"If you insist." Harry grinned when Karl simply rolled his eyes. "Not in front of me, if you don't mind," Craig said, shuddering delicately. "Please," Karl snorted, placing his hand over Harry's. "Like Harry and I haven't done far worse in front of you." "You've never gotten it off in a pub," Craig replied, motioning to the bartender for another round. "Always a first time for everything," Harry replied, still smiling. "Don't push him, love." Karl kissed Harry's fingers, gave Craig a considering look. "'Sides, Marton and Lawrence would need to be here to torment Craig some more." "Where's Mark when I need some sanity?" Craig asked mournfully. "Wonder where they are, anyway," Harry mused, paying for the round and passing Karl and Craig their fresh pints. "Marton called earlier and told me not to expect to see him and Lawrence until afternoon next." Karl's eyes closed and he took a deep breath. "Fuck, the mental images that calls to mind are beautiful." "You expecting me to get jealous or something?" Karl's eyes drifted open and he fixed Harry with a lazy grin. "You know better. But, seriously, think about it. The two of them. Together. The skin and the lips and the voices and the hands..." Karl made a small sound that Craig was pretty sure was a whimper. "Down, boy." Karl rolled his eyes at Craig. "Just because I was lucky enough to snag them both before they hooked up with each other --" "-- I could've had Lawrence if I'd wanted him." Harry regarded Craig over the rim of his glass. "Mate, you didn't walk right for days after Marton was finished with you. Lawrence would've killed you." Karl clapped Craig on the back reassuringly. "It's alright, Craig. I thoroughly enjoyed him for you." Craig glowered at the both of them. Cheeky bastards. "Harry, anyone ever tell you that your boy toy is a slut?" Harry shrugged, placed a lingering kiss on Karl's nape. "He's my slut now. Before doesn't matter. 'Sides," he said, winking at Craig, "Lawrence really is bigger than Marton." Craig's jaw dropped. "You are not telling me..." Karl smirked. "Should've dropped by for dinner more often." Craig cradled his glass in both hands, focused all of his attention on the texture of beer foam. Safer. "You guys are total pervs, you know that, right?" Karl drained his glass in one noisy swallow, set it down with a satisfied burp. "Satisfied pervs. And the two of them together will set the island on fire." "Provided they can figure out which one of them will top." Karl and Craig both stared at Harry for a minute before breaking into laughter. "Ah, fuck," Karl gasped, clutching Harry's arm for support as he threatened to sink off of his stool. "Or not," Craig snickered. "Suppose that'll be the question of the hour." "I think they'll get it figured out," Harry said, playing with the ends of Karl's hair. "After all, can you imagine saying no to either of them?" * * * "Forget it," Marton stated, leaning back on the sofa, shirt falling open in careless disarray. "Whaddaya mean, forget it?" Lawrence's lips were swollen from the bite of Marton's kisses and his hair was wildly mussed, tangling across his shoulders from Marton's hands. He looked good enough to eat one huge bite at a time. Too bad he wanted something Marton wasn't about to give him. Godlike or not, there was no way. "No fucking way that's going up my ass." Lawrence raised an eyebrow. "Certainly didn't see you gagging when I shoved it down your throat." "Different." Marton's voice smoothed over Lawrence's nerves like honey. It was almost enough to forget that someone had just said no to him for the first time that he could ever remember. "My jaw unhinges and my mouth stretches --" "-- I'll say --" "-- But no way is it going to go anywhere else," Marton finished, ignoring Lawrence's interruption. "Fit into Karl just fine." "Karl's just happy to be getting some. He's not too picky about top or bottom." "True," Lawrence conceded, but stopped Marton from rebuttoning his shirt. "You could go first, if you want." Golden eyes narrowed briefly. "What changed your mind?" "Don't want the evening to end." Which wasn't what Marton wanted either. By any stretch of the imagination. He'd been after Lawrence for far too long to walk away unless he had to. But Lawrence had made it clear on more than one occasion that this wasn't going to happen. "Long as you're sure," he said, fingers burying themselves back in the thick mass of Lawrence's hair. Lawrence's kiss was brutally thorough, the muscled body hot beyond reckoning as it pressed Marton into the sofa cushions. Marton was drowning, sinking, incinerated from the inside out, never wanted the fire to lessen. By the time they parted lips and tongues, neither really cared about anything other than naked and rightthefucknow. "Bedroom," Marton growled, practically dragging Lawrence down the hallway. Lawrence slammed him against the wall, bare chests sliding together as tongues dueled. They both fumbled, tore clumsily at clothing until they were both on the bed, naked skin on glorious display, firm muscle to taunt and tease. Marton crawled slowly along Lawrence's prone form, kissing and suckling along every inch of sweatsweet skin, dark hair tangling around his face. "Fuck, you're hot," Marton groaned, reaching for the bottle of oil on the bedside table as his lips met Lawrence's for another thorough, hard kiss, nibbling along Lawrence's lower lip. Marton swallowed Lawrence's yelp with another kiss when he slid a slick finger inside tight flesh. He slowly eased in until his finger was knuckle deep, groaning at how tight, how perfectly, beautifully tight, Lawrence was. "Well?" he asked, fighting to keep from replacing his finger with his cock right then. "Fucking hurts," Lawrence gasped, wrapping his fist around Marton's erection, stilling his forward momentum. "Perhaps this -- ungh -- ouch -- wasn't such a --" Marton frowned, experimented by moving his finger inside Lawrence again, searching for the bundle of nerves that he just knew would make Lawrence beg. "How's that?" he asked, adding a second finger, scissoring them gently. "Ow." Lawrence's eyes rolled back and his back bowed up -- but Marton could definitely tell it wasn't from pleasure. What the fuck was he doing wrong? He was a master at this. Guys were constantly telling him how great he was at preparation. "Okay, they've gotta go." Lawrence wriggled across the mattress, away from Marton's fingers. "But --" Too late. Lawrence sat up, ankles crossed, and gave Marton a small shrug. "Perhaps this wasn't such a great idea." No, Marton thought it was a wonderful idea. At least, his dick certainly did. "What'd I do wrong?" he asked, sitting at Lawrence's outstretched legs, rubbing a hand across toned calves. "Don't think it was you. But if your fingers don't fit, I know that's not going to fit." "So, what? We're fucked because we're both endowed, is that it?" Lawrence chuckled, the sound low, rich. "Until we get used to the idea or buy some superslick lube, yeah, I guess so." Marton frowned again. He wanted to be inside Lawrence. Like, yesterday. Waiting wasn't something he was used to doing. "Not that bad." Lawrence's voice was right next to Marton's ear, and Marton shivered at the dark promise. "Lie back and let me make it up to you." Marton was flat on his back before Lawrence finished the sentence. "Not quite what I had in mind for the evening," he stated breathlessly, already twisting into Lawrence's assured touch. "I know." Lawrence smiled, kneeling between Marton's parted thighs. "If you don't want me to suck you off, let me know." Marton's fingers tightened in Lawrence's hair as heat and wet enveloped his cock. "Never said that," he panted, earlier thought lost. He could always try again in the morning.
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