| Title: Fire & Water Author: Jo Series: Boys On Film, part 1 Pairing: Harry Sinclair/Karl Urban Rating: NC17 Summary: Bubblebath, candlelight, and a bit of video voyeurism Disclaimer: Harry & Karl aren't mine, wish they were, this didn't happen...well, it might have, but they sure as hell didn't tell me about it! Notes: This was originally a Viggo/Orli idea, but Harry & Karl liked it so much they kidnapped it. Val gave me an hour to write it...18 hours later, it's done...and it took about 58 minutes to minute. I know, I timed it. So here it is.
The room is warm, steamy - sauna-like, but not quite. You can feel it seeping into your skin, the smell of hot candlewax and strawberries fills your nostrils. You hope there are enough candles lit. It would be a shame to miss even a second of tonight because of low light. Then Harry walks in. And suddenly you're glad the video camera is small, compact. Otherwise, you're not sure you could hold it. Not with those burnt amber eyes looking directly at you, seeming to look directly into your soul. The tension in the room shoots off the scale and you know Karl has arrived. You don't have to look. You just know. Yes, there he is, that lean, graceful body stepping into the range of the viewfinder. Once again, you're struck by how beautiful Karl is, by how beautiful Harry is. And by how absolutely fucking exquisite they are together. You must have said something because Karl looks at you, hazel eyes reflecting the tiny flames all around the room, and laughs softly. And now they're moving, circling each other, stalking, pursuing, hunter and prey, and you're not quite sure which is which. Not that it matters. The camera will catch it all. Sublime the way they finally touch each other, the way they're focused on each other. You wonder if they remember you're here. Probably not. They'll remember later when they view the tape. They like to watch themselves. And you like to film them. You blink grey eyes rapidly, focus again on the scene unfolding in front of your camcorder. Now they're touching. Finally. Now hands are removing clothes slowly, easing them off to fall, forgotten, to the floor. Chests are bared and still they move, still they circle, touching, but not quite touching. Not yet. You think they should just hurry up and get naked. You like them naked, can't think of anyone who wouldn't. And then...oh, yes...Karl's fingers are on Harry's jeans, popping one button after the other free. Karl has such smart, clever fingers to do that. Harry just stands there, watches through heavy lidded eyes as Karl drags the denim down his legs and tosses it aside. Karl on his knees is a thing of beauty, you think, and you watch as that pink, wet tongue snakes out to lick up the inside of Harry's leg from ankle to groin, stopping just shy of the long, thick arousal that stands proudly. You wonder for a moment if Karl will.... But no, not tonight. Tonight is the bath. You know that. But you like to watch Karl suck Harry. You think that Harry likes to watch, too. You think that he just might because Harry never closes his eyes when his cock is buried in Karl's throat. You know. You've seen it too many times not to know. Now it's Harry's turn to kneel, to touch and undress, as Karl stands. And oh...and yes...and now they're both naked. And you think it should be illegal for them to be not naked. All that creamy skin and dark hair and their eyes...oh, God, their fucking eyes. Yes, they should always be naked - Karl's lean muscles contrast perfectly with Harry's more heavily muscled frame. They are perfect, god-like. And so damn beautiful it hurts to look directly at them, like staring directly into the sun. You wonder if a person could go blind from looking at them for too long. You hope not. You can't imagine not being able to see that perfection. A splash, a sigh, and now they're in the tub - thick, white, strawberry scented foam surrounds them, caresses them, and candlelight gleams off their damp skin. The camera continues to capture it all as Harry leans back against the alabaster porcelain, Karl leaning into him so that their chests - those lovely, naked chests - just barely brush. Harry says something that makes Karl smile, and you wonder what it was, wonder if the camera picked it up. It doesn't matter though. The scene speaks for itself. Karl says something in return that makes Harry laugh out loud. You love Harry's laugh, think it's one of the most perfect sounds in the entire fucking universe. And now...now they're kissing and you can feel it from across the room. Flashes of pink tongues sliding between parted lips. The soft sound of water drip, drip, dripping as Harry runs his hands up Karl's body, fists them in the midnight silk of Karl's hair. The kiss is lethal, intoxicating, overwhelming in its sheer primal force. If you were closer, you think, it might melt the camera lens. You wonder if Harry could make Karl come just by kissing him. You think he could. You've kissed Harry - just once, on a dare, but it was like kissing the sun, like an electrical current straight to your cock. Intense and scorching and addictive and loaded with the promise of a carnal pleasure that could make a saint beg - Harry's kiss is all that and more. Much, much more. And Karl's kiss is only slightly less obliterating. You know. You've tasted it, too. You watch, silent, aroused, as Karl lifts the bottle of port from beside the tub. Watch as Karl tips the bottle and pours it over Harry's chest. Harry flinches just the smallest bit as the cool liquid kisses his feverish skin. And now Karl's mouth is there, licking and sucking and tasting, his tongue lapping up the sparkling droplets before they can all escape. You think that Karl drinking port off Harry's chest is one of the most intensely erotic things you've ever seen. And now Karl's tongue is teasing at a nipple, his hands slipping beneath the water. The smell of strawberries is stronger now, and you see that Harry's opened the bottle of bath oil, poured it into the water. Karl's hand is moving, and you move, too, changing positions so the camera will miss nothing. And, yes, you were right. Karl's hand is wrapped tightly around Harry's cock, fisting him in long, smooth strokes as Karl's tongue sweeps across Harry's chest and Harry lifts the bottle of port to his lips, drinking deeply, his throat working as he swallows. And it's beautiful and sexy and hot and everything else you don't have words for. But Harry's not ready for it to end like that. Oh, no, not Harry. He knows exactly what he wants and you do, too. Karl knows as well. Harry moves, flowing like thinly restrained violence, muscles rippling and bunching as he drags Karl onto his lap, forces Karl to straddle him. Karl moans and you know it's what he wants, too. It's the first clear sound you can recall him making since this started. And now Harry's tongue is down Karl's throat, his hands are on Karl's body, and they're moving together and it's so damn right it hurts. They rock together, mouths fused, hands touching, exploring. You watch through the camera as Karl lifts his body, shifts just the barest fraction, sinks back down so very, very slowly, impales himself on Harry's cock. And you let the camera capture his expression, capture Harry's, as Karl begins to move. His body rises and falls, his hips rolling against Harry as he rides him. Like a well oiled machine they move together, the water sloshing in the tub, spilling over the sides, agitated by the rapidly increasing strength of their motions. Karl's head is thrown back now, burning hazel eyes shut tight, lush lips parted in a small, wet o, hand curled around his own cock as he works frantically to bring himself off. Harry's hand is on Karl's face, his fingers are in Karl's mouth, his mouth is on Karl's throat, and you see he's consuming Karl, devouring him, filling him until there is only Harry and Karl and mouths and hands and cocks. And now Karl jerks, stiffens, something close to a scream is torn from his throat. The camera catches it all as his release splatters across his chest and stomach, across Harry's. And Harry's hands are tight on Karl's hips now as he slams into him and his mouth captures those full, lush lips in a soul-searing kiss. His own hoarse cry is only partly muffled by Karl's mouth. They collapse languidly against each other, Harry's arms tight around Karl, cradling him close as Karl trembles. They murmur softly to each other, words of love that the camera won't pick up, and the looks of their faces - tired, sated, content, happy - says it all. There is water on the floor and a few candles are guttering, but that's okay. You caught it all on the tape and you think, yes, this one will be good. They'll like this one. And that pleases you. It's a good feeling, watching them together. Karl's eyes are closed as he sprawls against Harry's chest, the water lapping at their bodies. Harry's eyes are open, but only halfway, and he places soft kisses on Karl's damp, dark hair. They don't notice when you slip from the room to lay the tape on the bed. You know they'll find it there. And they'll watch it and like it. You know. They always do. You quietly let yourself out of the house, locking the door behind you. You remind yourself to recharge the camera's battery. And you remind yourself to buy another blank tape. And you smile.
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