Not that repeating to himself like some sort of goddamn mantra was helping. He knew full well what he was. After all, he had to live with himself. And calling himself names wasn't going to get him anywhere. He still had to find the courage to pick up the phone and call Harry. And it needed to be done today, because he was flying back to Australia tomorrow. And if he didn't do it today, then he'd never know. He picked up the phone and dialed the number before he could think about it again. One ring -- c'mon, Harry, pick up. Two -- be there, please be there. Three -- fuck it, he wasn't there, Dave was wasting his time. Four -- he should hang... "Hello?" "Harry?" Oh fuck, he'd actually picked up. Now what? "Hey, Dave." Harry's voice softened, became friendly. "Thought you were headed back to the Mother Country." "I am." Okay, take a deep breath. Stop. Think. Get your shit together. "Look, I was wondering if you'd like to get together, have a pint. I'm a bit too wired to sleep and I'd hate to spend my last night here in my hotel room." "What, no going away party thrown by the Hobbits?" Dave chuckled. "They wanted to. I talked them out of it. We all went out last night, instead." Which was supposed to have been his last night in New Zealand. He'd changed his flight to tomorrow so he could give himself one last chance with Harry. "Come on over, then," Harry said. "Can't have you spending your last night here alone." Dave could really listen to Harry speak to him for days. Something about the way Harry spoke melted Dave's brain like frying butter. "Great. I'll be right over." Dave hung up the phone and let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. Okay. Great. He was going over to Harry's. Now what? *** Harry was out on the porch when Dave drove up. Feet up on the railing, beer in one hand, cigar in the other, leanly muscled body in shorts and a tank top slouched in a deck chair -- he was all that was relaxed and male and Dave wanted him with an ache that bordered on obsession. He sat in his car for a brief moment, imagined racing up the steps and running his fingers through that long, brown hair and giving Harry a kiss of welcome while his eyes glowed with passion and love. Well, he'd come here to make a play for all that, right? Best get to it. "Evening," Harry called as Dave strolled up the walk. "Have any trouble finding the place?" "No," Dave smiled and climbed the steps. "I had good directions." "Help yourself to a bottle." Harry motioned to the house, went back to smoking on his cigar and staring out at the horizon. Dave tried not to be terribly nosy when he walked to the kitchen, but he couldn't stop his hungry gaze from glancing over all the movie posters on the walls (he made special note of the posters of the two movies Harry'd directed) and the stacks of videos all over the living room floor. The dining room was filled with equipment and piles of what looked to be script notes scribbled in furious, messy handwriting. At least the kitchen was clean, if a bit cramped. Dave fished a VB out of the icebox and went back to the porch. The sun was setting in rays of molten purple and gold and it caught the highlights in Harry's hair, shining over it with flecks of fire. Great -- now Dave was getting poetic. What was next, sonnets? He sat in the chair next to Harry, nursed his beer. And said nothing. Just enjoyed the tantalizing scent of Harry's cigar, the strong profile of the man next to him, the muscled slope of his shoulders and arms. Sunset definitely looked very good on Harry. It was too bad Dave couldn't paint. He'd love to be able to capture this moment. Dave knew he should say something. He'd come all the way over here with a purpose. Hell, he'd stayed in the country for this purpose. But this was so peaceful, so tranquil. Dave couldn't find it in him to break the mood. It was fortunate that Harry had no such problems. "What really brings you to my doorstep?" Harry asked, drawing deeply on his cigar, hollowing his cheeks, defining the sleek muscles in his face. Every part of him made Dave sigh. "Told you. Company." "Lots of people on that list." Harry made the observation with a slight flick of his wrist that sent ashes scattering to the ashtray. "Why me?" Dave opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Goddamn, this was harder than he thought. "Dave?" God, he loved the sound of his name on Harry's lips. "I'm thinking." "We're both grown men here," Harry pointed out. He took another slow drag on his cigar, puffed out little rings of smoke. Why the hell did Dave think that was so erotic? Probably something to do with the perfect 'o' Harry's lips made when he did it. "Out with it." What the hell could he say? I've wanted you longer than I care to remember, I've jerked off chanting your name more times than I can count, I delayed my flight back home to my real life just to spend one more evening in your platonic company? For someone who made a living using words, Dave was in very short supply of them. So, he did the next best thing. "I'll show you." Dave set his beer down on the railing and stood over Harry's chair. He braced his hands on either side of the armrests, leaned in. Harry's dark eyes widened slightly, but he didn't move. And his very stillness was more evocative than a lap dance. Dave tasted acrid tobacco and beer yeast on Harry's lips. The fullness of them formed to his, allowed him to explore. Better than all of Dave's x-rated fantasies, better than any late night imaginings -- it was real, solid, substantial. And the full flavor of just lips on lips curled Dave's toes. He kept his eyes open, watched Harry through lowered lashes. Still no movement, but Harry's lips were pliant, soft, yielding. So Dave took the next step, applied more pressure. And was rewarded by a slight opening of that perfect mouth. Dave flicked his tongue in for a quick taste -- yes, much better. Darker, richer -- nicotine and beer mixed with the richest of chocolates. A soft tongue darted out, slid against his own, tentative, testing. And it took all of Dave's considerable willpower to keep from crawling on top of that hard body and plundering. Tongues swirled around and on each other in lazy circles. Dave quit breathing as he sunk into the kiss. He finally closed his eyes, gave himself over to sheer sensation, to the scent of tobacco and Harry that imprinted itself in Dave's membranes, the feel of Harry's mouth surrendering to his, to the sound of Harry's harsh breathing that was a symphony to his ears. Slowly, drawing out each second as long as possible, Dave lifted his head, opened cloudy eyes. Harry's eyes were closed, his body pressed against the back of the chair. The look on his face was one of supreme enjoyment. Dave took comfort in the fact that he could at least give Harry something, even if it was just fleeting pleasure. "That was nice," Harry said, without opening his eyes. He sighed, the sound coming low down in that spectacular chest and the motion stretched his thin tank top across the expanse. "Yeah, very." Dave couldn't stop looking at him, wanted to lean in and kiss him again, but restrained himself. The next move -- if there was one -- was up to Harry. Harry sighed again, relaxed further in his chair. "Didn't think you were ever going to get up the nerve to do it." "You knew?" Good Lord. Harry opened his eyes and smiled. "I suspected." "Why didn't you...?" Dave trailed off. He was just fucking stunned. "You're not the only shy person in the world." Harry looked sheepish as he shrugged, bunching his shoulders. "I left myself open to invitation, figured you'd take me up on it if you wanted to start anything." "All this time." It was too ironic to contemplate. "So, now what?" Harry stubbed out his cigar, set his beer down on the floor. He leaned up a bit, settled a hand on the back of Dave's neck, brought his mouth back down. And this kiss delivered on every promise the last one made. Wet, carnal, explosive -- it made Dave's blood sing, his dick harden to the point of pain. Goddamn, Harry could really fucking kiss. Goddamn. Dave crawled onto Harry's lap, straddled his hips, pressing against every inch of skin he could. And yes, yes, that was Harry's cock jutting into his, those were Harry's arms pulling him closer until he could feel Harry's rapid heartbeat in his own chest, this was a kiss that flowed forever and melted Dave's very atoms. When Harry let them both up for air, Dave found his hands had migrated into Harry's hair. And Harry's hands were underneath his shirt, tracing patterns on his back. Dave shuddered into the contact, rested his forehead against Harry's. "Guess that answers that question." "Thought it would." Harry bit gently on Dave's chin. "We should go inside. This might get to be too much for the neighbors, and you've got a phone call to make." "I do?" Dave racked his still befuddled brain and came up with a total blank. "Yeah." Harry's eyes were alight with mischief. "Unless, of course, you'd rather not go into my bedroom and undress me while I undress you so I can explore this hot body." His voice dropped and was a seductive purr against Dave's ear as his tongue snaked along Dave's jaw line. He swallowed hard. Think. Okay, give it a minute. Harry's expecting a response, what was the question again? Oh yeah. "Who am I calling?" Harry chuckled and the sound reverberated straight to Dave's groin. "Your airline. Unless, of course, you'd rather make your flight? Because, I will tell you this. If you come inside my house with me, I can guarantee you it'll be a week before we leave it." Dave was surprised he could even talk around the melting puddle that was now his brain. "Only a week?" Harry groaned, brushed his lips over Dave's. And made a promise. "It's a start."
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