Fic: Wedding. R.
Title: Wedding.
Author: Roadstergal.
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, and I make no money from it.
Notes: My friend kahvi just got married, my brother is engaged, and the 'm' word has floated out of my boy's lips in the last few days, so the topic is on my mind. Crit always welcome.
"I hate weddings," Harry grumbled.
Perry glanced over. Harry had a deathly scowl on his face as his fingers tugged at the starched white collar of his tuxedo.
"Don't play with it," Perry said, evenly. "It's not your dick." He grabbed the hand and pulled it away from Harry's collar. Harry blew an exasperated sigh and yanked his hand away.
"The only thing I hate more than fucking weddings is fucking tuxedoes," he snapped. "I look like a faggot."
"No," Perry replied, smugly, "faggots look good in tuxedoes." He adjusted his cufflink as he smirked at Harry. He was lying through his teeth. Harry looked good. No, Harry looked beyond good; he looked delectable. Not that he usually didn't, but he was a few steps past his usual attractiveness; he was clean-shaven, and had reluctantly allowed Perry's stylist to do something about his hair earlier. The rented tuxedo was a perfect fit; a tempting bulge could just be seen in the crotch, and the back was snug over Harry's small, firm buttocks and slender legs. Perry's cock twitched at the thought of those firm buttocks and the tight asshole between. Down, boy.
Harry sighed and looked around. "Speaking of faggots, when is this dickwad turning up?"
Perry smirked again. "It wouldn't be a real wedding without a jealous ex-boyfriend getting pissy because he got dumped for a man with a bigger cock." Oh, Perry would lay all of his money on the other side of that one. Harry's cock was a hell of a mouthful.
"Perry the wit-meister. Fuck you."
"I'd rather fuck you," Perry replied. Harry rolled his eyes. But from the way he shifted and moved his hands discreetly in front of his crotch, Perry could tell that the idea had taken root.
The fact that he was fucking Harry - well, not right then and there, as that would have upstaged the wedding, but fucking in the general sense - still amazed Perry. Oh, he had done straight men before. Some straight businessman in a gay bar, wearing too much cologne and looking for a thrill, coming back to Perry's condo for a quick blow. Some drunk friend tongue-kissing Perry, then giggling in an alcoholic delerium as Perry jerked off on his chest - oh, and that never turned out well in the long run. So when Harry had gotten plastered and started making out with Perry the night Harmony's wedding invitation had arrived, Perry had resolved to push him away. A fanfuckingtastic resolution that had lasted all of fifteen seconds; the moment Perry had felt that hard-on against his leg, he had picked Harry up, carried him to the bedroom, tossed him on the bed, and sucked that tasty goddam cock until Harry had wailed and blown a load of bitter smoker's come.
The next morning had been awkward. You guessed that? Nice fucking job, Sherlock. But the hastily-remembered appointment followed by the lame-ass excuses when any attempt at further contact was made failed to materialize.
We fucked?
Yeah, we fucked.
A week's worth of work as usual - well, with more excessively-hearty jokes and gratuitous swearing - and then, that Friday, a just-barely-tipsy Harry turned up at his condo, mumbling something about hey-jackass-are-you-busy?
That was the night that Perry had given in and fucked Harry up the ass, and his cock was just not going to behave itself with that thought in his mind.
Yes, it was goddam bizarre to have a regular fuck who was also a workaday friend. Perry had not a fucking clue what to make of it. Rather, he was starting to get an inkling of what to make of it, and he did not like it one bit, which was why he grumbled at Harry and called him a jackoff and a fuckup. The man he had willingly taken a bullet for and would willingly do so again. Insulting him was easier then admitting he was in honest-to-Christ love with the man.
"Stand up straight," he muttered to Harry. "You're going to have a fucking question-mark spine when you're fifty." The music started, and they both turned to look at the bride as she walked in - Harry with a rictus grin on his face.
Perry had been to a few weddings, and had found them to be, without exception, an utter waste of time and money. The bride, looking vapid in a hideous dress. The groom, looking drunk and miserable. The bride's family, looking disapproving and doing everything they can to make the groom even more miserable. The bridesmaids bitchy, the male guests trying to slip roofies into their drinks.
And yet, as Harmony walked down the aisle, looking less horrid than the average bride, Perry felt the merest twinge of understanding. The desire to pull someone close to you out of the meat market. To make it clear to the world what you were all about.
Perry snorted as an unamused grin crossed his face. Harry glanced over at the sound, but Perry just stared at Harmony's smiling face.
What this was all about? Getting old was what it was all about. Grasping at a false sense of security in the form of a stylized commitment, just like all of the rabid Bridezillas. Perry was above that bullshit.
Harry's hand moved to take his own and squeeze it briefly, and his certainties shattered.
Author: Roadstergal.
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, and I make no money from it.
Notes: My friend kahvi just got married, my brother is engaged, and the 'm' word has floated out of my boy's lips in the last few days, so the topic is on my mind. Crit always welcome.
"I hate weddings," Harry grumbled.
Perry glanced over. Harry had a deathly scowl on his face as his fingers tugged at the starched white collar of his tuxedo.
"Don't play with it," Perry said, evenly. "It's not your dick." He grabbed the hand and pulled it away from Harry's collar. Harry blew an exasperated sigh and yanked his hand away.
"The only thing I hate more than fucking weddings is fucking tuxedoes," he snapped. "I look like a faggot."
"No," Perry replied, smugly, "faggots look good in tuxedoes." He adjusted his cufflink as he smirked at Harry. He was lying through his teeth. Harry looked good. No, Harry looked beyond good; he looked delectable. Not that he usually didn't, but he was a few steps past his usual attractiveness; he was clean-shaven, and had reluctantly allowed Perry's stylist to do something about his hair earlier. The rented tuxedo was a perfect fit; a tempting bulge could just be seen in the crotch, and the back was snug over Harry's small, firm buttocks and slender legs. Perry's cock twitched at the thought of those firm buttocks and the tight asshole between. Down, boy.
Harry sighed and looked around. "Speaking of faggots, when is this dickwad turning up?"
Perry smirked again. "It wouldn't be a real wedding without a jealous ex-boyfriend getting pissy because he got dumped for a man with a bigger cock." Oh, Perry would lay all of his money on the other side of that one. Harry's cock was a hell of a mouthful.
"Perry the wit-meister. Fuck you."
"I'd rather fuck you," Perry replied. Harry rolled his eyes. But from the way he shifted and moved his hands discreetly in front of his crotch, Perry could tell that the idea had taken root.
The fact that he was fucking Harry - well, not right then and there, as that would have upstaged the wedding, but fucking in the general sense - still amazed Perry. Oh, he had done straight men before. Some straight businessman in a gay bar, wearing too much cologne and looking for a thrill, coming back to Perry's condo for a quick blow. Some drunk friend tongue-kissing Perry, then giggling in an alcoholic delerium as Perry jerked off on his chest - oh, and that never turned out well in the long run. So when Harry had gotten plastered and started making out with Perry the night Harmony's wedding invitation had arrived, Perry had resolved to push him away. A fanfuckingtastic resolution that had lasted all of fifteen seconds; the moment Perry had felt that hard-on against his leg, he had picked Harry up, carried him to the bedroom, tossed him on the bed, and sucked that tasty goddam cock until Harry had wailed and blown a load of bitter smoker's come.
The next morning had been awkward. You guessed that? Nice fucking job, Sherlock. But the hastily-remembered appointment followed by the lame-ass excuses when any attempt at further contact was made failed to materialize.
We fucked?
Yeah, we fucked.
A week's worth of work as usual - well, with more excessively-hearty jokes and gratuitous swearing - and then, that Friday, a just-barely-tipsy Harry turned up at his condo, mumbling something about hey-jackass-are-you-busy?
That was the night that Perry had given in and fucked Harry up the ass, and his cock was just not going to behave itself with that thought in his mind.
Yes, it was goddam bizarre to have a regular fuck who was also a workaday friend. Perry had not a fucking clue what to make of it. Rather, he was starting to get an inkling of what to make of it, and he did not like it one bit, which was why he grumbled at Harry and called him a jackoff and a fuckup. The man he had willingly taken a bullet for and would willingly do so again. Insulting him was easier then admitting he was in honest-to-Christ love with the man.
"Stand up straight," he muttered to Harry. "You're going to have a fucking question-mark spine when you're fifty." The music started, and they both turned to look at the bride as she walked in - Harry with a rictus grin on his face.
Perry had been to a few weddings, and had found them to be, without exception, an utter waste of time and money. The bride, looking vapid in a hideous dress. The groom, looking drunk and miserable. The bride's family, looking disapproving and doing everything they can to make the groom even more miserable. The bridesmaids bitchy, the male guests trying to slip roofies into their drinks.
And yet, as Harmony walked down the aisle, looking less horrid than the average bride, Perry felt the merest twinge of understanding. The desire to pull someone close to you out of the meat market. To make it clear to the world what you were all about.
Perry snorted as an unamused grin crossed his face. Harry glanced over at the sound, but Perry just stared at Harmony's smiling face.
What this was all about? Getting old was what it was all about. Grasping at a false sense of security in the form of a stylized commitment, just like all of the rabid Bridezillas. Perry was above that bullshit.
Harry's hand moved to take his own and squeeze it briefly, and his certainties shattered.