He wanders around the living room, doesn't see anything or anyone that would catch his eye. Viggo looks over at him in invitation, but Harry waves him off with a friendly shake. Definitely not. Viggo's a great fuck, but he's too soft. Gives in a bit too easily. Harry wants something different, something unique. Wonders why he thinks wandering Craig's hallway will aid him in this. Harry weaves through the mass of people that have, for no apparent reason, parked themselves in the narrow hallway instead of the living room. He smiles politely and greets a couple of people who take notice of his passing, but most ignore him, lost in the excited jabbers and gestures of their own alcohol-soaked dramas. He's feeling vaguely irritated now, wondering why he came. These things are always the same. Harry tosses back the rest of the Cuervo in what amounts to a massive shot and decides to cut his losses and get the hell out of there. First things first, though. He turns left down another hallway, trying to remember -- bathroom's this way, isn't it? he thinks -- when a snatch of sound stops him dead in his tracks. "Oh God, I'm sorry." He then hears a long-suffering sigh that he thinks is slightly overdramatic, but forgets that when he hears the voice. "You're not supposed to be sorry, Orli. I fucking asked you to do it." Hmmm...curiouser and curiouser. Elijah sounds pissed. Harry wonders why. He steps down the hall, stops just outside the darkened bedroom. The room is cast in shadow, but it's light enough for Harry to see Orlando -- shirtless, wringing his hands, standing above Elijah, who's sitting up on the bed. Also shirtless, and his too-pale skin gleams when he moves -- almost like porcelain. Harry thinks Elijah must bruise pretty easily with skin like that. And the thought is dangerously attractive. "I know, Lij, but..." Orlando sounds genuinely miserable. His voice drops to a near whisper, and Harry finds himself straining to hear. "I don't want to hit you. I'll hurt you." The glare in Elijah's eyes is evident even in the dim lighting, and his voice, when he speaks, is acid. "That would be the point of hitting me, now wouldn't it?" He stares at Orlando for a moment longer, and, when Orlando doesn't reply, Elijah reaches behind himself on the bed and grabs Orlando's shirt, tossing it at him. "Here -- forget it," Elijah says, and Orlando opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it again with a snap. He buttons the shirt up wordlessly, and Harry has just enough time to duck into the opposite bedroom before Orlando steps out into the hallway and turns for the living room. He gives a fleeting thought to chasing after Orlando and telling him to try his luck with Viggo -- the two of them could coo and pet each other all night. But it's not worth the effort. And now Harry's curiosity is very piqued. He quickly steps back across the hallway, into the bedroom, closing the door with a soft snap. Elijah glances up, in the midst of buttoning his shirt. "Can I help you with something?" Irritation oozes out of his every word. "No, but I think I can help you," Harry replies, taking another step inside the room. Elijah's eyebrow goes up as his fingers stop their buttoning. Complete disdain. "I very much doubt that," Elijah says and resumes his task with quick precision. He stands up and looks Harry dead in the eyes, and even though he's far shorter and smaller, Harry is impressed with the strength of will he sees there. Thinks Elijah isn't the type to back down. Or be soft. "Do you make it a habit to eavesdrop, or did I just get lucky?" he says, and Harry smiles. "I'm a director, it's my job to eavesdrop." Another step, and another. Elijah doesn't move, doesn't flinch. "And I think we could both get lucky." One more step, and Harry's finally in reach. Watching Elijah's head snap back under the force of Harry's hand is painful in its beauty -- the loud smack echoes in sublime repercussion. And the red welt rising along Elijah's cheek contrasts nicely with his ivory skin. Elijah's head whips back around, and he stares at Harry for a second in shock, reaching up to touch his face with a little boy's hand. The surprise in those huge eyes gives Harry a moment of pause -- has he somehow read this wrong after all? -- but then it's happening, a quick blur as Elijah yanks him down by the hair into a brutal kiss, hard crush of tongues and teeth ending when Elijah nips his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Harry licks quickly on his lip, tastes the copper and decay. Perfect. "That more like what you had in mind?" he asks, lazy tone contrasting with the strong hands that are ripping Elijah's buttons, the fingers that are bruising the perfect skin of Elijah's hips. "Yeah," Elijah says, eyes now glazed with lust as Harry slips his fingers through Elijah's belt loops and jerks him forward, holding him still to be ground against. "So...are you going to fuck me through the headboard, or what?" "Subtle much?" But Harry's already pushing Elijah face-first on the bed, tearing, shredding at bothersome jeans until they're around Elijah's knees, and that sweet, plump ass is bare to his gaze. Harry's hard smack leaves a ridge across smooth skin, and he takes a moment to admire the contrast -- and the moaning shudder Elijah gives him. He straddles Elijah's hips, grinding down, biting a vulnerable shoulder. Beneath him, Elijah squirms and shifts, a small gasp escaping his lips when Harry's teeth sink in. He presses up and back as much as he can against Harry's weight, and the invitation makes Harry ache. Fuck precaution. Fuck preparing. And fuck foreplay, while he's thinking about it. Harry wants entirely too much for all of that bullshit. And, what Harry wants, he gets. So, in very short order, his own jeans are shoved down, cock coated with saliva, and he's spreading Elijah's cheeks, driving inside heat and tight -- fucking hell tight -- and fuck if the whimpermoans coming from Elijah aren't the sexiest sounds. Harry thinks it's got to hurt, and yeah, there's Elijah, trying involuntarily to crawl up the bed and away from him now, but Harry's already lost to the primal urge to fuck. He drops the rest of his weight onto Elijah, pinning him down flat, and begins to piston his hips rough and fast, gratified when Elijah cries out sharply. He wants to crush Elijah beneath him, to split him wide open. Elijah's skin is peach-soft, but underneath he's hard, wiry muscle, and he clenches and flexes under Harry in a desperate frenzy. "Fuck, Harry...harder," Elijah breathes, air hissing in short puffs through clenched teeth. Harder? Oh fuck yeah. Harry's only too happy to indulge -- his fingers dig in, nails scraping Elijah's sides as he rears back, then slams in again. Feels flesh tear, give, hugging his cock. Elijah simply groans again, pushes back, clawing at the sheets in a desperate attempt at leverage. "Oh no, you don't." Harry doesn't want Elijah participation, doesn't particularly care if Elijah gets off. He just wants obliteration. So, he increases his pace, strong hands clamping down hard on lean hips as he gives in to primal instinct, lets the animal take over. The sounds coming from Elijah now are growing problematically loud, a mere decibel or so away from being screams. An interruption at this point wouldn't do at all, so Harry slaps his right hand over Elijah's mouth, holds him still and quiet while he fucks him. He feels Elijah begin to tremble beneath him, rapid-fire whimpers escaping around Harry's fingers. Then Elijah's muscles tighten, clamping down, vise-like, around his cock, and it's too much. The orgasm rips through him in a rush of fuckyesnow, and he slumps on top of Elijah's gleaming back, tasting salty skin. Sharp teeth bite hard on his fingers when Elijah comes, lithe body bucking up under him. The space of several more ragged breaths, and then Harry slides out of Elijah, pushing himself up and seeing to the pertinent matter of pulling up his pants. Elijah rolls over bonelessly and watches Harry, a languid grin spreading over his face. "We made a mess on Craig's bedspread," he says without the least bit of concern. Harry shrugs. He could give a fuck himself. "He'll live." He stares down at Elijah, surprised to find that he wants to repeat this. Wants to know what else will make Elijah scream, what other bruises he can leave. Wants to break Elijah, watch him shatter. Then glue him together so he can shatter it all again. "Not bad for an old man," Elijah says with a laugh, tucking himself in and zipping up his jeans. It's Harry's turn now to raise an eyebrow. "Old?" Harry asks, leaning over and grabbing Elijah by the arm, snatching him up off the bed lightning-fast. "I think you'll need to pay for that..." -- fingers caress Elijah's jawline, slide across soft lips -- "...next time." Harry doesn't wait to hear what, if anything, Elijah has to say to that. He turns on his heel and strides out of the room, back towards the party. He whistles brightly, no longer irritated. Things, Harry thinks, are about to get very interesting around here. Onto Leather Sex
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