Right. He checked the chili one last time, made sure it was simmering nicely, and walked out of the kitchen. Right, dinner's done, wine's ready, wearing a clean shirt. And this is beginning to sound a lot like a date, instead of a friendly get-together. Lovely. Think of something else. The doorbell rang just then, signaling Marton's arrival. Harry took a deep breath, walked to the front door. A slight pause, then he opened it. "Hey," Marton said, voice still carrying a faint trace of the Russian accent he'd adopted for his latest movie. "I brought port and cigars. Thought maybe we could have them after dinner." "Ah, a man after my own heart," Harry replied, the perfect teasing note to his voice. He opened the door a bit wider, kept the smile as Marton waltzed past him, lean hips rolling as he headed for the kitchen. Yeah...it was going to be a long night. "I'll just pop this in the fridge, then." Marton vanished into the kitchen, reappeared to lean in the doorway after a brief moment, looking entirely too perfect as he lounged against the frame. "God, Harry, that smells delicious!" Swallow. Breathe. Don't think about the light from the kitchen framing his body; don't think about the dark hair falling in careless disarray across strong shoulders. "Well, it's ready whenever you are," Harry replied, forcing his feet to move. Marton chuckled, straightening slowly. "I'm always ready." Harry cleared his throat, took a deep breath, walked to the kitchen. "Patio alright?" he asked, not daring to look up as he grabbed two bowls and two glasses. China. Fuck...the date-like implications were steadily growing. Not a date, stop thinking like that. "Yeah, patio's great. Nice out." Marton hesitated for just a second, looking around. "What can I do to help?" "Grab the wine and the glasses. I'll be out in a minute." Took another deep breath when Marton walked out the back door. Alright, some calm would be really welcome right about now. He's a friend, you haven't seen him in four months. Just because you want to, okay, yeah, throw him against the counter and snog the hell out of him, doesn't mean anything. You're old enough to have a bit of control. Right. He kept that thought while walking the two overfull, steaming bowls of chili out to the patio. Marton looked up from where he sat, pouring wine in the glasses. "I grabbed napkins and spoons, too," he said, smiling and indicating the table. God, that smile... "Didn't think you wanted us to eat with our fingers." "Might be a bit messy." Easy, don't drop the bowls...there you go. Harry returned the smile, sat across from Marton. And tried very hard not to think about the sunset highlighting exotic features and teasing eyes. "Yeah," Marton chuckled, picked up his spoon. And Harry was not watching the way Marton's fingers curled around the handle. He wasn't. "As good as your chili is, it's not really appropriate for eating off body parts." And he wasn't going to imagine licking chili off of Marton's nude body. He was going to pick up his spoon, take a small bite, then another. He was going to ignore the way Marton's lips looked when they blew on the hot liquid. "So...how was Prague?" Good. Conversation. Friendly, light...yes. "Cold," Marton replied after swallowing. "Very, very cold. Lovely countryside, though. And very friendly people. Never did get my bed warmed up at night, though." And Harry wasn't going to think about that, either. Nope. "The locals didn't do anything for you, then?" "There were a few attractive ones that I ran into, but..." Marton shrugged, pausing to blow on another spoonful before closing his lips around it. Damn it...eating chili was not supposed to be erotic. "But you know how it is. None of them really interested me much." Yeah, actually, he did. His bed had been quite empty lately, as well. "Well, you're home now, bound to find someone." Continued to eat his dinner, sip his wine. Suppressed the urge to volunteer himself. "Yeah, hopefully. Be nice to have someone to spend my evenings with, someone to come home to when I'm gone." Marton lifted his glass, took a swallow of wine, licked his lips to catch a stray drop. Jesus... Harry almost choked on his next bite. "Yeah. Very nice." "So tell me what you've been up to while I was gone. Any new projects?" Marton leaned forward, braced an arm on the table, smile open and inviting, spoon dangling over his bowl. Finally, it was easy to relax. To sink back in his chair, smile like he meant it. "Working on another project. Karl and I have been kicking around some ideas when I haven't been bugging Pete over at WETA." "Really? You and Karl?" Marton leaned back a bit, dropped his eyes back to his bowl. "So tell me about it." "Not a lot to say," Harry shrugged, toying with his spoon. Atmosphere was inexplicably colder. Couldn't quite put a finger on it. "Just toying with some ideas, bouncing them off of each other. Might have a part for you in one of them, if you're interested." "Sure, mate. Always interested in being in a Harry Sinclair film." Marton flashed him a brief smile before spooning more chili into his mouth. He swallowed, then glanced up again. "So nothing definite yet?" "Nah. You know how I am. Seat of my pants filming and all that." Took the last bite, topped off both of their glasses. Tried not to look at Marton's hands, callused and tanned, as they rested on the table. "Yeah, I remember that always irritated Karl a little." Marton let out a soft laugh, leaning back in his chair, pushing his now empty bowl away before picking up his glass, fingers toying with the stem of the goblet. Harry was not going to stare at his fingers. He wasn't. Okay...so maybe just for a moment. "Did him some good." Why the fuck were they talking about Karl? Harry could think of about a thousand other things he'd rather be talking to Marton about. But, Karl was safe, Karl was mutual, Karl was, well, unavailable. Not interested in either of them. "Um...want anymore?" Gestured to Marton's bowl. "No, thanks. I've got enough." Marton patted his stomach for emphasis, and damn. Harry could practically feel his hands itching to touch the same spot. "It was delicious as always. So I guess you've been keeping yourself busy then?" "Yeah, editing 'Toy Love', helping out Pete." Harry stood, busied his hands with gathering bowls and spoons. "Catching up on my reading." Risked a quick glance at Marton, was snared by golden eyes. "Anything good?" Marton leaned forward again, smiling, hands folding together in front of him. And Harry had to fight to keep from falling into that smile, into those eyes. What had Marton asked? Oh...right. Reading. Jesus, Harry, get a grip. "Finally read 'Kavalier & Clay'." Um...blanking...um...where was he going? Kitchen. Right. Drop off the dishes. "Join me?" God, he was turning into a teenage girl. Couldn't bear to let Marton, or that smile, out of his sight. "Sure." Marton stood, stretched, and the simple act left Harry's mouth dry. God, the way Marton's body just seemed to flow when he moved... "You want some help with the dishes, or you planning on saving them for later?" "Wha -- Oh!" Not blushing, he wasn't blushing, he was 41 years old, and 41 year old men did not blush. "Sure, that'd be great." Turned and walked to the kitchen with as much dignity as he could muster. Marton chuckled, following him through the door. "God, Harry, I know I'm not the most lively company tonight, but you could at least pretend you're not writing in your head again." The wink that followed served two purposes: it let Harry know Marton was teasing, and it sent roughly 75 percent of the blood in Harry's body straight to his crotch. Lovely. "Do you want to wash or dry?" "Wash." He'd have to concentrate if he was washing. "You know where everything goes, right?" Handed Marton a clean towel, only tensed mildly when their fingers brushed together. "Yeah, I think I can figure it out." Marton leaned against the counter, watched as Harry prepared the water, idly running the towel through his hands. Harry wasn't going to think about that, wasn't going to think about Marton's hands stroking...things. Nope, definitely not. "So..." Yeah, there was a stunner of a conversation starter. So. Harry should write a book, forget this directing thing. Washed a bowl, handed it to Marton with slippery fingers. Marton smiled, took the bowl to dry. He hadn't deliberately slid his fingers over Harry's. Couldn't have. Harry was quite obviously dreaming. That would explain a lot. What...oh. Marton was speaking. Pay attention. "So you've been pretty busy helping Pete out?" Déjà vu. Harry wondered if they were stuck in a loop or weird Moebius strip or something. "Yeah." Wow. Another stunning response. He caught the yawn with the back of his soapy hand, tried to steady his breath. Fuck...nerves. Cocksucker. Couldn't even look at Marton as he passed over the other bowl. "O-kay..." Marton ran the towel over the bowl before setting it with the other, his eyes on Harry. "Maybe we should find something a bit less boring to talk about?" "Boring?" Marton wasn't boring. Marton was the most unboring thing on the planet. Actually...oh. The yawn. "Um...I'm not bored." Cleared his throat, tried to give a reassuring smile as he handed Marton a clean spoon. "You sure?" Marton continued to watch Harry, and Harry certainly wasn't thinking about those eyes on him, studying him. No, definitely not. "Tired?" Oh God, he was going to have to talk about it. "No. I'm...it's silly, actually." And, at the moment, with stunning eyes on him, downright embarrassing. "I yawn when I...when I..." Yawned loudly, mumbled, "whenIgetnervous." Marton blinked, blinked again, then leaned forward a little to peer at Harry. "Did you say you yawn when you get nervous?" All Harry could do was nod. If he opened his mouth, he'd yawn again. And if he got any more embarrassed, his face would turn red. "That's, um... And you're nervous now?" Short nod. Closed-mouthed. "I see." Marton paused for a moment, fingers twisting the towel around and around. He looked more than a little perplexed. "Why the hell are you nervous?" Oh. Um. Well. Couldn't very well come right out and say that he wanted to throw Marton up against the counter and kiss him senseless. Wouldn't be at all friendly. Well, it would, but not the kind of friendly that Marton would like. Maybe. Yeah, so, anyway... "Just...haven't seen you in awhile," Harry replied, winced as soon as the words left his mouth. "Umm..." Marton eyed him, shifting as he leaned against the counter. Harry didn't think he was convinced. In fact, Harry was positive he wasn't. "That makes you nervous?" "Yeah." God, someone shoot him now. Transport him to the forest or something. "Interesting." Interesting? Harry wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He snuck a glance at Marton, found that he was still being studied by those amazing eyes. Fuck. "It is?" Again with the stunningness. Yeah, all that education coming to good use. Where the hell was his rather extensive vocabulary when he really needed it? "Yeah." Marton smiled, and the slow curve of his lips enthralled Harry, sending every thought flying right out of his head. "Never realized not seeing me for a couple months could make you nervous." "Well, it's not...just that. Exactly." Wanted to trace Marton's smile with his tongue, press forward into that lithe body. Yeah, really friendly. That was Harry. As friendly as it got. Since, you know, he really thought about all of his friends like this. Except, not. "So, what is it?" Marton's voice dropped an octave as he shifted again, leaning just a touch towards Harry, hand with the towel resting on the counter. "Exactly." Exactly what? Harry leaned forward, drawn to that sexy as sin voice. "Just..." Soft sigh, another shift, and his arm brushed against Marton's. Whoa. Talk about heat. Except they weren't. Talking about heat. They were talking about...couldn't remember. Just wanted to hear Marton talk again, say his name. "Marton?" "Yeah?" Marton didn't move. Not towards Harry or away from him. He just stood there, hip propped against the counter, body tilted just a fraction towards Harry, eyes locked with Harry's. Fuck all, but Harry could smell him now. And that was just the most... "Harry?" "Wha--huh?" Oh, right. Wanted something. Right. What was it? Couldn't quite concentrate. Stifled another yawn as he shifted again, closer to Marton. Marton chuckled, the rich sound washing over Harry. God, he loved Marton's voice. "Still nervous?" Marton murmured, amusement lurking in the depths of those incredible eyes. "Yeah." Surprised Marton couldn't smell it on his clothes, taste it in the air. Taste...Harry's eyes followed the trail of a pink tongue as Marton licked his lips. Whimpered, actually whimpered. Low, almost inaudible. But, there. Cocksucker. "Definitely interesting," Marton said in a voice just above a whisper. He leaned forward just a little. And then...was that...whoa. It was. Marton's lips brushed across Harry's, almost too lightly to be felt, to be real. Blink. Breathe. Focus. On Marton. Who was standing right there. Next to him. Pressed against him. Harry swallowed hard, air trapped in his lungs. Whoever it was that said men didn't get nervous about a kiss didn't know what the hell they were talking about. "Did you...?" Didn't finish the sentence, didn't dare to. Just leaned in that infinite half-inch, kissed Marton back. And moaned, for real this time, when Marton's lips parted beneath his. Fingers touched his face on one side, just grazing the skin, almost as if they were afraid to touch any harder. Then the tip of Marton's tongue touched his, traced his lips, and Harry forgot all about the fingers on his face. Forgot everything, in fact, except the taste and texture of Marton's mouth as it opened for him, inviting him to explore. Took the invitation, sank in. Whoa...just. Um. Yeah, coherency was highly overrated. Who needed coherency when there were lips like this to explore, the subtle taste of wine and chili and Marton on his tongue, a muscled chest pressed against his? And soft hairs drifting through his fingers. Fuck coherency. Harry was fine where he was. Marton's tongue slid over his, teasing, tempting. Soft and wet and slick sliding over his tongue, curling around it, exploring his mouth. And...what? Warmth? At his waist? Oh. Marton's hand, settling against his side, fingers lightly twitching against his shirt as mouths tasted and sipped, moving together. Time also became irrelevant...who needed to count minutes when there was all this heat to tempt him, this flavor to seduce him? Time should stand still for moments like this. No, no don't go...Harry whimpered -- fucking hell whimpered like a girl or something -- when Marton finally lifted his head, took that intoxicating mouth away. This wouldn't do. "Just a minute," Marton stated, blocking Harry's forward trajectory with a hand to his chest. And, okay...he could live without the lips -- for a minute, mind -- as long as Marton touched him. "Yeah?" "Slow down." Marton chuckled, the sound soft and low, rasping across Harry's ears like raw silk. Slow down? Was he joking? But, then, if Marton's thumb kept moving on his chest like that, Harry would do whatever Marton wanted. As long as it involved more kissing. And touching. And stuff. "What?" "Still nervous?" Marton smiled. And...whoa. Just...yeah. That smile. What was the question again? Oh, right. Nervous. "No." And he would have elaborated. Maybe. Thought he could string together a sentence or two. Except, Marton seemed to take that one word as an invitation to lower his lips back to Harry's. And, well...that was fine, too. Better than. "Good," Marton whispered, lips moving against Harry's. And it was good. Sensational. Phenomenal even. Harry decided right then that he wanted to spend the next few years exploring Marton's mouth. He wanted to crawl inside it, touch and explore every dark, slick surface that his tongue was touching just then. Because, well...he just wanted to. And maybe -- just maybe, mind you -- he'd spend a little of that time exploring the body that was currently pinned between him and the counter. But, the mouth came first. Glorious thing, Marton's mouth. Fluid and wet. Moist lips rubbing, soft tongue curling...yes, Marton's mouth was a thing of beauty, work of art, all that rot. Except it wasn't rot. It was perfect. And Marton certainly know how to...oh!...use it. Wow. Was that possible? Could someone's tongue do that? Apparently so. Whoa. Yeah, yeah, coherency...not so much. Harry pressed Marton into the counter, sucked on that incredibly talented tongue, made begging noises in the back of his throat. He wanted that...whatever that was...again. Tightened fingers in Marton's hair to get his point across. More. Now. Pretty fucking please. And...oh...yes. Marton did it again. Jesus, what was that? Some sort of...hell, Harry couldn't even describe it. It just was. And it felt incredible. Do it again. And Marton -- incredible, sexy, wonderful Marton -- did it yet again. Harry moaned, a tiny, happy, little sound, and shifted, pressing against Marton, into Marton, as warm hands slid up his back, under his shirt. Under...um...yeah. Bare hands, bare skin. He could get used to this. Marton's hands on his back, Marton's tongue in his mouth, Marton's rather impressive...whoa, very impressive...yeah. Pressed even closer to feel more of that impressiveness. Then Marton shifted, brought that impressiveness into direct alignment with...oh God. Harry felt the world tilt. That was...was...he didn't have words for it. Not with Marton's nails raking gently up his spine, and Marton's tongue doing that thing again in his mouth. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph...that was just...whoa. Yeah. Hell yeah, even. Rubbing was definitely a good thing. Best thing, really. Rubbing and sucking and licking the roof of Marton's mouth. Sculpting strong shoulders with his hands. And Marton's fingers on his skin...Christ. Harry whimpered again, no longer cared if it was girly, did a slow hip grind against Marton's hips. Maybe, if he did it long enough, these annoying clothes would disappear. Marton did his own slow hip grind back just then. And...whoa. Yes, very impressive. Very. Harry was very impressed. Or something. He thought the world had exploded. Or maybe that was just his brain finally collapsing in on itself. And there was Marton's tongue again, doing its thing, driving Harry insane. He had to remember to ask how Marton did that. Later. Now was for rubbing. And kissing. And...was that...it was. Marton moaned. Well, damn... Harry set about making Marton do it again, adding a few hair tugs and more hip grinds to his repertoire. Moaning, rubbing, grinding, pulling Marton's very annoying shirt up his chest. Much better. Bare, glorious, warm skin under his hands. Firm muscle to knead and explore. And Marton, lovely man, did that beautiful moaning thing again. "You wanna..." Marton flicked his tongue across Harry's lips, opened those marvelous eyes, gazed at him. Want? Hell, yeah, Harry wanted. Wanted whatever, whenever. He was pretty partial to naked, but, at this point, he could wait. Just as long as Marton wasn't going to stop. Or leave. Or say this wasn't what he wanted, was a bit too friendly for his tastes. "Wanna?" he asked, not surprised that his voice croaked. "Wanna move this somewhere..." A slight pause as Marton licked his lips. "...more comfortable?" More comfo...oh. Oh. Yeah, that counter probably wasn't real comfortable digging into Marton's back like that. More comfortable. Right. "Sofa?" Harry asked, proud that he'd made sense. Tickled to death with himself when Marton smiled, nodded. "Sofa's fine." Twenty minutes later, Harry decided he had gone to Heaven. Paradise. Nirvana. Mount Olympus. Or some other clichéd place. 'Cause, if such a place as the afterlife really existed, then it'd probably look like Marton's incredibly beautiful nude body sprawled against him. And feel like Marton's incredibly soft skin against his trembling fingers and lips. And sound like Marton's incredibly sexy voice moaning his name. Fuck, but this was...was..."Jesus!"...um...oh...oh, again..."Oh!"...and...yeah. Impressive. Very. "Don't think you're nervous anymore," Marton murmured, lips moving against Harry's throat, hand trailing over Harry's bare skin. Really? Marton thought that? Harry couldn't imagine what had given him that idea. Well, okay...yeah. Maybe...that...had been a dead giveaway. But that was...just...wow. "No, don't believe I am." Marton winked, slow, seductive, sure. "Wanna do it again?" Again? What tiny bit of thought Harry managed to retain was promptly lost. Just nodded, the motion jerky, eager. Almost puppy-dog like, but Harry could have cared less. If Marton wanted to do...that...to him again, then Harry would be happy to do whatever Marton wanted. Including bark.
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