As the large metal gateway opens in front of him, Xander wonders how he got here. He’s dressed neatly; new jeans, a clean blazer, and he’s carrying a bottle of red wine. No flowers – he decided that would be too forward, a gesture too romantic when he couldn’t even recognise his own feelings.
As he walks up the driveway, a sleek white building comes into view. The stairs leading up the doorway are lined on either side with dozens of little potted plants: herbs, cacti, succulents. Flowers probably wouldn’t have been the best choice.
Before he has the chance to knock, the front door opens, and Harry stands there with a wide smile splitting across his cheeks.
“Hi,” Harry says, stretching out the vowel; he looks giddy and his happiness bleeds into Xander’s mood, the nervous energy he didn’t know he was feeling dissipating instantly.
“Hello, Harry,” he replies with a matching grin. He goes to hug Harry, placing his free hand on the gentle curve of his waist. Harry’s hair is slightly damp where it brushes against Xander’s cheek.
They’d met up earlier in the day for sushi after having not seen each other for over a month. Harry had texted him seemingly out of nowhere, suggesting they get to know each other over a bite to eat, though when Xander remembers the shameless conversations they’d had in New York, his advances make sense.
Harry was polite and charming and witty, just as he’d remembered him from the times they’d been in each other’s company previously, yet now they were alone, not part of a group, and Xander felt a little exposed when Harry directed coquettish looks his way. It had left him on edge, stripped bare with nowhere to hide as he found himself obsessed with the green of Harry’s eyes, the pink of his mouth. When Harry proposed that they meet again, this time in the evening at Harry’s place, he couldn’t resist.
Xander had spent the afternoon jogging around Griffith Park, attempting to clear his mind but all he could think about was Harry. The first time they met was before Christmas last year, as he had mutual friends with Harry’s girlfriend at the time. He’d had some clue about Harry’s existence as pop star/heartthrob/teen sensation beforehand and had honestly expected some coked-up mess of a boy, but in actuality, he was beyond his years (and sober), so much so that the difference in age, circumstance and background between them evaporated. It wasn’t close friendship but he’d made enough of an impression to be invited for drinks later in the month with the group, and then Harry’s birthday party. Both their work schedules prevented any physical interaction until summer, when they met up with a few others in New York. Harry was beautiful like he hadn’t been to Xander before, thriving in the eyes of onlookers as he laughed and strode down streets without inhibition. In the bar that night, Harry was not reserved like he had been before, sitting with Xander in the corner of the booth, ignoring anyone who tried to intrude. He’d told him stories about his ex-boyfriend, the man he’d pulled the night before and the sex he’d had with him. Xander had felt weighed down, heavy in his seat, and couldn’t help but to exchange some stories of his own which seemed to appease Harry greatly.
Regret wasn’t the word for what he felt regarding that night, he thought while running past the observatory. Xander had never experienced attraction to any man before, so the undeniable craving he had to touch Harry at all times of the day was bizarre and so out of place; yet when he sees Harry, there’s not an awful lot to distinguish him from past girlfriends.
Being led by Harry to his kitchen, now reminds him of that. From behind he is all long, slim legs wrapped in skin tight jeans, and glossy chestnut hair down to below his shoulders. He’s wearing a monochrome polka dot shirt, sheer, so Xander can see the smooth planes of his back - his broad shoulders, tapering into a tiny waist, hips and arse.
Harry pours the wine (an excellent choice, apparently) into two glasses, handing one to Xander who sits at a barstool. They make small talk as Harry goes about finishing dinner, floating about from the island surface to the hob. Once Harry’s completed cooking, he serves the meal – smoked salmon with leek and potatoes – and they sit at the long table, Xander at the head, Harry adjacent to his left.
They eat quietly, talking occasionally about the food, the wine, Xander’s job and Harry’s house, listening to the sound of some old record. Harry looks ethereal in the golden sunset; his skin glows, and again, Xander is struck by his beauty, even when Harry gets a slither of leek in between his canine and front tooth. When Harry fails to remove the food, Xander reaches over and slides his thumb nail down the bed between the teeth. He wipes his finger gently against the napkin on his lap. Upon looking up, Harry seems slightly staggered for a second, before he clicks back into place.
Soon enough, when they’ve finished their meals, Xander takes the dishes, and cleans up, after Harry acquiesces. He joins Harry on the sofa and sees that he’s filled up the wine glasses.
“Would you like to watch a movie?” He says, looking up as Xander approaches.
"No. I’m happy talking to you.”
Harry smiles sweetly, “Oh, I’m happy too.”
Harry guides the conversation effortlessly without any direction from Xander. It’s clear he’s had a lot of practice as he accommodates each of their needs. He soon begins to discuss more personal things, steered with the glass of wine in his hand. He talks about his most recent ex, how they never saw each other and when they did, they were never alone; “I really value being quiet with someone. Just talking quietly or reading or just being, with anyone. Like, nowadays people think a relationship consists of going out and getting drinks with a bunch of other people. I’m getting tired of it.”
“Is this okay then?” Xander asks cautiously.
“Yes, I can tell you’re an introvert, bit like me. I don’t think you’re like me in other areas, though,” Harry smiles bashfully. He has the base of his wine glass resting on his thigh, as he’s turned to face Xander; he rests his other arm on the back of the sofa and drops his head onto his bicep.
“What areas?” Xander can feel his hairs stand on end, a dull murmur of electricity buzzing through his body; he doesn’t even know what Harry is getting at.
“You haven’t been with a boy,” he says it like a question, though he suspects he knows the answer.
“No, I haven’t”
Harry huffs a little laugh and says, “Not even in college? I swore everyone must have – I wouldn’t know though.”
“No. No, I never felt that way about anyone. Doesn’t mean I never thought about it before.”
Harry lifts his head, takes a sip of wine, places it on the coffee table and returns to his position, clasping his hands over the top of the sofa and says, “what have you thought about?”
Xander pauses and coughs a little. He mentally curses himself for breaking the atmosphere, blocking Harry’s flow – he’s a good flirt.
“I’m sorry. If that was too forward.”
“God, Harry, no, no – You’re not-” he pauses again, looks to the fireplace, the wine, his hands, Harry’s soft eyes and his coloured mouth, “I brought that wine because I wanted to see how red your lips would get.”
“How red are they?” Harry asks gently as he smiles inwardly, looking down.
“Like, stupidly red. Like an apple, or something.”
Harry touches his mouth slightly, still looking down and mumbles, “You’re sweet.”
They converse a little more, though neither are really paying attention to what is being said. Over time, Harry inches forward, while Xander turns to his side, bringing a leg to sit horizontally on the couch. Like clockwork, Harry skates his fingers forward to lightly brush against Xander’s knee. They carry on like nothing’s happened.
“Hey, I think it’s definitely time for a movie now,” Harry says brightly, sitting up from his position.
“Yeah sure. Do you want more wine?”
“No, thank you. You can finish it off.” As Xander fills his glass up, Harry puts the television on.
“What do you want? Paddington? Fifty Shades?”
Xander laughs, “Whatever you want. I’ll let you choose, babe.”
“Oh, a gentleman.”
They settle into the film, some awful noughties rom-com that Xander is thankfully tipsy enough to tolerate. Harry is practically perched on Xander’s lap, sat happily with the presence of Xander’s arm behind him over the top of the surface. Harry brings his legs up to his side and places his hand, outstretched and large, on top of Xander’s thigh – not subtle: firm and grasping the muscle. Xander wills himself not to get hard, which Harry by some chance helps, as he begins sniffling with thirty minutes to go – Xander guesses someone’s been dumped, or someone’s dog has died; his own cynicism is stifled as his heart clenches at Harry’s longing expression and glassy eyes, and he feels some sort of primal instinct to make whatever Harry’s feeling go away. Xander, a gentleman (as Harry claimed), brings a hand to wipe his tears away, and Harry smiles with a slight wobble, allowing the little touches, before clutching the hand between his, moving it to his lap and leaning his head on Xander’s shoulder.
“This part gets me every time.”
Xander really could spend an eternity here, with Harry’s soft hair touching his cheek, his hand in his, Harry’s steady warm body against his. He finds himself nodding off with the security of his presence. He’s woken up some time later with Harry’s face staring at him from above, purposefully disturbing. He realises he’s been moved to lay down horizontally on the sofa, and that Harry’s changed – into some tiny red patterned shorts and a loose moth-bitten t-shirt that hangs from his shoulders as he leans down onto the sofa.
“Hi. Sleep well?” Xander can only grunt, still drowsy from sleep and the wine. “Well, I’m very sorry to disturb you. You look cute when you sleep. But it’s getting late and I need my beauty sleep. You’re welcome to sleep over – or I can get you a car.”
“Sorry, I’ll get out your hair. I can go.”
“I really don’t mind.” Harry looks hopeful and Xander desperately wants to stay, to see where things go, if Harry offered him a spare room, if Harry would wake up in the middle of the night, needy, desperate and come into his room, in his tight shorts and nothing else, mouth pink and wet like it always damn is.
“No, I’ll go. I'll walk some then call an Uber.” Xander smiles tightly and stands up, “are we still on for tomorrow night? Nobu?”
“Yes, definitely. I’ll text you. We can go together.”
Harry opens the front door and stands aside for Xander, who leaves a lingering kiss on his cheek as he passes by, a promise of some sorts; he’s not sure he knows what.
Harry picks Xander up in the late afternoon, arriving in a Discovery driven by Jeff. Harry’s sat in the backseat, with the door open wide for Xander as he jumps up into the car. Jeff is the first to speak as the pull out of his drive, “Hey Xander, how’s it going?”
“It’s good, man. You’re the taxi service for Harry now, as well as minder?”
Jeff laughs and Harry pouts with a drawn out hey when Xander turns to face him, so he considers it a success.
“How were you feeling this morning? Not too hungover, I hope?” Xander asks in a quieter voice to Harry. He’s wearing a billowy white shirt, adhering to the dress code of the party, though it’s broken by his signature black jeans.
“No, I wasn’t. Did you make it home alright? Didn’t pass out on the way?” Harry teases gently. They’re speaking tentatively, like they could break something between them if they ventured too close – if their conversation continued from last night.
“Nearly. That movie wore me out.” Harry laughs, dimpling adorably and Xander wants that forever.
“Oh come off it!”
The three of them arrive at Nobu some time later, passing the car onto a valet. Xander follows Harry closely, who is lead by Jeff from a distance, who is instinctively fulfilling some sort of bodyguard role for Harry, which Xander understands. They mingle for a while, having mindless conversations with people who Xander can’t work out are famous or not. He wonders why Harry was excited to go to an event like this.
At one point Xander goes off to get them drinks, which leads him to an encounter with several women. They’re beautiful, but Xander can’t help himself but to compare them to Harry, and Xander panics a little, because he realises Harry beats them every way. He leaves them with a promise to see them later at the fireworks on the beach, but he already knows he’ll be preoccupied.
Xander finds Harry soon enough, on the balcony with his shades on, hair flowing perfectly in the wind like a shampoo advert. He’s surrounded by only a few people, but everyone else on the balcony seem to be stealing glances at him. Rarely has Xander been reminded of Harry’s vast fame in the short time he’s known him, but in public, even at exclusive events like this, everyone seems to want a piece, even if from a distance.
“I thought you’d left me.” Harry says with no real sentiment after he’s introduced Xander to his little group. He won’t be remembering their names.
“Got caught up,” he smiles tightly and Harry nods, though he can sense Harry’s newfound tenseness.
Xander tries not to spend the whole time they spend talking shamelessly staring at Harry who looks glamorous as the sea breeze ruffles his shirt. Harry throws him some careful, worried looks that Xander brushes off, not wanting to disrupt Harry’s mood. He manages to add some thoughts to the conversation before the group leaves them, for which he is deeply grateful for.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Harry says as they turn to the sea, and for the first time today, he seems sincere, like he wants Xander to reciprocate.
“I’m glad I’m here. Are you okay?” Xander asks gently.
“Yeah. I’m tired, though. I kind of want to go, but I promised Jeff I would stay,” he says, “What about you. I think you’ve been enjoying it, what with the, uh, company.” It’s clear Harry is referring to the group of women he was speaking with earlier, though he hadn’t realised he’d seen. A strange feeling he can’t quite place emerges at the knowledge that Harry had been watching him. He decides he should return his brazenness.
“I came with you, didn’t I? I’ll be leaving with you as well.” Xander says, searching desperately in Harry’s eyes, who shakes his head incredulously and looks out to the sea, before turning his head again to face Xander.
“Come to mine, tonight?” He whispers, just loud enough over the buzz and commotion of the party around them. He looks up earnestly and Xander feels his heart clench and his face heat up.
A couple hours and several more drinks for Harry later and they’re making their way with the rest of the party down to the beach. It’s late twilight, the sun just below the horizon and the sky settling into a deep navy, as it melts into the sea. Xander stands next to Harry who has a group of people, including Jeff on his other side. It feels good just them together and he takes the opportunity to slide his arm around Harry’s hips, clutching gently at the soft give underneath his shirt. Beside him, Harry visibly exhales and rests his head on Xander’s shoulder, who in turn releases a long breath. Xander can’t wait for the fireworks to end so he can take Harry home.
Jeff turns to face them when the final sequence of fireworks begins, and Xander almost flinches, ready to shove Harry off him, but Jeff looks totally nonplussed, like he had expected this, whatever it is, in the first place. They make moves to exit the beach before the crowds decide to and head towards the entrance of the restaurant, which means Harry has to separate himself from Xander, though he walks with a dopey smile on his face. They wait a short while for the valet to deliver the car and climb into it when it does. Jeff turns on the radio, some bass filled dance record filling the air, as Harry moves to the middle seat to press his thighs against to Xander’s.
“Did you have fun?” Harry whispers into Xander’s ear, and a tingle shoots up his spine.
“I did. You seem sleepy,” Xander replies and Harry noses into his neck and paws at his chest.
“Nuh-uh. I have plenty of energy.” When Xander looks down, Harry has his eyes closed with a permanent smile on his lips. They arrive at Harry’s soon after, Jeff dropping them off on his drive. They part swiftly, Jeff reminding Harry to text him in the morning. Harry shuffles up the stairs, a little wobbly, and Xander, once again, holds his waist.
“Like you holding me like that,” Harry murmurs shyly. Xander doesn’t reply, just walks up and into Harry’s house, shutting the door behind them and bending down to help take Harry’s shoes off. Harry occupies himself stroking the top of Xander’s head and giggling when he glances up with a faux stern look.
“Will you help me upstairs to my bedroom?” Harry says with a smile, trying to seem innocent, though his eyes are heavy. Xander does as he’s asked, needing the excuse to touch Harry some more. When they pass the threshold of his room, Harry hugs him, throwing his arms over his shoulders and breathing into his neck.
“Mmm, thank you, Xander. Did you have a fun night? I was worried you weren’t enjoying it.”
“I had fun with you.” That makes Harry smile some more and Xander counts it as a win. When Harry unwinds his arms, Xander catches his wrists gently in his palms, before sliding their fingers together. Harry looks down at where their hands are linked and then up again.
“Hey,” Xander says quietly, and gulps, preparing himself to take initiative, “Can I kiss you?”
Harry grins and launches forward without replying, pressing his lips to Xander’s. They both moan a little and it feels like an exclamation of everything they haven’t said- couldn’t over the dozen cumulative days they’ve spent with each other since the Christmas party last year. Xander hadn’t known until now just how much he’d been wanting it: Harry’s mouth, hot and wet, with his brilliant tongue, licking the seam of his lips open. Desire comes bubbling up his throat and he breaks apart from Harry who’s smiling – always smiling – with his eyes closed. Xander laughs gently, untangling his fingers and stroking Harry’s rosy cheek. He moves his thumb to pluck at Harry’s bottom lip, who opens his mouth willingly, and Xander feels himself harden, thinking about what else he could put on Harry’s tongue. But Harry’s buzzed still; he’d had the most drinks, and the way he lolls his head to the side is testament to that.
“Harry, baby,” Harry whines at the pet name, “Time for bed.”
“No.” Harry pouts, trying (and failing) to look innocent again.
“Yes.” Xander laughs. “But I want you.”
He kisses up Xander’s throat and allows his hand to wander downwards to where Xander is half hard in his pants. “I want you too,” He says, feeling his resolve weaken as Harry clutches him lightly with a satisfied hmph,
“But you’re drunk.”
“Not,” Harry lies, smirking, and squeezes the bulge under his hand.
“C’mon,” Xander says firmly and takes Harry’s hands, leading him to the bed and leaving him space as he prompts him to undress himself. Thankfully Harry complies, wiggling around as he shuffles his jeans off. Xander makes himself busy by drawing the curtains shut, turning on Harry’s bedside lamp, and fetching a glass of water from the en suite, by which time Harry is sat on his bed, with his toes fiddling with the texture of the rug beneath them. Harry is almost naked, bar the tight black boxers, and although Xander feels like he’s seen a lot of his body (what with the barely buttoned shirts, and skin tight trousers), he still feels winded from the vision of Harry’s sun-kissed skin, golden underneath the dark tattoos. He looks thin and small against the endless white sheets, and Xander wants to crowd up against him, form a barrier with his body against anything bad that could hurt him. He also wants to touch him without any of these inhibitions. Harry thanks him when he’s handed the glass of water, which he promptly downs, so Xander takes another trip to the en suite to refill it. The boy is tucked up under the duvet when he returns, looking so cute.
“I want you to stay the night,” Harry says with his eyes shut, “In a spare bedroom, if you want.”
“Okay,” Xander replies as leans down to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead, like a child, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Harry has already dozed off before he can reply properly, so Xander leaves, not wanting to stare for longer than he assumes Harry would be comfortable with if he were conscious. It feels like overstepping some boundary, even though Harry is used to being stared at, as he relies upon it heavily for his occupation. It still seems like a dream that Xander has been granted access to this private theatre in Harry’s life. It’s easy to find a spare room despite the vast size of the house. Xander quickly strips and dives under the covers, exhausted from the day, from Harry and from his own mind. He allows his mind to do some mental gymnastics before he reaches into his boxers and pulls himself off to a finish with Harry’s spit slick lips on his mind.
Xander is awoken in the morning by the bass of a loud song playing downstairs. He props himself up on his elbows and wonders how Harry can willingly be up so early when he was as drunk as he was last night. Apparently being immune to hangovers is also on the list of Harry’s many talents. He slips on his trousers from yesterday and a cotton t-shirt he finds in the chest of drawers next to the window and heads to the kitchen. Harry is wiggling around in a movement that could be described as dancing next to the island counter, cutting up a loaf of bread into slices.
Xander gets distracted at the sight of him like this; his youthfulness is striking and Xander is reminded of the decade in age between them. It explains Harry’s capacity to resist a hangover but also makes Xander feel like a creep for even going there. Then he remembers how much Harry wanted it- wanted him; the way he kissed him and touched him and asked him for more. He stops those thoughts before he’s too flustered to even greet him.
“Oh, hey,” Harry says excitedly with a smirk when he notices him, “How do you like your eggs in the morning?”
Xander joins him by the counter and places a hand on his lower back, kissing his cheek tenderly which makes Harry blush, “However you want them, babe.”
Harry poaches the eggs expertly and plates them with a few slices of buttered toast. He joins Xander at the dining table where there’s orange juice and a bowl of fruit salad as well. They steal glances at each other in almost a comical way, like they’re teenagers with pathetic crushes (at least Xander feels fifteen years younger). The silence isn’t uncomfortable, even when Harry breaks it.
“So,” he grins down at his breakfast, “Did you sleep well last night?”
“I did, thank you. You dropped off quickly.” “Well, I was tired from the, uh, activities.” They both giggle.
“I bet,” Xander says, “You seemed to be enjoying the exertion.”
“Mhm. And you didn’t?” Harry’s stare is intense. Xander suddenly feels a tickle against his shin which he realises is Harry’s socked foot, as it trails deliberately up his leg. He holds Harry’s eyes who continues to mark a path to Xander’s crotch painfully slow, pushing into the flesh just slightly.
“No, I did,” he says, his voice rough and Harry grins, satisfied, pressing into Xander’s clothed dick one more time before sliding his foot back down. He coughs and stands up, collecting their plates to clean.
“I’m going to shower, if that’s okay,” Xander says and leaves when Harry nods an affirmation.
He showers for a while, luxuriating in the steam and expensive soaps Harry has on offer. He tries to ignore the hot pulse in his groin from the ghost of Harry’s touches and busies himself by thoroughly cleaning his body. The room is sweltering when he steps out the shower so he leaves with a towel around his waist. Harry is there unexpectedly in his room, leant against the door in an idle slouch.
When he catches sight of him he suddenly launches up from his position, darting across the room and clutching at Xander’s wet skin, mewling a pathetic ‘Xander’ and mouthing at his cheek, neck, ear desperately, wetly. Xander is frozen until he’s not, placing one hand at Harry’s soft hip and another at his head, threading his fingers through his long, curly hair and pulling upwards so their mouths meet. The lust between them is exhilarating, amplified from last night; the morning light and the sobriety with it can’t stop their actions.
“Please,” Harry’s whining and Xander’s finding it so hard not to just push him down and force more noises out of him, “Xander, I can’t do anymore of this- without it- I need.”
He’s not making sense but Xander understands that he needs some release, though he keeps kissing him, just to tease. Harry’s mouth is so sweet and lovely and he can’t wait to see what else he can do with it. They slip moans into each other’s mouths and smile when their teeth clash. Without his knowledge, Xander’s hands have moved down Harry’s warm back to the hem of his t-shirt and begins lifting it, before Harry takes it off, then returns to press his body flush against his. Xander smooths his fingers across the soft skin over his belly and lower back, trailing further down to his pert arse and squeezing, which erupts a grunt from them both. Harry begins to fidget and allows his hands to grapple at the knot on top of the towel around Xander’s hips, undoing it swiftly and letting it drop to the floor. Breaking away from his mouth, Harry knocks his forehead into Xander's chin as he looks down before whining, which makes Xander’s cheeks red hot in a flush; he’d never had any complaints but the mere sight of his dick had never triggered that response.
“You want it?” Xander says, thumbing Harry’s lip like last night. Harry encloses his mouth around the thumb and moans lowly, nodding and sucking once before letting it go and dropping to his knees instantaneously with a thud that would make Xander wince if he wasn’t too busy enthralled at the sight of Harry below him, wide doe eyes blinking owlishly at his hardened cock. Harry brings a hand up, wrapping his fist loosely around him, jerking him slowly and then looking up.
“Gonna suck you, if that’s okay.” He seems the type to be big on articulating consent so Xander replies clearly.
“Yeah, I want that, baby.” Xander had thought that he would get straight to the job at hand, begin sucking him down immediately, but instead, he mouths around the base of Xander’s dick, across his hips, at the junction of his thighs, alternating between dry kisses and wet licks. He moves his head back to let Xander’s dick bob against his lips, smearing pre come against them which Harry promptly licks. Teasing further, he mouths more fervently down the shaft in his hand, cradling the head in his palm while he presses sucking kisses all over. By the time he reaches the head, Xander’s head is spinning from anticipation. Harry pouts his lips all over the head, licking into the slit and looking up devilishly before sliding the dick into his mouth at an agonising pace. Xander watches as Harry’s eyes flutter closed, and the corner of his mouth upturns slightly. It’s dizzying to see him enjoy this so much, almost as much as the sensation of his tight, slick mouth.
Harry begins to bob his head ardently up and down his dick, each time almost pulling off at the head, leaving a sheen of spit, before sliding down again. The feeling causes Xander to need some grounding, but he isn’t near any surface so instead he threads his fingers through Harry’s hair, which immediately generates a low whine from the back of Harry’s throat.
“Is that good, baby?” Xander asks, his voice gruff. It occurs to him that really Harry should be the one saying it, or something like it, as he’s the one performing, giving Xander something to enjoy, but it feels the other way around – Harry takes Xander’s dick like he’s been waiting for it all year, like he couldn’t want anything else, more so than his dick to be sucked. He moans again in response, too engrossed to reply.
Without warning, he sucks down the entire shaft to his throat and Xander nearly dies, he swears it. Harry stills for a few seconds, breathing loudly through his nose but sucking, once, twice, three times in a steady pulse and the tightness of it forces Xander to pull on Harry’s hair. No gag reflex: Xander mentally adds that to the list. After a few more seconds Harry’s body begins to shake, so Xander pulls him off with a hand in his hair and on his jaw. Harry’s breaths come out erratically now, and Xander feels some withdrawal now that the only thing connecting them is a string of saliva from Harry’s lip to the head of his dick. Harry spends the moments catching his breath by caressing his tongue slopping against Xander’s dick, murmuring quiet nothings about his cock and how nice he tastes. He’s kissing down to his balls and sucks on one lightly, wetly and looks up to see Xander’s verdict. He’s never been too bothered about getting attention down there, but Harry looks to be in heaven, so he lets him have at it.
After a few moments, Harry noses his way back up before swiftly swallowing him down to the root again, deepthroating near expertly as his lips brush the base where there’s a patch of dark hair. Xander is helpless but to allow Harry to take control, so he watches mindlessly as Harry’s red lips stretch wide around the girth of him. Harry holds himself down until his eyes begin to water and his cheeks flush to the colour of roses, before lifting off and spluttering. It’s insane how he can force himself down for that long.
“Want you to fuck my mouth,” Harry voice is shot when he speaks so Xander nearly asks his to repeat himself, but the statement was undeniable, “Please,” He decides Harry’s begs will be the last of him one day.
“Okay,” Xander replies, “Put your hands behind your back.”
He’s clear and firm in a way he hasn’t been before, but Harry’s pleading eyes cause him to want to take control of the situation, of Harry. Harry is obedient and does as he says immediately which Xander is nearly ashamed to admit makes him painfully hard. He places one hand behind his head and the other on his dick and feeds it to Harry, into his open, waiting mouth. Harry suckles on it as soon as it enters his mouth, and then begins to stroke his tongue lightly on the underbelly of it. Xander then begins to thrust in and out, in and out of Harry’s mouth, forcing deeper each time into Harry’s throat. He's making these awful whimpers and his mouth and throat are emitting dirty, wet sounds, as the suction and release around his cock echoes in the room. When he looks down he sees Harry’s hips bucking desperately into his hand in irregular drives of motion, while his other hand is occupied at his chest, pulling harshly on a nipple. The sight makes him want to come, release like he’s been needing since Harry first put his lips on him so he speeds up, quicker and harder and Harry moans below him. He comes with a few grunts and final thrust into Harry’s mouth; he feels himself leaking onto Harry’s tongue as it still works around him, his mouth continuing to suckle like he’s trying to milk as much come as possible. Before he’s finished, Harry pulls off and a final white spurt releases onto Harry’s lip, across his cheek. The sight makes him want to go again.
Harry is sat at his feet, looking the epitome of wrecked. Flushed across his cheeks, neck and chest, slick mouth and messy with come, with his hand down his pants. Before Xander can realise, Harry’s trembling with an orgasm, as his thighs spread apart further and his arse drops onto the floor, head lolling onto his collarbone. Harry’s smiling happily and it makes Xander drop to his knees, manoeuvring them to a position where Harry is essentially cradled between Xander’s legs, against his chest.
“You alright?” Xander speaks first before he wonders if Harry’s dozed off on him.
“Yeah,” Harry giggles and it makes Xander’s heart flutter, “Was I good?”
“So good.” He says, stroking Harry’s cheek fondly. They sit quietly for a minute before Harry speaks;
“Will the you come to the show on Thursday?” He asks, looking small in Xander’s arms.
“Babe, I already had tickets. I’m gonna be front row.” He says.
“I’m sure you’ll blend right in,” Harry grins, “You get the backstage treatment, though.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Xander laughs, “Is that a promise?”