retching sound before shaking his head and making his way toward the bar. Eames followed. "Yours, however, are glorious. Or perhaps it's simply your arse that is glorious and the pyjamas are a lovely decoration."
"Shut up, Eames."
"There is our bountiful target now," Eames said and jostled him. "Cuddled up to a Blue Hawaiian at the bar."
Arthur nodded. The woman was nibbling listlessly at a pineapple skewer, looking fairly deep in her cups already. Before Arthur could make a suggestion, Eames brushed by him—and Arthur was fairly sure the hand that grazed over his ass was not an accident—and took the empty bar stool next to the woman.
She glanced at Eames, did a double-take and sat up with an expression Arthur recognized with annoyance. Was it necessary for everyone to give Eames that particular look? The look that suggested if he only asked they would drop straight to their knees and give him whatever he desired.
Arthur took the seat next to Eames and lifted a finger to signal the bartender. He seldom drank on a fact-finding mission, but something told him he might need one tonight.
"Hello, love," Eames said in a purring tone to the girl, who beamed at him. "What are you drinking tonight? It looks like you need a refill. May I?"
Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and ordered a Scotch.
The girl chuckled. "You certainly may." She rattled off the name of her drink—not quite a Blue Hawaiian—and Eames ordered it as well as a lager. Eames made small talk with her while Arthur sipped at his drink and repressed a shudder. He had forgotten how much he hated straight liquor.
The girl made a joke and Eames laughed heartily, leaning over her. "You smell delightful," he said and she blushed and tittered. Something bumped into Arthur's knee and he reached down to take the girl's wallet. He slipped it into his pyjama pocket and turned to Eames. "Watch my drink, mate?"
Eames made a noncommittal sound and Arthur went to the loo where he quickly photographed all of the girl's credit cards. He could have dug up the information online, but time was of the essence and this was so much quicker. As a bonus, the idiot even had her National Insurance card. This mission would be like taking candy from a baby.
He was placing the items back into the wallet when he heard a distinct moan and the wall of the stall next to him bowed slightly. The metal bolts protested. Arthur froze and leaned his head close to the wall.
"Potter," he heard. The sound was breathless, a whisper. "God."
The slurping sound that followed was clearer and brought a smile to Arthur's face, as well as a spear of lust. His mind went to Eames' lips and he thought about them wrapping around his cock. He pushed his way out of the stall quickly lest the men realize he was eavesdropping. Now was not the time to be turned on—not when the champagne-coloured pyjamas would reveal everything.
He hurried back to the stool and put a hand on Eames' back for just a moment. "Thanks, mate," he said, leaning close to be heard over the music and depositing the wallet in Eames' lap, where it would be returned to the woman's purse without her ever knowing it had gone.
She was laughing borderline hysterically. "No, it's really horrible. Honestly, duckies? They are seriously unsexy."
"Duckies are perfectly sexy," Eames said, justifying the terrible flannel pyjamas he wore. Not only were they lavender, but they were scattered with smiling yellow ducks, complete with molars. They were truly horrendous.
"Not sexy," the woman replied through a giggle. "Terrible."
Arthur hoped Eames wouldn't take much longer picking up her mannerisms. Now that he had his information he was ready to leave, but Eames had to forge her, so he needed to know her quirks.
"Fine, then I'll just take it off, shall I?"
Arthur nearly choked on his Scotch. He had unwisely taken a drink when he'd sat down and now he coughed as he watched Eames do a strip-tease out of the heinous pyjama shirt, complete with hummed raunchy music.
The mark laughed, obviously delighted. Arthur glared. "What are you doing?" he hissed under his breath.
"Patience, darling," Eames retorted in a sing-song tone. The girl didn't seem to notice—her eyes had widened in obvious appreciation at the revelation of Eames' not-inconsiderable tattoos.
"Oh my," she said.
"Oh my," Arthur mimicked in a muttered falsetto, glad that she was on the other side of Eames and couldn't hear him.
"Look at you!" she continued and then reached out a hand to splay it over Eames' chest. Arthur tossed back the rest of his drink.
"I need some fucking air," he snapped and left the stool to shove his way through the crowd and outside, where he took in gulping breaths of damp, rain-tinged air and wondered what the hell was wrong with him.
Merlin looked at the man who had burst from the club and stood looking agitated while he drew in several deep breaths. "You all right?" he asked.
The dark-haired man nodded and gave him a thumbs-up before straightening and walking quickly in the opposite direction. Merlin shrugged and cocked his head a bit, watching him leave. The man had an amazing arse…
"What are you doing, Merlin?" a familiar voice asked and then Merlin felt something soft whack against the side of his head. "Were you ogling that man?"
Merlin put up a defensive arm and turned to bestow a warning stare on Arthur. "No! Ouch, stop that!" He snatched at the item Arthur was attempting to beat him with and managed to curl his fingers around a bit of it. He pulled hard.
"Careful, Merlin. You will damage your prop."
Merlin looked it. Glassy black eyes peered at him from a fuzzy face. "A bear?" he asked dubiously.
"Yes, a bear. Otherwise no one would be able to tell you're in pyjamas. You look the same as always."
"I sleep in my t-shirt and pants. And sometimes fleece trousers like these if it's cold."
Arthur shook his head, but Merlin thought his expression looked somewhat fond. He reached out and hooked an arm around Merlin's neck. "Come on, idiot. I am ready for a drink. Exams are over and we are free men! For a bit. Let us celebrate."
Merlin clutched the teddy and allowed Arthur to drag him into the club. It was dimly lit and very crowded, but Arthur's charm gave them swift passage through the crush and even scored them a table in a darkened corner that a couple abandoned as soon as Arthur passed over a crisp bribe. Where charm failed Arthur, currency would normally succeed. Merlin envied him both, at times.
"What'll it be, Merlin?" Arthur asked and gave him a clap on the shoulder. While he appreciated Arthur's affection, he sometimes wished it were less painful.
He rubbed his shoulder. "Um… white wine?"
Arthur heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Merlin. You are such a girl. Never mind. I will be right back with our drinks. Guard my seat with your life. Your life."
Merlin rolled his eyes, but as soon as Arthur turned away he grinned, and he definitely ogled Arthur's arse. It looked particularly divine encased in the royal blue pyjama bottoms. The satin sheen seemed to highlight the fine lines of his thighs as he walked. Merlin sighed appreciatively.
Arthur returned shortly with two large drinks that bore no resemblance to wine.
"What is that?" Merlin asked, eyeing the monstrosity.
"They call it The Grail. Fitting, don't you think, considering our names? Now, drink up, Merlin."
Arthur lifted his huge glass and took a drink. Merlin sighed, but lifted the cold concoction to his lips, wondering absently why he always obeyed Arthur, even reluctantly.
When Arthur lowered the glass and smiled at him with liquid gleaming on his lips, Merlin's heart flipped over and he suspected he knew the answer.
Draco dragged Potter into the bathroom, thinking to call Potter's bluff as quickly as possible and then go home and wank for an hour to rid himself of the memory of Potter groping him and kissing his neck and—well, it was an amusing joke for Potter, but enough was enough.
And on the remote chance that Potter wasn't joking… Draco was already hard at the mere thought of it. He had been bored witless until Potter and his messy hair and elegant pyjamas had bumped into him.
Without pausing, Draco walked to the farthest stall and pushed the door open. He thought he would have to drag Potter inside, but the man entered willingly enough and then, wonder of wonders, closed the door and slid the metal latch closed.
"Silencing Charm?" Draco asked with one brow cocked. His heartbeat had begun to race at the sound of the lock and the increasing possibility that Potter was actually serious.
"I don't think so," Potter said with a feral grin and then dropped to his knees between Draco's feet, pushing them wider with a nudge.
Draco's breath caught and then Potter's hands were on the bulge of his trousers, pressing Draco's cock with one hand while the other pulled at the drawstring. The pressure was delicious and Potter's eyes glinted with something that—thank Merlin—was nothing near amusement, and then he tugged Draco's pyjama bottoms down with a swift movement and fixed his green stare on Draco's cock.
Potter seemed transfixed for so long that Draco felt a stab of anxiety. He wanted to make a sardonic quip, but clever words seemed to have abandoned him next to the reality of Harry Potter on his knees.
"Beautiful," Potter murmured and then he shot Draco a look of pure heat and his teeth flashed white. "Best be quiet." With that, the Saviour opened up and took Draco's cock straight into his mouth.
Draco's head hit the wall of the stall and his hands went Potter's hair. He hadn't expected Potter to be so eager—oh bloody hell did that feel good—nor take Draco so completely— where had he learned to do that?—and the feel of his tongue sliding over the ridge and swirling—oh fuck, there, yes—and then coherent thought fled completely.
Potter's hair was soft and the sight of his mouth wrapped around Draco, drawing back to expose Draco's glistening cock, a flash of green eyes beneath skewed glasses, before pushing forward to slide deliciously back up Draco's length was—Draco wasn't going to last long; it was impossible.
A small creak announced the opening of the outer door and then footsteps sounded on the tile floor. Draco's hands tightened in Potter's hair, but Potter's movements did not cease. If anything, he increased his efforts and slid both hands up Draco's thighs. Bastard.
Odd sounds came from the stall next to them, but Draco only dimly registered then. Under other circumstances, he might have been curious, but at the moment he could only think about the feel of Potter's hot, wet, talented tongue and the way he sucked—Potter's fingers grazed Draco's balls and the touch jolted through Draco like a frisson of electricity. He braced himself more firmly against the wall, which protested with a metallic groan.
"Potter," he murmured, unable to stop himself. "God."
He heard the stall door next to him open and close as the man departed, thankfully. Draco had half-expected him to stay and listen to the show, which was actually rather hot, as was the idea of him peering over the stall wall to see what Draco now saw.
The thought of it was enough for Draco and he gave a strangled cry and spilled himself into the incredible mouth of Harry Potter, hero of the world and fellatio wonder.
Potter swallowed it all and then got to his feet and pressed Draco against the possibly-not-strong-enough-for-this stall wall before kissing him soundly. He tasted bitter and salty and completely amazing.
"Convinced?" Potter asked with a rumbling laugh.
Draco tried to recover his aplomb, difficult when standing in a Muggle loo with his pyjama trousers around his ankles and Harry Potter in his arms. "Do you do this frequently?"
"Of course not." Potter's voice was derisive. "It would be all over the Prophet if I had." Potter made no move to pull away and Draco realized he was quite hard, his erection dug into Draco's thigh.
"How do you know it won't be?" Draco asked and fought back a moan when Potter's hands slid over his torso again and brushed over nipples sensitized by his orgasm.
"I trust you," Potter said simply.
Draco's arms tightened around him. "I'm taking you home where you will fuck me until neither of us can move."
"Best idea I've heard in years," Potter said and kissed him.
When the door opened again—many minutes later—Draco managed to shove Potter away and restore his clothing to some semblance of order. Potter leaned against the opposite wall and grinned at him, but he looked more like a predatory panther than the cat who had got the cream.
They left the bathroom and pushed their way through the crowd. Potter's hand on the small of his back was less guidance and more possessive, but Draco found that he didn't mind, bizarre though it seemed.
He scanned the crowd for Pansy, but she must have disappeared with her twins, the bint. She hadn't even said goodbye. Or stuck around for him to show off Potter, he admitted to himself. His wandering gaze did spy an interesting pair in the corner, however, almost looking like a copy of him and Potter. One was blond, the other dark, and they seemed to be lost in one another's eyes.
The sight gave him a pang and he turned to see Potter waving at the Weasel and Granger. Draco smiled and draped a possessive arm over Potter's shoulders just to see Weasley's brows shoot up into his hairline.
"Going to say goodbye?" Draco asked against the shell of Potter's ear while pushing one hand into the black pyjama shirt that Potter hadn't bothered to re-button. He half-expected Potter to push him away, but instead an arm snaked around his waist and pulled him closer.
"No. I'll send them an owl. Let's go." Potter lifted a final hand toward his friends and then they were through the crowd and free.
The cold air was a shock against Draco's bare skin, but Potter had collected a cloak from somewhere, even though his arm had never left Draco's waist. He draped it gallantly around Draco's shoulders.
"Apparate?" Draco asked, feeling self-conscious.
"Yeah, let's go in the alley. Too many Muggles out here." Potter jerked his head toward a small group of smokers lurking near the curb.
They rounded the corner and stopped short. A couple was wrapped in a very amorous-looking embrace, one pressed against the stone wall and the other—
"Damn," Potter swore and made as if to backtrack.
"Wait," Draco said and grasped Potter's wrist. "Come on, they won't even notice us. Look at them."
Potter glanced back at the couple and then bit his lip before stepping closer to Draco. "All right," he agreed and then Draco felt a whoosh as Potter Apparated them away.
Eames frowned as Arthur pushed away from the bar and disappeared. The girl next to him made a snorting noise.
"Rude!" she said.
Eames' jaw set for a moment and it was all he could do not to abandon her and rush after Arthur. It wasn't like him to flee during a mission. Normally Arthur was cool and unmovable as a block of polar ice.
The girl's hand trailed over Eames' chest again and she leaned closer. "Want to get out of here?" she asked suggestively, breasts spilling nearly over her low-cut blouse and perfume filling Eames' senses unpleasantly.
Fuck this, he thought and moved away abruptly. Her expression shifted into surprised disappointment and Eames forced a grin. "Absolutely. Just as soon as I visit the little lads' room. Be right back." He pushed away from the chair and headed towards the loo, stepping aside as the door opened to admit a dishevelled couple.
They were both lovely, one dark, one bright, and Eames smiled when he realized what they had been up to. It was painfully obvious by the flush on the blond's cheeks and the puffy redness of the dark-haired one's lips. The thought of desperate, hot loo sex made him think immediately of Arthur. With a quick check to see if the mark was watching—she had turned back to her drink, thankfully—Eames ducked through the crowd and outside.
Arthur was nowhere to be seen.
"Dammit," Eames murmured with a hiss. Where could he have gone? Bloody hell. The hotel was within walking distance, so Eames started that way at a quick pace, only to hear a familiar voice when he had taken only a few steps past the alley entrance.
"Finished so soon?"
Eames stopped short and let relief wash over him. He turned to see Arthur leaning against the wall, one foot propped up, looking like he would be more at home in a drawing room with a martini than waiting in a dingy alley, lit only by a dim bulb affixed to the doorstep of the building adjacent the club.
"More than finished," Eames admitted and made his way to Arthur, sliding effortlessly back into careful mode, because it always paid to be careful around Arthur, particularly when the point man's mood was an unknown factor.
"She seemed your type," Arthur said and pushed away from the wall. His dark leather slippers avoided a murky puddle as he headed deeper into the alley.
The words grated. "Why?" Eames asked. "And where are you going?"
"Shortcut to the hotel. She was willing. Isn't that your type?"
Eames stalked after him. Perhaps she had been his type, once upon a time, before an annoying pseudo-sophisticated, sarcastic, borderline obsessive-compulsive gun-toting prat had appeared in Eames life and turned every universal constant on its ear.
"Fuck you, Arthur." Eames nearly bit his own tongue, because he seldom allowed Arthur to goad him past control, but it had been a long time coming.
Arthur stopped and swung round. "Excuse me?" he asked, cocking a brow in that maddening way that made Eames want to hit him—or possibly shove his tongue down Arthur's throat until that smug expression was only a vague memory.
"You heard me."
"Merely stating the obvious, Mr Eames," Arthur said. Smug. With an undertone of disdain.
Eames launched himself forward with a growl. Even with the surprise attack, Arthur was quick, very quick. Eames very nearly missed, but he anticipated Arthur's direction of flight and compensated. Arthur slammed into the brick wall with a grunt and Eames held him there, careful to snare both of Arthur's wrists to prevent lethal retaliation.
"Perhaps a lesson in my type is in order, Arthur," Eames growled and then he crushed Arthur's lips with his own.
Eames expected a fight. He expected to be bitten, punched, and brutally savaged. He did not expect Arthur to relax as though suddenly turned to jelly. He did not expect Arthur to moan against his lips—a sound that went straight to Eames' cock—and he definitely did not expect Arthur to hook a leg around his thigh and drag him closer.
Thankfully, Eames was a master of improvisation. Wary of a ploy, he kissed Arthur thoroughly, only coming up for air when lack of it became painful.
A sound caught his attention and he noticed the two lovely men from the club in his peripheral vision. He ignored them, refusing to be distracted, and kissed a hot trail down Arthur's neck.
A sound that closely resembled a bullet travelling through a suppressor caused him to snap his head up again, staring toward the mouth of the alley, but the two men were gone.
"Eames," Arthur said. His voice was like silk, smooth and enticing.
Eames groaned. "Arthur, what you do to me."
"Show me," Arthur said.
Eames returned his lips to Arthur's throat and his fingers found the buttons of Arthur's expensive pyjama shirt. "Hotel," he managed, although pulling away to make the word possible did not seem to be an option.
"No. Don't want to reconsider." Arthur, imminently practical.
The fabric parted and Eames pushed his hand inside to touch Arthur intimately for the first time. He had groped him frequently, deftly avoiding a swinging fist or sharp object, but never anything like this. He had never dared, knowing he might never stop.
"What do you want? Tell me what you want," Eames said.
"I want you to fuck me. Right here."
It was starting to rain and the alleyway had already proven easily accessible to club patrons. Arthur had never seemed the sort to be adventurous in the bedroom—or out of it, apparently—although Eames had had several fantasies to the contrary, even those had not extended this far into the surreal. "Now?" he asked, just to be sure.
Arthur's lips thinned into a familiar line and he glared at Eames.
"Okay, yes! Here. Now. Excellent plan," Eames said quickly, moving his hands quickly around to cup Arthur's perfect arse to assure him that he was, indeed, on board with the public fucking scenario. Another mind melting kiss or two had his doubts quickly receding.
"Now," Arthur said against his lips.
"Certainly, darling. How do you want to do this?" While Eames was certainly up for anything now—and his cock was definitely up for it—the logistics of fucking in a wet alleyway were not exactly clear cut.
He supposed they could—Arthur made a huffing sound and turned around. "Do you need a manual?" Arthur asked dryly.
"Did you write one?" Eames countered, not bothering to keep the hopeful tone from his voice. Knowing Arthur, he had.
To his surprise, Arthur laughed, dropped his head until his hair brushed against the brick. "What do I see in you? Really, it makes no sense at all."
Eames grinned, delighted. He pushed his hands up over Arthur's back in a gentle caress and then tugged his pyjama pants down over his (incredible, amazing) arse on the downstroke. For a moment he was transfixed, staring at the pale mounds he had admired so long from afar.
Arthur shifted, probably uncomfortable, although his face was hidden now, and Eames quickly pressed forward, allowing Arthur to feel his erection through his duck-printed trousers, fitting his cock between the curves of Arthur's arse. It was incredible.
Arthur's head jerked up and he twisted to look back at Eames with eyes gone wild. "Fuck! What about lube? What am I thinking?"
"No, no, no!" Eames said hastily, gripping Arthur's arse with both hands lest it attempt escape. "I have that covered, darling. Just hold still."
"You have lube?" Arthur's tone was dubious. "You're wearing pyjamas."
Eames reluctantly let go with one hand and fished in his trouser pocket before lifting to display two foil packets. He grinned happily. "Lubricant and condom," he said smugly. "I carry them at all times, Arthur, just in case you ever stopped being a tease. Lucky me; tonight seems to be the night."
A growl made Eames realize he may have said too much, so he quickly lowered his hand to push into the crack of Arthur's arse and nudge the knuckle of his index finger against the tight ring of muscle that had been the star of many of Eames' fantasies.
Arthur made a lovely sound and froze, then he shifted his feet and—just barely—pushed back against Eames' hand. It was enough. Eames put the packets in his other hand without removing his knuckle. He ground it in a little, just to keep Arthur interested while he tore the foil with his teeth. The condom fell free and he managed to shove down his trousers and roll it onto his cock with his left hand alone, awarding himself a mental cheer and totting up another trophy on his wall of firsts.
The lube oozed out of the foil packet and dripped onto Arthur's arse. It was a complimentary-trial-size-flavour-of-the-week from some porn shop or another. It didn't matter, but the smell was nice as he finally took his questing finger away from Arthur's hole long enough to squirt forth the glistening gel.
He rubbed the last bit over his cock for good measure and then lined up and pushed into Arthur without so much as a warning.
Arthur collapsed against the wall on his forearms with a strangled cry. For a moment Eames thought he might have hit his head. "Fuck, Eames!"
"That's sort of the point, darling," Eames agreed, but he was curious. Despite Arthur's protest, Eames had breached him rather easily, which meant either that Arthur was having regular sex or he was shoving his own fingers—or a device—into himself while dreaming of Eames.
Eames leaned forward and jerked his hips forward to push himself even deeper. "Which is it, Arthur? Do you have other lovers or have you been preparing yourself for me?"
Arthur groaned and clenched his fists. "You," he panted. "Bastard, only you."
Eames paused in pure shock for a moment. His words had been in jest. Not only had he not expected an answer, but he had definitely not expected that answer. The experience became even more unreal and he bit his lip, wondering if he were dreaming. Unlike the others, he had no totem. His forging ability was totem enough. He tried to shift, just for a second, into a different body. Nothing happened.
"Not dreaming?" he murmured.
"Not dreaming," Arthur snapped. "Are you going to move, or not?"
Not dreaming, Eames validated with a grin. And then he began to move. The rain continued to spit fitful bursts at them, but Eames no longer noticed. The Queen herself could have stood in the mouth of the alley and taken notes; Eames thought he might have ignored her as well, because Arthur felt just that good.
He watched his own cock slide in and out of Arthur, joying in each hot caress. He reached down to feel Arthur's front, gripping Arthur's cock and tugging in time with each forward stroke. Arthur's arse slammed back with each movement, driving Eames even deeper.
The sound of laughter penetrated Eames' fog and he heard footsteps moving closer. With a muffling bite into his bottom lip, he came, throwing his head back and shuddering with the force of it.
"Arthur," he murmured.
The word seemed to be enough, for Arthur bucked thrice more and then hot liquid splashed over Eames' hand—still wrapped tightly around Arthur's cock—and dripped onto the wet pavement.
The footsteps grew louder and Eames moved quickly, straightening Arthur, who seemed to have gone boneless, and then tossing the condom on the ground and tugging up both their trousers before leaning against the wall on one arm while shielding Arthur with his body.
"Very gallant," Arthur said and gave him a suggestive smile when he turned around to bury his face in Eames' neck.
"Shall I show you how gallant I can be?" Eames murmured, listening with half an ear as the walking crowd moved on.
"How will you do that?"
"Take me back to the hotel and I will show you," Eames promised.
"All right," Arthur said and ducked out of Eames' grip. He threw a dimpled smile back over his shoulder. "Last one at the hotel bottoms." With that, Arthur launched into a wild run, pelting through the puddles and avoiding rubbish.
Eames watched him with an adoring smile for a moment and then bellowed and gave chase.
Arthur watched Merlin lift the tankard to his lips and take a drink. The liquid was half gone and Merlin had a delicious pink tint to his cheeks that spoke of the onset of inebriation. It was hard to tell when Merlin was drunk, as he merely became even quieter, but smiled more.
Arthur sipped at his own fruity concoction with a flare of satisfaction. Operation Seduce Merlin was well under way. The idiot had been painfully oblivious to Arthur's increasingly desperate flirting, so Arthur had decided to take matters into his own hands, hopefully literally. Except that he hadn't quite screwed up the courage to do it despite many potential opportunities, hence the addition of large amounts of alcohol to the Plan.
And if Merlin proved to be resistant, then the ever-popular "I was drunk" would be Arthur's escape clause.
His gaze sharpened as he noticed Merlin's attention fixed firmly on the bar. Or rather, on a man at the bar. The fellow was far too burly for Arthur's taste and seemed to be flirting with a busty woman, if her hand on his chest was any indication.
Merlin coughed. "He has some interesting tattoos."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. Did Merlin have a tattoo kink? "If you like that sort of thing," he said grudgingly and vaguely wondered if the dragon-on-a-shield tattoo he had vaguely considered getting now and again would capture Merlin's attention.
"He's, um… attractive," Merlin said.
Arthur straightened with a jolt. "Merlin!"
Merlin flushed. "What?"
Arthur looked at the man again and shook his head. "I don't think so. I much prefer the one next to him. I like them dark and slender." Arthur cocked his head. Actually, that one was very attractive, if a trifle angry, judging by the way he threw back his drink and flounced away. "Oh damn, he's escaped."
"Escaped?" Had Arthur imagined it, or did Merlin's voice have an indignant squeak to it? "You mean you would… You were thinking…?"
"Merlin, your eloquence is astounding at times, really." Arthur's voice was liquid and his lips curled into a smile at the thought that maybe, just maybe, Merlin was a tiny bit jealous.
"I just…" Merlin scowled and seemed to make an effort to create a full sentence. "I mean I didn't know, wasn't sure, if you were into blokes."
"Well, now you know. What about you, Merlin, would the touch of a man's hand cause you to run away screaming?" As a test, Arthur fired his next salvo, a casual but not-so-casual hand placed upon Merlin's thigh.
Merlin did not jump out of his skin, but it was a near thing. The glass in his hand jerked and would likely have sloshed liquid onto the table if it had been fuller. Merlin's eyes widened and locked with Arthur's before sharpening into something Arthur both recognized and did not.
"No," Merlin said firmly. "It would not."
For a moment the tableau was frozen, Arthur's hand on Merlin's leg and Merlin staring him down. Arthur's heartbeat sounded loud in his own ears and he debated sliding his hand farther up Merlin's thigh, but would Merlin take it as a ploy or realize Arthur was not joking around?
Merlin took another gulp of his drink, eyes sliding away, and a miraculous opportunity presented itself. Arthur was suddenly grateful that the Pendragons had always been born under a lucky star.
"You've got a bit of orange on your lip," Arthur said, eyes fixed on the speck of pulp caught on the edge of Merlin's lower lip. Merlin's hand lifted, but Arthur caught it with his free hand. "Let me."
He leaned forward slowly, alert for any sign of protest from Merlin, but his friend was immobile as Arthur's lips drew closer and closer. Arthur's tongue flicked out and captured the pulp, barely grazing Merlin's skin. He did not pull away, instead panting with half-open lips, breathing in Merlin's alcohol-scented breath with a near-blinding sense of longing. His eyes fluttered closed.
And then, miracle of miracles, he felt Merlin's lips against his own, a tentative brush. Arthur stopped breathing completely and pressed forward eagerly, tilting his head to fit his mouth more firmly against Merlin's, falling into a real kiss that quickly became staggering, with Merlin's tongue touching and then gliding over his, awakening every desire Arthur had fought down for the past six months of their near-agonizing friendship.
Arthur's hand curled on Merlin's thigh, probably painfully, and then he felt Merlin's fingers on top of his own, loosening his grip and then, incredibly, tugging his hand upward into formerly forbidden territory.
Merlin's cock—dear god, Merlin's cock—was hard and easily defined though the soft material of Merlin's ridiculous track pants. Arthur might have made a sound of need that was possibly a bit desperate.
"Closer," he murmured against Merlin's amazing, hot mouth.
Merlin obeyed, scooting his chair over until it banged into Arthur's. Arthur glanced around to see if anyone was paying them any mind, but the dancers continued to dance and the short tablecloth was just long enough to shield their activity from prying eyes. Heartened, Arthur tugged the drawstring to free the tie and then plunged his hand into Merlin's pants.
Merlin's teeth sank into Arthur's bottom lip for a moment and Arthur's cock jumped in response. Merlin tugged his lip briefly and then kissed him again, sloppy and eager. Arthur's hand rewarded Merlin's unexpected biting skill with a long stroke on his cock, sliding his hand from base to tip and curling his fingers around the crown, delighted to find a slick bead of wetness there.
Merlin's hand dropped to Arthur's crotch, pressing with the heel of his hand. Arthur bucked into the touch with a gasp. He stroked Merlin's cock again, encouraging him to continue his exploration, which he did, fumbling at Arthur's silken trousers until he found entrance and plunged his hand inside. The first touch of Merlin's hand was like a wish come true. Arthur was afraid he might actually combust at the heat suddenly thick and heavy between them.
He broke the kiss in order to breathe and tugged awkwardly at Merlin's prick in time with the lovely fingers stroking his own, unconsciously picking up the beat from the thudding music around them. His lips skid over Merlin's cheek and came to rest near one of Merlin's delightful ears.
"Merlin," Arthur whispered through panting breaths. Oh god the pressure was building quickly because the waitress or anyone could wander up at any moment and Arthur wouldn't care, would not be able to stop because it felt so incredibly good; and Merlin made the most amazing minute sounds that caused Arthur to wonder if they would be loud enough to annoy his neighbours should Merlin deign to come back to his and try this again properly on Arthur's bed…
Unsurprisingly, the thought, coupled with Merlin's fingers grazing his balls before rising again and taking a firmer grip, had Arthur coming like a frenzied teen all over Merlin's hand and quite probably ruining the pyjamas Arthur had bought just yesterday in preparation for this night.
And then Merlin made a choking cry, quickly silenced, and came with a shudder that shook his entire form. Arthur felt it completely, since he seemed to be barely clinging to his own chair in favour of pressing himself to Merlin's side.
Arthur pushed himself reluctantly back to his own seat and removed his hand from Merlin's pants, unceremoniously wiping the residue onto Merlin's thigh.
"Hey!" Merlin protested and Arthur chuckled.
"Come back to my flat and I'll wash them for you."
Merlin's eyes, looking blown and only slightly wary, narrowed and he asked, "Is that a ploy to get me naked?"
Arthur's delighted grin felt like it might split his face. "Yes. Yes, it is."
Merlin's answering smile was brilliant.
THE END OMG.
ALSO, thank you so much
demicus for my lovely CUPID DRACO CARD, and thank you byaghro for giving me a present for BREATHING - I'll try to continue doing that for quite some time now that I know there are PRESSIES involved. *snuggles and snuggles* XD Also, billions of thanks to those prettying up my profile page with v-gifts. I hope those MYSTERY GIFTS are full of PRETTY PRETTY BOYS. Hugs and thanks to aerisaturner , bootsy_mine , fireflavored , kitty_fic , cassie_black12 , callistianstar , envious_ema for the mystery gifts! Thank you bootsy_mine for the bear and candy, and nenne for the PENGUIN! :D Thank you for my lovely puppies ladydeth12 , faithwood , taradiane , ldydark1 , and bootsy_mine . AND THANK YOU MY BELOVED cleo_jay for the sleeping dragon and the ROSES! *twirls you and loves you forever and ever okay maybe not the twirling cuz you might get nauseous but the loving for SURE*AND OH HEY,
hd_smoochfest is taking PROMPTS for the awesome fest theme of FIRST TIMES! *SO FREAKING EXCITED* CLICK HERE TO PROMPT!PLASMA HEARTS TO EVERYONE! :D