Title: Breakfast For Two Author: Jo Series: Boys On Film, part 2 Pairing: Harry Sinclair/Karl Urban Rating: NC17 Summary: more video voyeurism, over breakfast this time Disclaimer: If you think this is real, then I'm fucking Orlando Bloom on a nightly basis Author's Notes: This one's all for Brenda because I love her like that. *mwah* You settle into a chair, exchange a few words with them as they eat breakfast - Belgian waffles with whipped cream and strawberries for Karl, French toast with honey and cinnamon for Harry. The video camera sits on the table by your hand, a silent reminder of why you're there. You knew to bring it with you this morning. Of course you did. Harry called you last night, invited you for breakfast. And you knew who it was, and why he was calling before you picked up the phone. Because sometimes, it just happens like that. Sometimes you just know from the way the phone rings. More conversation as the last few bites are consumed. Now it's all gone, and Karl is putting the plates in the sink, Harry is leaning against the table watching him, and you know it's time. You've gotten good at that - reading their silent signals so they don't have to address you. You've also gotten good - excellent in fact - at staying quiet and unobtrusive so they can forget you're there. They appreciate that. As much as they appreciate you. As you busy yourself with the camera, you wonder what new facets this tape will hold by the time you leave. You lift the camera, begin to watch them through the viewfinder. Once again, you're amazed at how perfect, how different they look when the camera is between you and them. And now you stop thinking and just watch as Harry pulls Karl to stand between his legs. Naked chests just barely brush while they talk softly. You can't hear their voices. You never can. All you ever hear is the camera's muted whir in your ear. And now...yes. Now they're kissing, hands are sweeping over bare skin, and it's wonderful. It always is. Something catches your attention, and you lift your eye from the camera just enough to verify what you think you just saw. Yes. Your eyes aren't playing tricks on you. Karl is the aggressor this morning, and you realize that's something you've never caught on tape before. And the sight of Karl taking the lead, taking control, is beyond words. No wonder Harry called you. The camera continues to purr to you as Karl kneels, slides faded blue pajama bottoms down Harry's long legs, reveals Harry's body to the camera and the sunshine pouring through the kitchen window. And now Harry is sitting on the table, legs spread, and Karl is kneeling between Harry's spread thighs. You know what's coming next. You know. Or maybe you don't. Karl surprises you, and you can only watch as he lifts the can of whipped cream. Harry's sharp gasp vies with the soft hiss of the pressurized contents, and now Harry's semi-erect cock is covered in a soft, fluffy cloud of white. Karl barely takes the time to drop the can on the table before his tongue darts out to lap at the cream. Pink and white, flickering, melding as the white vanishes into Karl's mouth. More licking, joined now by sucking. And Karl is devouring Harry's cock, taking it deep into his throat, feasting on it as if it were a gourmet confection created just for him. You think it might have been. Maybe. Something about that idea just seems right. Now Harry is gasping and moaning, hands fisting in black hair as Karl's head bobs languidly, allowing glimpses of Harry's cock to peek out as he pulls back. You enjoy this. Each time you watch Karl suck Harry, you're struck by the beauty in the simple act. You think Karl's lips and Harry's cock were made for each other. It makes sense. And you know that Harry likes to watch Karl suck him. You know because, once again, Harry's eyes are open and focused on Karl as he bobs and licks and sucks. You don't blame Harry. Karl is a dark, fallen angel on his knees, so beautiful it sometimes hurts to watch him. But you do. And you keep the camera steady, imprinting the scene on the tape inside. But Harry has stopped watching now. He can't watch with his head thrown back, his eyes closed, while his hips thrust into Karl's mouth. As you watch through the camera lens, Harry stiffens, groans, and you know what is happening. You know because now Karl is pulling back, using his tongue to clean Harry. And Harry, exquisite in his afterglow, is leaning back on one arm, panting for air, watching Karl through heavy lidded eyes. Karl just smiles, slides up Harry's body to explore his mouth with lips and tongue. You wonder about the taste of that kiss - salty semen and sweet cream and the unique flavor of Karl's mouth. Now Karl is pushing Harry, forcing Harry to lie back on the table. And the camera is still rolling, catching every move as Karl swiftly divests himself of his own pajama bottoms and reaches for the tub of butter still on the table. You see hazel eyes darken as Harry lifts the jar of honey, pours it over his bare chest as Karl's buttered fingers prepare Harry's body. The two of them are a feast of erotic beauty, of exotic textures and flavors. And there is Karl's tongue again, sweeping out to lick sticky, thick, golden liquid from Harry's skin. And while Karl's tongue is licking and tasting, Karl's cock is pushing, thrusting into Harry. You just watch in awe, unable to move, unable to think, barely able to breathe. In fact, you're scared to blink for fear you'll miss something. Now they're moving together in perfect rhythm, Karl's hips rolling against Harry, Harry's hips lifting to meet Karl. The entire time, Karl is cleaning the honey from Harry's chest, licking until lightly tanned skin is glistening from saliva. And it's breathtaking the way they look together. Soft whirring in your ear and Karl's hand reaches out, fumbles for the bowl of strawberries. Now his hand is flexing, squeezing, dripping red juice and pulp across Harry's face and body. And Karl's tongue is licking again, mingling all the flavors in his mouth. Semen and cream and honey and strawberries...and Harry. You think that maybe, for Karl, Harry is the most delicious taste of all. You realize it's over, realize that Karl has cried out, stiffened, fingers tight on Harry's waist. Tremors wrack his body, Harry's name passes his lips. And it's almost like slow motion as Karl collapses on top of Harry and strong arms wrap around him. Harry murmurs quietly, strokes his hands over Karl's back. Their faces wear identical expressions, and the expressions are ones you've seen before. Contentment, happiness, love. The camera has captured everything, every single second of the incomparable perfection of Harry and Karl together. Without disturbing them, you move to the living room. Minutes later, the video is laying on the coffee table - marked with today's date in your neat handwriting - and you're silently letting yourself out the front door. They'll watch the tape later. They'll enjoy it. You don't doubt that. They never say they enjoy it, but you know. And in a few days or a week, they'll call you again. And you'll come, bringing your camera. Because you can't refuse them this. Anything else maybe, but not this. Never this. ~fin~