He leaned against the door of the bedroom, watched in fascination as Marton slid a silk, forest green shirt -- one that matched the fleck of green in his eyes -- over strong shoulders, the movement unconsciously sensual. Strong fingers began the slow dance of buttoning each tiny button; hiding tanned skin and sleek muscle from view. It really shouldn't be erotic. Marton was hiding, not revealing. Still, Harry couldn't tear his eyes away. Marton took his time pulling up butter-soft jeans that molded to hard thighs, the curve of his ass. The soft scratch of the zipper was loud enough to hide Harry's low sigh. The slight brush of Marton's fingers against his groin had Harry shivering. Kept watching as Marton began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing corded forearms in quick, efficient movements. It took all of Harry's willpower not to sink to his knees and worship just that bit of skin. He shouldn't be so fucking hard. But he was. Everything about Marton was a study in grace, in poise, in seduction. And Harry was hopelessly enthralled. Marton finally finished with his other sleeve and glanced up, his smile warm, wicked, as knowing eyes raked over Harry's slouched form. "And, what, exactly, has caught your eye?" he asked, as two fingers toyed with the top button of his shirt, slipping it free. Harry laughed, the sound rich, low, even to his own ears. He should have known. Marton's eyes were alight with amusement, mischief, arrogance -- if Harry hadn't been so caught up in the sensual feast before him, he'd have seen it. He stepped into the room, stood in front of Marton, still caught in the brilliance of that smile. A handful of inches separated them, but neither made the move forward -- there would be time for that. Harry brushed the backs of rough fingers over the softness of Marton's cheek, a whisper-touch. A promise. "I was just wondering if you were really planning on wearing that out," he remarked, his own arrogant smile returning as Marton tilted his head, seeking more of Harry's touch. "Doesn't look very comfortable." Strong fingers slipped under the collar of the shirt, grazed over a collarbone. Marton glanced down at Harry's straying fingers, then back up, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "This is the finest silk available," he replied, fingering the collar. Hands barely brushed against each other -- another promise -- before Marton dropped it back to his side. "It's more than comfortable." Harry leaned in, breath warm against Marton's neck. "Are you sure about that?" Marton turned his head slightly, licked a tiny path across his lips, tongue flicking out to catch Harry's chin briefly before retreating. "Perhaps it's not my color." Another button slipped free. "I should change." Harry gaze strayed down to tapered, elegant fingers as Marton slipped another button free. "Perhaps something in more of an earth tone," he suggested, and licked the tip of his tongue along the pulsing vein in Marton's neck. The rich, exotic flavor of Marton exploded along his tastebuds, more addictive than any drug. Twice as dangerous. "Earth tone?" Marton's reply was just the right shade of breathless. "Mmhmm." Harry's voice was muffled as he used his nose to nudge silk aside so he could get at the juncture of Marton's neck and shoulder. One of Marton's hands gripped the back of Harry's head, holding him in place, and Harry was only too happy to take the hint. Not like he could move away, anyway. Not when there was all of this enticing skin to suckle and lave. Not when there was the shuddering rise and fall of Marton's chest to entice his fingers to seek and explore. Not when Marton placed his other hand over Harry's, directed him to the remaining buttons. "Could you...?" Harry smiled against sleek skin, already slipping the buttons free. "Of course," he murmured, the pads of his fingers brushing against the soft, dark hairs of Marton's chest, lips following the path. Soft. Reverent. Teasing. He caressed the lovely slope of Marton's shoulders, down a sculpted back, the shirt slipping off, a careless victim of Harry's hands. "Much more like it," he stated, once the wide expanse of Marton's chest was open to his perusal. Marton spread his arms out, stepped back. "You think so?" Harry nodded, tapping his finger against his chin. "Could be better, though," he remarked. "Oh?" Harry nodded, drawing the movement out. "Outfit needs an accessory, I think." Marton peered at Harry through lowered lashes, another enigmatic smile flitting across his face. "And that would be...?" Harry stepped back into the heat of Marton's body, fingers lightly resting along the button of faded jeans, popping it open. "It's missing my mouth on your cock," he whispered, licking along the shell of Marton's ear before dropping gracefully to his knees. He barely gave Marton a chance to react before pulling the zipper down, baring Marton's heavy, hard length to his gaze. Ran a practiced tongue along the curve, curling the edges. Much, much better. Marton dressed was a lovely sight, but this...yes. Marton should always look like this -- flushed, aroused, eyes so dark they seemed black -- and Harry should always be sucking him. Harry's lips were a suction, pushing along the length until he could taste tangy pre-cum in the back of his throat, the taste filling his mouth, heavy scent of arousal choking him in want. Marton's fingers flexed, tightened in Harry's hair, begging and commanding in one tiny gesture. More. Harry closed his eyes, sucked and moved, lips and tongue sweeping along Marton's cock in bold, careless swipes. He filled his hands with Marton's hips, tugged until Marton took the hint, started pumping, fucking Harry's mouth. Yes. Better. More. Teeth gently scraped the length, and Harry felt Marton's shiver reverberate through them both. Harry repeated the gesture, soothing the scrape with his tongue. Warm flesh under his hands, hot flesh filling his mouth -- the way it should be. His world consisted of just this -- Marton moaning for him, Marton's fingers tangled in his hair, Marton's hips flexing, twisting as he sought that final push. Harry felt the familiar tightening of muscle, the slight twitch in his mouth all the warning he needed before Marton was spilling inside him, Harry's name a groan on his lips. Thick, hot, wet -- and Harry couldn't get enough. Lapped and sucked until every remnant was gone, the taste a faint, bittersweet memory on his tongue. He slithered back up Marton's body, watched in pleased satisfaction when Marton's eyes fluttered open and a sated smile curved full lips. "Now I think you're ready to go out," Harry said, trailing his hands along Marton's back, kissing the tiny beads of sweat from Marton's forehead. "I'll be sure to consult you on my wardrobe from now on," Marton laughed, the sound breathless as he pulled Harry close to him, dropped his head on Harry's shoulder with a pleased sigh. "I think I could fit you into my busy schedule." Harry didn't even have to look down to know Marton was smiling. "Good."
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