Fic: Terminal Blushing (1/1)
Feb. 28th, 2006 07:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thefroggUm. Ok. This really...may or may not be crackfic. It's a story in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dhvana's Harem universe, where...uh. Read the story.
You can read prior and later stories on her yahoogroups list, Dimensions_of_Dhvana.
Title: Terminal Blushing (1/1)
Author: Frogg
Rating: NC-17
Beta reader, cheerleader and wielder of the whip: Dhvana
Pairings: Connor Hawke/Ewan Macgregor, Dick Grayson/Eomer
Disclaimers: None of these beautiful people belong to me. Damn it.
Notes: The Harbor is a sentient estate where the Harem stays. It shares a telepathic bond with Orlando Bloom, who founded and runs the Harem, and will respond non-verbally to certain other members in addition to moving rooms around as needed and providing food, drinks, and other supplies.
~*~
"Uh, Dick?" Connor eyed the granite slab carved with the words "The Harbor" with suspicion.
"Mmmhmm?" Dick slowed the car to a crawl and waited for the gate to open.
"I thought you were taking me out?" Connor's voice shook the tiniest bit.
"That's the idea," Dick replied, flashing him a grin.
"This," Connor pointed to the mansion up ahead, "isn't a club."
"No, it's not." The words were patient and calm. "Look..." Dick heaved a sigh and was silent as he parked the car and turned off the engine, then turned to face his friend. "You're nervous, and a little scared, and there is no way in hell I'm taking you downtown to one of the gay bars. If Bruce didn't have my hide, Oliver would. If Roy left anything." To say nothing of the other members of the Harem. But he wouldn't mention that.
"You don't trust me to take--"
"I trust you with my life, Connor, that's not the point. I don't trust strangers with *you*."
"And I take it whoever's here aren't strangers."
"No."
Connor looked at Dick suspiciously for a moment. "Just how well do you *know* these people?"
Dick laughed and shook his head. "Most of them? Nowhere near as well as I'd like to. But I trust them not to take advantage of you. To keep you safe, even from yourself if they have to. *That* is the point of coming here." Dick tilted his head to one side, thinking. "If you find you don't like it, we can always try a club or two tomorrow. We're not exactly on a deadline."
A snort of derision was Connor's only answer, then he had the door open and was unfolding himself from the passenger seat.
Dick all but leapt out of the car, only to find Connor leaning on the roof staring at him. "What?"
"Are you going to pick out my prospective partner, too?" The question was part frustrated, part angry, part amused.
"Nope." Dick didn't bother qualify the simple statement, merely caught Connor's hand and half-dragged the skittish archer toward the front door until Connor gave in and followed on his own.
Dick stopped on the front porch, but neither rang the doorbell nor knocked on the door, instead turning to Connor and resting both hands on his shoulders. "Nothing will happen that you don't want, Connor. They understand the word no. And stop. And slow down. You can trust them, they won't hurt you."
Connor searched his friend's eyes, finding only earnest support and utter belief in whoever these people were. Somehow he managed a weak smile and nodded, and was pulled into a tight hug before Dick turned to knock.
Dick froze, hand raised, at the sight of the half-open door, Christian Slater grinning slyly in the dim light of the foyer. "Uh..." Caught flatfooted, Dick dumbly lowered his hand.
Christian just chuckled, opened the door wider, and gestured for them both to come in. "Nice pep talk, and all true." He nodded towards Connor. "Looks like you brought a friend."
Dick swallowed hard, shaking himself to clear the cobwebs. "Christian, this is Connor Hawke. Connor, Christian Slater, professional eavesdropper."
"Hey!"
Dick shrugged. "Well, the name fits"
Christian glared good-naturedly, shutting the door behind them. "So, looking for anyone in particular? I was on my way to the kitchen, so I saw you two walk up."
"And decided to embarrass Dick. I approve," Connor put in.
"Hey!"
Then all three of them were laughing, the tension between Dick and Connor from before gone.
Finally calming down, Dick flashed Connor a 'See, I told you' look. "We're actually looking for Orli, if you happen to know where he is."
Christian glanced at Connor, swiftly taking measure, before nodding in understanding. "You don't ask for much, do you? Well, Pierce," and Christian grinned broadly at Dick, who just rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, "is out on the back patio with a bunch of the others. I think Orli's probably out there. If not, I'd be happy to pass the word that you're looking for him."
Dick shook his head, getting a little worried at Connor's renewed faint look of panic. "That's all right, I'm sure we'll find him. Eventually. Until then, well..." Dick shrugged, reaching out and pulling Connor closer.
Connor sighed a little in relief, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
Christian nodded, backing off a little before saluting and disappearing down the hall.
Silence reigned in the foyer for a long moment.
Then, "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Dick asked.
"That was one person, Dick. Just how many more of them are there?"
Dick shrugged in answer, turning to start in the same direction Christian had taken a moment before. "Let's find out, shall we?"
Connor gulped audibly. "If you say so..."
"I say so. Now relax, and come on..." Dick towed him down the hall, stopping once to peek through a half-open door.
Brad Pitt and James Marsters were making out on the couch, ignoring the cheesy movie showing on the big screen television against the wall.
At the tiny squeak behind him - Connor, Dick realized with a chagrined smile - Brad paused and looked up, while James arched his back and stared at them upside down.
"Joining us, watching, or just looking for someone?" Brad asked, voice hoarse.
"Looking for Orli, sorry about the interruption," Dick said with a smile, backing out the door as best he could with Connor all but plastered against him.
"Not a problem, mate," James replied, slithering back over the back of the couch and out of sight.
Dick shut the door with a quiet click and had to center himself before he dared look at Connor.
For his part, Connor was beet red, the whites of his eyes showing. "If I spontaneously combust..." he gasped, "You're explaining this to Ollie."
"No one's died of terminal blushing, Connor." Dick's tone was amused and rueful.
"There's a first time for everything."
"Well, if you're that determined..."
Connor shuddered, forcing himself to relax. "Just...no more doors. No more anything. Just...find Orli?" The last was asked plaintively, close to pleadingly.
"Shut your eyes, then, and we'll go straight to the backyard," Dick advised, reaching out to take Connor's hand.
"Okay," Connor agreed all too readily.
'Just in time, too,' Dick thought to himself, catching sight of the ongoing game of Strip Twister taking place in the great room just past the kitchen. Then he was opening the patio door and tugging Connor outside. "You can open your eyes now."
Connor did so and looked around. Men of all description were lounging, sitting, sprawling on lawn furniture, in chairs or hammocks or on the grass just past the edge of the patio. Some were smoking, most were drinking, and there was much talk and laughter. A pair of striking identical twins, black hair falling to their waists, was escorting an attractive young man in tight breeches somewhere off into the darkness. All three of them were shirtless and gleaming with sweat.
"Is he...should we...?" Connor started, confused between what he was seeing and what Dick had told him earlier.
Dick shook his head. "In this case, it's better you don't ask. Let's go this way."
Connor spared the twins one last look before following obediently as Dick wound his way through the tables and chairs and men.
"Dick!"
Dick, and a multitude of others, turned. "Pierce, hey."
"Come for a rematch?" Pierce's eyes twinkled, one corner of his mouth quirked.
"Not tonight, showing a friend around. Pierce, this is Connor Hawke. Connor, Pierce Brosnan." Dick stepped back a pace so Pierce and Connor could see each other clearly.
"Nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you more later, but I think your friend here has plans for you," Pierce laughed.
"Right now, I'd be happy just to find Orli."
Pierce nodded knowingly. "I'm sure you'll find him soon enough. In the meantime, take one of these. You might have need of it." And he tossed something to Dick.
Dick caught it reflexively, and it was his turn to blush beet red. "Here, Connor," Dick muttered, holding it out.
Connor took the red lollipop before Dick could drop it. "Why do I get the feeling I don't want to know?"
"Because your instincts are seldom wrong."
Now it was Connor's turn to blush, shoving the lollipop in his pocket and trying in vain to block the mental images. Pierce was obviously not in the 'most' that Dick didn't know as well as he wished.
Pierce just laughed at them and waved them on.
Dick scanned the yard, finally spotting a lone figure nursing a beer and watching over the crowd. Orlando. "There he is."
"Finally," Connor muttered.
"Hey, relax. Trust me, this is way better than a bar," Dick murmured, drawing Connor towards Orli.
Orlando looked up and smiled as they approached.
"Nice night," Dick said with a smile, gripping Connor's wrist tightly to keep the trembling archer from bolting.
"Yes, it is," Orlando replied, dark eyes dancing with laughter and understanding. "I see you brought a friend."
"Orlando, this is Connor Hawke. Be gentle. Connor, this is Orlando Bloom."
Dick could feel Connor twitch. "Wait...you're...you're..." Connor stammered. "You played Legolas in Lord of the Rings!"
Dick slapped his forehead with his free hand; Orlando just laughed.
"Yes, I did..." He stopped as Dick shook his head.
"I'll explain later, trust me. It's not what you think." Dick looked at Connor out of the corner of his eyes, then back at Orlando. 'He doesn't need the adoring fan treatment.'
Orlando raised one eyebrow in acknowledgement, then looked Connor over once, up and down, taking his measure. "I think I'll hold you to that." He glanced back over at Dick. "I should warn you, Harry's upstairs. Somewhere."
Dick grimaced. "If he-"
"He won't. Neither will anyone else."
Dick just stared, reading in Orlando's eyes, his posture, that Christian had, indeed, tracked him down. He let out a tiny sigh, knowing that Connor wouldn't so much as be pressured - flirted with, oh my yes, but no pressure. Nothing he wasn't ready for.
Connor just watched the other two, feeling the mantle of authority, the aura of power that had nothing to do with meta abilities, that Orlando wore with ease and grace. It made him feel safe and comfortable somehow in this very uncomfortable setting. "I take it that you're the man in charge here, then?"
"That would be me, yes," Orlando said, half distracted as he looked over the men enjoying themselves. "Well," he started mildly, turning back to face Connor and holding out his free hand, "welcome to my humble abode."
Connor took Orlando's hand and shook it firmly. "There is nothing humble about it, but thank you very much," he replied with a laugh.
"When you play host for a hundred and fifty or so people, you can try cramming them in however you please. I, however, prefer a little luxury and a lot of space."
Another one of those tiny squeaks was heard as Connor goggled in shock.
"You did ask how many people were here," Dick said, shrugging. "I didn't realize that many were here, actually."
Orlando smiled. "Shall we?"
Dick nodded, knowing Orlando had settled on the perfect someone for Connor; all that was left was to introduce them and make sure Connor wasn't out of his depth.
Connor was pleased that they didn't have to go back through the mass of humanity on the patio, instead being led around a corner and through a side entrance into another empty hallway.
Orlando stopped, reaching out to touch Dick's arm. "Connor's one of your other colleagues." It wasn't quite a question.
"Green Arrow the younger, from Star City." Dick didn't even hesitate.
"Um." Connor blinked, not quite sure if he should, or wanted to, protest.
"He Knows." Nightwing's voice. That explained it all - Orlando knew, knew, that Dick was Nightwing.
Connor relaxed instantly; his own costumed identity wasn't half the secret that Dick's was. And he could see the necessity, if this was what he was beginning to suspect.
"I'm sure Dick has gone over most of them, if only in concept, but there's a few rules you should know about here." Orlando's tone was firm and unquestionable. "If you don't want someone, or something, say so. If you want something and feel comfortable asking for it, or him, or them, ask. Everyone - and I do mean *everyone* - here is clean. That said, there are condoms and lube in great supply here, for obvious reasons." And Orlando had to smile at Connor's blush. "Safe, sane, and consensual. Remember that."
Connor managed a shaky nod.
"I don't know about sane - " Dick started.
"But compared to dressing up in spandex and getting shot at, it's sane," Orlando finished for him.
"Hey!" Connor's indignant shout made the two older men laugh.
"I have a feeling you'll fit right in. Eventually," Orlando said with a laugh, leading them further down the hall, around another corner and down a flight of stairs. "Not sure you'll ever lose the blush, though. That is rather spectacular."
"I don't want him to," Dick put in.
"Terminal blushing, Dick," Connor threatened, beet red again.
Then Orlando had stopped, and was knocking on another half-open door.
"Not again," Connor said softly.
"You guys decent in there?" Orlando asked laughingly.
"Depends on your definition of decent!" was shouted back in answer.
"Come on in," a different voice answered.
Orlando looked at them both and tilted his head in invitation before pushing the door open and entering the room.
Connor felt his muscles relax just at the sight of the room itself: a finished basement-style recreation room, television, couch, recliner, with its attendant wet bar, mini fridge and microwave on one side, and a pool table, dart board, and pinball machine on the other.
And two men sprawled on the furniture, thankfully not in the middle of foreplay. Or postplay, if his instincts weren't wrong about the pair he'd seen earlier.
Orlando and Dick traded an 'Are you going to do the honors, or should I?' glance, before Dick nodded acceptance.
"Connor, this is Ewan McGregor and Eric Bana. Guys, this is Connor Hawke."
"Thought he'd be a bit more comfortable down here instead of braving the hordes upstairs," Orlando added.
Connor twitched again, blinking. "Um."
"Yes, Connor, that Ewan McGregor," Dick laughed, winking at Ewan.
Orlando glanced back at the two of them. "I take it this is part of the 'I'll explain later.'"
Dick nodded.
"I'm not sure I want to know," Ewan said.
Dick shrugged in answer. "Let's just say Connor's not had much of a chance to develop his inner fangeek."
"Why'd I ever let you talk me into this?" Connor muttered.
"Uh, you're the one - " Dick started.
"Put it this way," Connor interrupted. "I grew up in a monastery. Not much opportunity to watch television. Or movies. So I didn't expect to actually recognize anyone."
"A monk, huh? Then you're a Jedi Knight, of a sort," Ewan guessed, holding up his beer bottle in salute. "Be interesting to compare notes." He sat up on the couch to make room, his expression one of invitation.
Connor took it with some trepidation, settling into the cushions with a sigh. He watched in some relief as Dick settled into the loveseat on the corner.
Eric caught Ewan's eye as he got up. "I'm gonna go get another beer. Can I bring you anything?" he asked.
Recognizing the excuse for what it was, and knowing there was plenty in the fridge behind the bar, Ewan shook his head. "Connor?"
"No, thanks, I don't drink." Connor smiled his thanks and watched as Orlando moved away from the door to let Eric out.
"One of these days, Connor..." Dick threatened.
"You'll actually acquire a sense of humor?" Ewan broke in.
"I have a sense of humor; you people just have no appreciation for it!" Dick protested.
"That's because we have taste," Orlando added.
Connor let the banter flow around him, his tension and nervousness fading in the familiarity. He could almost imagine he was at home, or in the Titans' Tower. Eventually, he even relaxed enough to join in, aiming most of his barbs at Dick, since he was the only one the archer knew well, but earning a few sly smiles and winks from Orlando and Ewan as well.
Then, as he and Ewan were comparing meditation techniques they'd learned over the years, Orlando excused himself, saying there were other things he needed to take care of, and Dick got up as well. Connor just waved in fond farewell, knowing that, all blushing aside, Dick had been right in bringing him here.
~*~
"What I want to know," Dick started as he followed Orlando back up the stairs, "is how I got to be the poster boy for 'alternative lifestyle' in my circles?"
"Is that what they call it now?" Orlando replied with a laugh. "I don't know, but I'm glad you did. And that you brought him here." He smiled fondly over his shoulder.
Dick couldn't help but smile in response. He waited until they'd reached the kitchen before saying anything else. Then, grateful that the kitchen was empty and the game of Strip Twister had ended and its participants had gone elsewhere, "Thank you." The simple word was heartfelt.
"For what?" Orlando asked, one eyebrow arched. He turned, opening the refrigerator and handing over a beer before grabbing one for himself as he waited for an answer.
Dick shrugged. "For that, for knowing. For protecting him. He thought I'd just take him to a bar or something," he said and shuddered at the thought.
Orlando grimaced around a mouthful of beer and managed to swallow without incident. "You people trust each other with your lives and your secrets, but you don't trust each other with your hearts? Your souls? I was right when I said you people are insane." He shook his head.
"It's not like that, really, it isn't. Connor's just...in a very odd situation, with his background." Dick took a long pull at his beer bottle.
"Monastery, huh. He wasn't kidding about that?"
Dick shook his head.
Orlando nodded once. "You did the right thing, bringing him here. He's in good hands with Ewan."
"I know." Dick sounded confident, unconcerned.
Orlando knew better, could read him better than just about anyone. That was his gift, after all. "He's safe here. He'll always be safe here, you know that better than anyone." He crowded Dick back against the counter, setting his beer on the counter and rescuing Dick's before it could fall and spill across the floor. Dick's lips tasted of beer, but the tang of fear lurked beneath. "Let go, Dick, he's safe. You're safe. It's all right."
Dick shuddered, burying his face in Orlando's shoulder as his hands clutched the slender waist in a bruising grip. His own fear, fear of failure, fear of seeing the light die in Connor's eyes, came pouring out, freed of his near-legendary control.
~*~
"You know, this would be a great deal easier if you'd actually brought a bow with you," Ewan said, trying not to laugh.
"I know. I thought Dick was going to take me to a bar, and a bow and arrows aren't exactly appropriate attire for clubbing. Now scoot your right foot back an inch." Connor sounded half-strangled.
Ewan tried to slide his foot back, concentrating hard on not ruining anything else Connor had already gotten in the 'proper' position. And failed as his weight shifted, sending him lurching backwards. Only Connor's strong body behind him and the arm around his waist kept him upright. "This," Ewan said, making no move to regain his balance, "isn't working."
"Sorry, I've never tried to teach someone proper form without the requisite equipment before."
The words made Ewan shudder, moist breath across his skin raising goose bumps as arousal filled the air.
Connor trembled, then forced himself to stillness. "Ewan...?" The man's name was a question, shy and uncertain.
Ewan rested his hands over Connor's, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. "Connor?" He turned his head, awkwardly trying to make eye contact.
"Can I..." Connor stopped, saw the invitation and - dare he hope - desire in Ewan's eyes, and started again. "Can I kiss you?"
A warm smile spread across Ewan's face. "I thought you'd never ask," he replied, rubbing full-body against Connor as he turned in the archer's embrace.
Connor stared at Ewan's lips, unable to move.
Seeing the deer-in-headlights expression on Connor's face, and realizing the man was incapable of following through on his request, Ewan leaned in, tilting his head slightly, and softly kissed him.
Gasping, Connor pressed into it for a long moment before a vague sense of panic struck, making him pull away and bury his face in Ewan's neck. Gentle hands stroked up and down his back, calming him, until he gained the courage to look up.
"Would you like to try that again?" There was nothing but reassurance and a banked hunger in Ewan's eyes as he cupped Connor's cheek in one hand, a warm shiver running up his spine at the kiss Connor pressed there.
Connor swallowed hard, took a deep breath and let it out, then another, and nodded.
"Here," Ewan said, smiling, as he pried Connor's hands from their death-grip on his t-shirt and repositioned them, one at the small of his back, the other at the back of his neck. "Like this." And he leaned in again, brushing his lips over Connor's.
Connor tried to savor it, tried to learn and think about what Ewan was doing, was showing him, but lost himself in taste and sensation all too quickly. Small, hungry cries filled his ears, and at the realization that they came from his own throat, he pulled away. "More," he demanded raggedly.
One elegant eyebrow arched in question. "More kissing, more...? More what? You'll have to be a little more specific," Ewan replied, his own voice rather rough.
Struggling to control his breathing, Connor didn't answer right away; he just stared, running his hands down to Ewan's waistband and jerking his t-shirt upwards. "More."
'You over-controlled types go a little crazy when you lose it, don't you?' Ewan thought to himself, knowing far better than to say anything of the kind. Stepping back a little, he stripped off his shirt and let it fall in a puddle of fabric by the couch. "Better?"
A soft whimper was the only answer.
Ewan watched, waited, as Connor rocked forward, eyes dark. One hand rose toward him, pausing before it met his chest. "Touch me, Connor." He matched actions to words, reaching out and guiding Connor's hand to his chest.
Connor sighed deeply, running calloused fingers over hot skin, stepping closer and bending his head to Ewan's shoulder. His other arm wrapped around Ewan's back.
Ewan's hands found their way to Connor's hips, brushing up and down the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He could feel the tremors running through the archer's body, and Ewan pressed closer, nuzzling Connor's ear. "Can I take this off?" he whispered, drumming his fingers on Connor's flanks and earning a shudder.
"Mmmhmm," Connor sounded drugged, and looked it when he pulled back to let Ewan drag the shirt over his head. He shook his head, blond hair falling back into place.
Then it was Ewan's turn to stare. "You...are too beautiful for words," Ewan said breathlessly, stepping forward and drawing Connor into another kiss, soft brush of lips swiftly deepening to something of less restraint and more passion.
Connor moaned, feeling his nipples drag in sharp jerks across Ewan's chest. Unable to think, to act, he could only react to the pleasure swamping his body, the unrelenting pressure in his too-tight jeans, and pressed blunt nails into the smooth skin of Ewan's back. Then everything shifted, one strong thigh slipping between his, and Connor bucked his hips, his sharp scream muffled against Ewan's mouth as the world went white.
Thankfully braced for the weight, Ewan held Connor close, easing him through the aftershocks with soft strokes of his back. Feeling the thundering heartbeat slow, breath evening out, he rested his hands at Connor's waist. "You ok?" he asked when Connor seemed unwilling to look at him.
"'M sorry," Connor managed roughly, shame and embarrassment thick in his voice.
"What for? Connor, look at me," Ewan said firmly. "Look at me, will you?" he repeated in exasperation.
Connor thought about not looking at Ewan, but the hand beneath his jaw convinced him otherwise. The knot of shame in his gut loosened at the expression of understanding and desire in Ewan's eyes.
"I wasn't kidding when I said you're beautiful," Ewan said hoarsely. "I'm flattered, and it's nothing to be ashamed of." He could tell that Connor didn't believe him. "You think I didn't enjoy feeling you come apart in my arms? Is that it?"
The note of gentle disappointment in Ewan's voice and words was too much for Connor to bear; he lunged forward the scant distance between them, kissing Ewan hard and swallowing the resultant gasp. His hands roamed Ewan's back, pulling him closer until there wasn't a breath of space from neck to knee, the bulge in Ewan's jeans pressed deliciously between them. Connor suppressed the discomfort of his own sticky jeans, instead concentrating on giving back the same pleasure he'd been granted moments before.
Ewan tried to temper the onslaught, show Connor what he liked, but let the archer have his way. Part of his mind was too busy trying to deal with their location to do otherwise: there was no way he'd make love to Connor on the floor or the pool table, or god forbid, against the wall. The couch, loveseat and recliner were better, but offered little room.
The floor creaked as Ewan shifted his weight, the sound drifting off to his left. Harbor coming to the rescue again.
That answered that question, Ewan thought as he started nudging Connor in the right direction.
It took a moment for Connor to realize they weren't simply shifting at random. "Where?" he managed between kisses, leaving Ewan's lips swollen and empty to explore the planes of his jaw, the curve of throat and shoulder.
"Bedroom," Ewan rasped, fingers of one hand threading themselves through Connor's hair.
Connor stilled, part in nervousness, but mostly it was his training kicking in. There had been only one door in the room, the one he'd come in.
Ewan's fingers closed and he tugged Connor's head up gently, insistently. "Do you trust me?"
Swallowing hard, Connor looked Ewan in the eyes. They were much like Dick's had been, comforting, understanding, supporting, if a different color. And burning with desire. Connor couldn't help but remember Dick's words, urging him to trust. Connor nodded, leaning forward to kiss Ewan again, the whispered "Yes" swallowed between them.
Ewan let him have that soft, accepting kiss, then reluctantly backed up, drawing Connor with him to the door that hadn't been there moments before.
Connor blinked, shivered, thought about everything that had happened since he'd first talked to Dick.
About his thinly-veiled accusation of Dick choosing his partner, realized Dick hadn't.
Realized Orlando had, had measured him, what little Dick had told him, and set him up for his own seduction.
Realized he didn't give a damn as he followed the slender muscled body through a door that had not existed into a bedroom that was strange to him, but homey. Not a guestroom, nothing like a hotel room. Something welcoming and somehow very like the man who even now took him back in his arms.
~*~
Dick made his way out to the stables, thankful the usual crowds were on the other side of the house or indoors. No one out here to stop him, no one to give him a pep talk or try and make him explain his melancholy. The horses would listen without judging.
As much as he'd rather stay with Orlando the rest of the night, just stay wrapped in the man's protective embrace, there were too many others who needed his attention.
Too many others.
Dick frowned at the thought floating out of the cloudy miasma that had taken over his brain. He hadn't been a member of the Harem nearly as long as some, but it'd grown far too large for one man to run. And Orlando wasn't making any move to ask for help.
//Unlike some others I could name,// a snide voice whispered, barely heard over the stamping and faint noises of the horses in their stalls.
"Oh, shut up. This is why I talk to the horses, they don't talk back."
//You realize you're talking to yourself now.//
Dick rolled his eyes. "He can't be everything to everyone. Not anymore."
"Dick?" Eomer's voice carried across the corridor from another stall. "You talking to yourself again?"
"Hey," Dick managed wearily, throat and eyes aching from his earlier loss of control. "Wasn't expecting anyone else down here, came to talk to the horses."
"Would you rather talk to me? I'd at least offer an opinion," Eomer said, slapping the horse he was looking after on the rump. The horse shifted over and Eomer slipped out of the stall.
Dick hesitated, trying to decide.
The pause gave Eomer a chance to get a good look at him; the soldier frowned. "Don't answer that, I don't think you could if you wanted to. Upstairs, mister. There's a bottle with your name on it." Eomer gave Dick a gentle shove in the right direction before setting the bucket of grooming supplies next to the wall.
Nodding dumbly, Dick turned and started for the stairs, wondering dully if he'd actually intended to talk to the horses, or subconsciously hoped that someone would be out here to give him a good kick in the pants, metaphorically speaking.
Then he decided he just didn't want to think at all and slumped against the wall at the top of the stairs. A moment later he heard Eomer taking the stairs two at a time, and then he was all but dragged through the door.
"Sit down before you fall down," Eomer ordered, going straight to the cabinet he kept the liquor in.
Dick complied with a sigh, settling into the cushions and watching as Eomer splashed some strong-smelling liquor into two snifters. Then one of the glasses was shoved under his nose.
"Here. Drink. You look like someone killed your cat."
"Don't have a cat." Even so, Dick took the glass and tried to empty it, only to choke.
"I said drink, not guzzle. Amateurs," Eomer muttered taking the snifter before Dick could drop it.
"What--IS--" Dick wheezed. "That stuff?"
"Firewhiskey. Malfoy's private stock, so don't waste any more of it, ok?" Eomer wrapped Dick's hand around the glass.
Eyeing the amber liquid suspiciously, Dick tried again, taking a sip so small he could barely taste it over the lingering fire his first attempt had left behind.
"Better." Eomer retrieved his own snifter from the shelf and settled into the other chair. "Now, you want to talk, or you just want to get drunk? 'Cause I can do either one."
Dick pondered that over another sip, letting most of the liquid trickle down his throat before swallowing. "I want to stop thinking," he mumbled, eyes on the floor.
"I can help with that, too, but it'd probably work better if you stopped drinking the firewhiskey," Eomer said, amused.
"You're the one who gave it to me," Dick shot back, taking another sip before holding out the snifter.
Eomer took it and set it aside without breaking eye contact. Questions were asked wordlessly, answered the same way. Eomer surged up out of his chair, yanked Dick to his feet and backed the acrobat against the wall, pinning him there with hands and lips and body.
Dick shuddered, arching his back and wrapping his legs around the Rohirrim's waist. His last thought was that at least someone was willing to force his brain into shutting off, then everything was frantic heat and surrender.
~*~
There was something purring.
Loudly.
Considering the vibrations running through him, probably on top of him.
Connor stretched sleepily, still somewhat less than awake.
The purring paused.
Taking careful note of the lingering aches, lethargy, and the fact that his internal clock said he'd overslept by...rather a lot, Connor cracked his eyes open.
The soft edge of early morning cast Ewan in shadows.
Connor smiled softly at the tender expression on his lover's face, staunchly ignoring the fact that basement rooms did *not* have windows, and shut his eyes again. "Didn't know you had a cat."
The bed shook with quiet laughter. "I don't." Ewan leaned down and pressed a kiss to Connor's temple, then resumed rubbing the small of his back.
A low rumble of pleasure filled the room again for a long moment. Then Connor's eyes snapped open, and he turned bright red even in the dim light of the bedroom from scalp to somewhere below the edge of the sheet.
"You awake now?" Ewan asked.
Connor swallowed hard, looking rather panicked. "Uh, yeah." He moved as if to get up, legs shifting beneath the sheets, but stopped as Ewan's hand pressed more firmly.
"Don't, Connor. I enjoyed watching you sleep. And listening," Ewan added, eyes twinkling. The tension eased, and Ewan swept his free hand from the small of Connor's back up to ruffle the blond hair and back down again, watching as the green eyes closed to slits.
Relaxing under the soothing touch, Connor heard the purring start up again, and made no effort to stop it. When Ewan started pressing wet, sucking kisses to his shoulder, shifting to half blanket him, Connor rolled his shoulders, pushing at the sheet getting tangled between them.
"Good morning?" Ewan laughed against his skin, earning a full-body shiver as he pulled the sheet out and tossed it to one side. He could feel Connor watching as he swept the archer's body with his gaze, taking in the honeyed bronze skin, the red and darker marks of passion, the lack of tan lines.
"Mmhmm...So much for awkward morning afters." The words came slowly, laden with sleep and arousal. Connor shifted, rolling a little. Muscles flexed and rippled, then stilled as Ewan leaned down, blanketing him with his body, and latched onto the back of his neck, sucking another bruise into his skin. The purr deepened to something closer to a growl.
Ewan gave the deep red mark a wet kiss. "I'd ask if you're feeling ok, but I think the purring speaks for itself."
Connor twisted, catching Ewan's lips in an awkward kiss. "Sleepy and well-loved and wonderful," he answered shyly, the blush once again making its appearance. He opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped as Ewan smiled.
"Think there's room for improvement?"
"Ewan," Connor started, the blush deepening to something closer to brick despite the certainty in his eyes, "if you don't finish what you started, I'll take your balls home with me as a trophy."
There was the slight tremor of suppressed laughter. "Make it kind of hard to do this again, wouldn't it?" Ewan managed, rubbing his cheek along Connor's shoulder blade.
Connor bucked at the feel of stubble. Panting, he dropped his head almost to the pillow, supporting his upper body on his elbows as Ewan pulled back, leaving the area feeling raw and tender.
"I think..." Ewan kissed the red mark his few days' stubble had left, then licked his way across to another, fainter mark left from the night before. "Something..."
Connor shuddered, the purr starting again deep in his chest, but deeper, rougher, as Ewan painted cool, damp lines across his back, stopping to rub already bruised spots raw or suck the marks deeper into his skin. "Something...what?"
Ewan bit the next mark he came to, earning a high pitched whine. "Something slow," and he flickered his tongue over the dents left behind, "and sweet--"
"And torturous, yeah, I get that, now get *on* with it!" Connor rasped over his shoulder, shifting his weight so he could free one hand.
"Patience--"
"If you call me your Padawan, I'll go find someone else to help me take care of this."
Catching Connor's hand in one of his, Ewan flashed him a mischievous grin before bending to kiss the next mark. "Yes, Master," he laughed at Connor's hiss and growl, "Of course, Master." He rested his chin on the small of Connor's back, rubbing in small circles as he fumbled for the lube. "Anything you say, Master."
Connor was trembling by the time Ewan released his hand, and he immediately reached down to give himself some relief only to be stopped short.
"Don't. It'll be worth it, trust me."
"I'll hold you to that," Connor managed through clenched teeth. A warm hand smoothed down his side and he curved into it, following as Ewan urged him silently into position. His skin darkened as he realized, remembered how he must be on display, ass up and open, balls tight beneath. Then there was no room for embarrassment as warm air wafted over his anus. "Ewan?"
"Relax." The word was half reassurance, half amusement.
Somehow Connor didn't trust it. Then he found out why.
Warm. Wet. Licking up and down the cleft, around the puckered entrance itself, then thrusting in, curling...Connor whimpered, pushing back, shivering as Ewan hummed against him, his fingers clenched in the sheet, twisting, and still it went on, Ewan pulling his thighs further apart, tilting his hips for deeper penetration.
"Please," Connor gasped, begged, desperate.
Ewan gave him one last, wet kiss, swiftly replacing his tongue with a single slick finger.
Connor squeaked at the sudden intrusion, then relaxed, arching and squirming as Ewan gently stretched him. The rumbling purr started up again as the frantic need abated a little and then there were two fingers inside, scissoring.
Fighting down laughter at Connor's purring, Ewan stroked his hip soothingly. "That's it, relax. Slow is good," he murmured, whispering reassurances as he eased himself over Connor's back. Adding a third finger, he started thrusting, twisting his fingers and making sure Connor was loose and slick and ready, a steady pleasuring without the sparks of need and ecstasy that Connor was looking for.
Letting Ewan's voice and touch ease him back from the edge, Connor found himself basking, rocking with each careful thrust. He felt the vibrations of his own purring deep in his chest, sharpening momentarily each time one of the marks on his back was touched, only to settle back into that ratcheting thrum he'd never known himself capable of before. Some tiny fraction of his mind marveled at his sudden acquiescence, the abrupt shift between being frantic for relief, for release, and this languorous savoring. Then even that vague thought dissolved.
Ewan lifted up, swiftly replacing fingers with hard shaft and sank deep, plastering his chest to Connor's sweat-slicked back and pinning him in place before the archer could do more than whine in reaction. "Easy," Ewan whispered roughly, keeping his hips flush with Connor's buttocks as he struggled for control. "I'm not going to move." His hands skimmed down Connor's arms to twine fingers.
Words were lost on Connor as he trembled, unconsciously squeezing Ewan's fingers between his own. His breath came in gasps, the purr reduced to broken whimpers as he shifted, adjusting. He felt engulfed, sheltered in the curve of Ewan's body, protected in ways he had no hope of explaining. This was safety.
The slight burn faded, and Connor squirmed, needing to move, needing Ewan to take control, and he yelped as pleasure flared white behind his eyes.
One moment Ewan was using every trick he knew to keep his promise not to move as he felt every twitch and flex of Connor's body; the next, wide-eyed and startled, wondering what went wrong as Connor's body went rock-still, the archer muttering, "No..." and "Off..." and "Too much..." between keening whimpers. "Connor?" His voice was raspy, hoarse with concern and an iron control wearing thin.
"Don't want to, too much, too soon. Not yet," Connor managed. He squeezed Ewan's fingers between his own again, hoping.
Ewan blinked. Connor wasn't giving him freedom to pull out, so what...oh. He had to muffle a chuckle against Connor's neck as he carefully shifted his weight, stopping when he felt the tension in Connor's body ease. "Better?"
Connor didn't answer for a long moment, too busy trying to rein in his impending orgasm. The heartbeat thundering in his ears slowed a bit, and he rocked experimentally, bracing himself for another jolt.
"Connor?"
"At the risk of agreeing with you," Connor said, voice gravelly, "slow is good."
Taking that as the signal it obviously was, Ewan rolled his hips, thrusting carefully, the hot silk of Connor's body trying to keep him prisoner each time he withdrew. Kissing the red mark he'd made earlier, he murmured, "Yes, slow is good." He wasn't going to last long, he knew, but what he could give Connor...he wanted to see if he could get Connor to--
Connor started purring.
It was Ewan's turn to whine, feeling the vibrations all along Connor's back and straight up his spine from where they were so intimately connected. One thrust, a second...the third he took at the wrong angle, Connor's purring ratcheting up a notch as he hit the archer's sweet spot, and it was all over, Ewan biting the back of Connor's shoulder to muffle his scream of completion.
The clash of pleasure against pain broke Connor's control, and the weight of Ewan collapsing on top of him, the warmth of his release deep inside sent Connor over the edge a moment later. His limbs failed him, and Connor slid in an unconsciously graceful sprawl, arms outstretched, fingers still twined, and Ewan still buried deep inside.
For long minutes, the only sounds were gasps, panting whimpers and the occasional broken, muffled purring as the pair calmed.
Then Ewan shifted, trying to get his legs working so he could relieve Connor of his weight. He groaned, pausing mid-motion, as Connor clenched tight around him in protest.
"Don't," Connor mumbled. "Like you there."
"I'm heavy."
"Don't mind. Feels good," Connor managed, his face straining around a suppressed yawn. His eyes cracked open a bit at Ewan's affectionate chuckle, then closed again.
Ewan couldn't help but remember Connor as he'd first woken and compare it with him as he was now. After a few whispered promises that he wasn't going anywhere, Connor let him wiggle his hands free. He ran his fingers tenderly over the archer's shoulders, skimming them down the cooling sweat-slick torso, hoping the caress was soothing rather than arousing. A small smile of sleepy contentment crossed his lips as Connor's breathing slowed, and he reached out and snagged the sheet, tugging it over the both of them.
Connor heaved a sigh beneath him, features stilling in exhausted slumber, the purring evening out to something more felt than heard, and only if someone was up close and personal, and was looking for it.
"I guess I do have a cat, at that," Ewan mumbled, tucking the sheet tighter around their tangled bodies before closing his eyes and joining Connor in sleep.
Later would be soon enough for breakfast.
~*~
Reeling from Eomer's kiss, Dick gasped, saluting in fond farewell as he backed out the door into the morning sunshine. Turning, he felt the exquisite soreness that resulted from a good night of not thinking. Normally he'd still be abed, not thinking, but Eomer had horses to take care of, and he himself had to find out how Connor was.
If Connor was even awake yet.
Intellectually, he knew nothing seriously wrong had happened, since no one had hunted him down and made him actually think.
//And aren't you avoiding the topic at hand.//
"Not everyone fucks just to fuck, okay? Shut up." He took the porch stairs in one leap and slipped through the door, shutting it silently behind him in deference to the majority of people who were undoubtedly still asleep. Or hadn't gone to sleep yet.
~*~
Lucius Malfoy, Sean Connery and Liam Neeson were sharing breakfast and newspapers at the kitchen table.
Dick stopped at the counter, snagging a blueberry muffin and a cup of hot cocoa.
"Well, you're in a chipper mood this morning," Sean said, glancing up from the London Times.
Dick grinned, peeling the paper off his muffin. "It's not often I manage not to think. And not to think that well." His eyes were twinkling as he said it, and then he'd bit into his breakfast, steam rising from the muffin.
There was a small, haughty sniff that could only have come from Lucius, but nothing more.
"Any of you seen Orlando this morning?"
"I might have," came a familiar voice from behind Dick.
Dick spun, straightening in shock and missed knocking over his cocoa only by Harbor's timely intervention. Trying to get his heart rate back under control, he gasped, "Don't do that!" His eyes read something else entirely: 'Bruce is going to kill me.'
~*~
Orlando raised an eyebrow; someone at the table coughed to cover a laugh. "As much as I hate to admit it, I'm glad I managed to sneak up on you." He tilted his head in invitation. 'Bruce answers to me, here.'
"Yeah, yeah. Listen," Dick lowered his voice, changing the subject. "I'm not trying to pry, but is Connor--?"
Orlando leaned against the pantry door, clasping one elbow with the opposite hand, and shut his eyes. A moment later, he opened them, a sly grin on his face. "Connor is, shall we say, enjoying himself at the moment. I doubt he'll be out for breakfast. Probably more like lunch."
Dick sighed in relief. "I just wanted to make sure he was taken care of."
"Of course, he's your friend." Orlando sounded surprised. "Speaking of taken care of...While Harbor is wonderful, there are certain things--" he cut himself off. "Lucius?"
"Why do you think I'm here having tea?" Lucius stared at Orlando over the rim of his mug. "I am better at that sort of spell than anyone else here. And thank Harbor for the tea. I loathe that bagged trash they dare call 'tea'."
"Harbor knows, that's why you have the good stuff in the morning," Orlando said with a smile. "Just...ah...use some discretion with the spells."
Lucius managed to look only mildly insulted. "I, sir, am a Malfoy, not one of those Weasley upstarts." Finished with the conversation, he turned back to the Daily Prophet and ignored the muffled laughter around him.
Orlando turned back to Dick and watched as he piled a plate full of pancakes and sausage, dousing the entire thing liberally with maple syrup. The way the acrobat was moving was rather telling. "You sure you don't want one of those anti-soreness spells yourself? You're rather--" He stopped as Dick looked up at him, long black hair half hiding his eyes.
"I'm used to it," Dick said, laughing, as he pulled Orlando into the other room. "Connor, on the other hand..."
Smiling ruefully, Orlando just shook his head. "I'm beginning to think your particular lifestyle requires a certain amount of just plain masochism."
"Only beginning? I was sure you'd figured that one out by now," Dick replied, then took a huge bite of his pancakes.
Orlando shrugged. "I never said I was perfect."
"Close enough as to make no difference." Dick eyed Orlando warily. "Go get some breakfast. You haven't eaten."
"Close enough, huh?" Orlando laughed and obeyed, returning from the kitchen a few minutes later with a tray covered in food and drink.
"Harbor thought you were hungry?" Dick asked, looking at the feast once his friend set it down on the table.
"Actually..." Orlando looked like he was debating with himself over something. "Something like that."
Dick and Orlando spent the rest of the morning talking over a breakfast tray that somehow never seemed to be empty. A few hours later, Connor found his way in, gingerly sitting on the edge of the loveseat, glancing at Orlando for permission before reaching for a plate.
Orlando picked up the coffee pot, rising to his feet and nodding in greeting before returning to the kitchen.
"Good morning. Or what's left of it," Dick said.
Connor smiled in answer, the expression in his eyes happy and grateful. He bent over his full plate, biting into a Danish and licking his lips clear of crumbs and icing.
Dick watched in amused relief as Connor ate, shifting his weight unconsciously. There was a slight build-up of what felt like static electricity, an increase in air pressure, then it was gone, and Connor settled back into the cushions, pain eased if not eliminated.
Connor was too astute for Lucius to risk healing him entirely. Discretion was required, after all.
Dick waited until Connor was nearly finished with his breakfast, then said, "I take it you enjoyed yourself last night."
Pausing mid-bite, Connor lowered his fork, belated turning beet red. "Um."
Dick had to grin. "I think the blush is answer enough."
"And just what did *you* do last night, Dick?" Connor asked.
Dick blinked, unsure how to answer that.
"Or, considering how well you don't know most of the people here, perhaps I should ask who?" Connor asked slyly.
Dick blushed.
dhvana's Harem universe, where...uh. Read the story.You can read prior and later stories on her yahoogroups list, Dimensions_of_Dhvana.
Title: Terminal Blushing (1/1)
Author: Frogg
Rating: NC-17
Beta reader, cheerleader and wielder of the whip: Dhvana
Pairings: Connor Hawke/Ewan Macgregor, Dick Grayson/Eomer
Disclaimers: None of these beautiful people belong to me. Damn it.
Notes: The Harbor is a sentient estate where the Harem stays. It shares a telepathic bond with Orlando Bloom, who founded and runs the Harem, and will respond non-verbally to certain other members in addition to moving rooms around as needed and providing food, drinks, and other supplies.
~*~
"Uh, Dick?" Connor eyed the granite slab carved with the words "The Harbor" with suspicion.
"Mmmhmm?" Dick slowed the car to a crawl and waited for the gate to open.
"I thought you were taking me out?" Connor's voice shook the tiniest bit.
"That's the idea," Dick replied, flashing him a grin.
"This," Connor pointed to the mansion up ahead, "isn't a club."
"No, it's not." The words were patient and calm. "Look..." Dick heaved a sigh and was silent as he parked the car and turned off the engine, then turned to face his friend. "You're nervous, and a little scared, and there is no way in hell I'm taking you downtown to one of the gay bars. If Bruce didn't have my hide, Oliver would. If Roy left anything." To say nothing of the other members of the Harem. But he wouldn't mention that.
"You don't trust me to take--"
"I trust you with my life, Connor, that's not the point. I don't trust strangers with *you*."
"And I take it whoever's here aren't strangers."
"No."
Connor looked at Dick suspiciously for a moment. "Just how well do you *know* these people?"
Dick laughed and shook his head. "Most of them? Nowhere near as well as I'd like to. But I trust them not to take advantage of you. To keep you safe, even from yourself if they have to. *That* is the point of coming here." Dick tilted his head to one side, thinking. "If you find you don't like it, we can always try a club or two tomorrow. We're not exactly on a deadline."
A snort of derision was Connor's only answer, then he had the door open and was unfolding himself from the passenger seat.
Dick all but leapt out of the car, only to find Connor leaning on the roof staring at him. "What?"
"Are you going to pick out my prospective partner, too?" The question was part frustrated, part angry, part amused.
"Nope." Dick didn't bother qualify the simple statement, merely caught Connor's hand and half-dragged the skittish archer toward the front door until Connor gave in and followed on his own.
Dick stopped on the front porch, but neither rang the doorbell nor knocked on the door, instead turning to Connor and resting both hands on his shoulders. "Nothing will happen that you don't want, Connor. They understand the word no. And stop. And slow down. You can trust them, they won't hurt you."
Connor searched his friend's eyes, finding only earnest support and utter belief in whoever these people were. Somehow he managed a weak smile and nodded, and was pulled into a tight hug before Dick turned to knock.
Dick froze, hand raised, at the sight of the half-open door, Christian Slater grinning slyly in the dim light of the foyer. "Uh..." Caught flatfooted, Dick dumbly lowered his hand.
Christian just chuckled, opened the door wider, and gestured for them both to come in. "Nice pep talk, and all true." He nodded towards Connor. "Looks like you brought a friend."
Dick swallowed hard, shaking himself to clear the cobwebs. "Christian, this is Connor Hawke. Connor, Christian Slater, professional eavesdropper."
"Hey!"
Dick shrugged. "Well, the name fits"
Christian glared good-naturedly, shutting the door behind them. "So, looking for anyone in particular? I was on my way to the kitchen, so I saw you two walk up."
"And decided to embarrass Dick. I approve," Connor put in.
"Hey!"
Then all three of them were laughing, the tension between Dick and Connor from before gone.
Finally calming down, Dick flashed Connor a 'See, I told you' look. "We're actually looking for Orli, if you happen to know where he is."
Christian glanced at Connor, swiftly taking measure, before nodding in understanding. "You don't ask for much, do you? Well, Pierce," and Christian grinned broadly at Dick, who just rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, "is out on the back patio with a bunch of the others. I think Orli's probably out there. If not, I'd be happy to pass the word that you're looking for him."
Dick shook his head, getting a little worried at Connor's renewed faint look of panic. "That's all right, I'm sure we'll find him. Eventually. Until then, well..." Dick shrugged, reaching out and pulling Connor closer.
Connor sighed a little in relief, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
Christian nodded, backing off a little before saluting and disappearing down the hall.
Silence reigned in the foyer for a long moment.
Then, "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Dick asked.
"That was one person, Dick. Just how many more of them are there?"
Dick shrugged in answer, turning to start in the same direction Christian had taken a moment before. "Let's find out, shall we?"
Connor gulped audibly. "If you say so..."
"I say so. Now relax, and come on..." Dick towed him down the hall, stopping once to peek through a half-open door.
Brad Pitt and James Marsters were making out on the couch, ignoring the cheesy movie showing on the big screen television against the wall.
At the tiny squeak behind him - Connor, Dick realized with a chagrined smile - Brad paused and looked up, while James arched his back and stared at them upside down.
"Joining us, watching, or just looking for someone?" Brad asked, voice hoarse.
"Looking for Orli, sorry about the interruption," Dick said with a smile, backing out the door as best he could with Connor all but plastered against him.
"Not a problem, mate," James replied, slithering back over the back of the couch and out of sight.
Dick shut the door with a quiet click and had to center himself before he dared look at Connor.
For his part, Connor was beet red, the whites of his eyes showing. "If I spontaneously combust..." he gasped, "You're explaining this to Ollie."
"No one's died of terminal blushing, Connor." Dick's tone was amused and rueful.
"There's a first time for everything."
"Well, if you're that determined..."
Connor shuddered, forcing himself to relax. "Just...no more doors. No more anything. Just...find Orli?" The last was asked plaintively, close to pleadingly.
"Shut your eyes, then, and we'll go straight to the backyard," Dick advised, reaching out to take Connor's hand.
"Okay," Connor agreed all too readily.
'Just in time, too,' Dick thought to himself, catching sight of the ongoing game of Strip Twister taking place in the great room just past the kitchen. Then he was opening the patio door and tugging Connor outside. "You can open your eyes now."
Connor did so and looked around. Men of all description were lounging, sitting, sprawling on lawn furniture, in chairs or hammocks or on the grass just past the edge of the patio. Some were smoking, most were drinking, and there was much talk and laughter. A pair of striking identical twins, black hair falling to their waists, was escorting an attractive young man in tight breeches somewhere off into the darkness. All three of them were shirtless and gleaming with sweat.
"Is he...should we...?" Connor started, confused between what he was seeing and what Dick had told him earlier.
Dick shook his head. "In this case, it's better you don't ask. Let's go this way."
Connor spared the twins one last look before following obediently as Dick wound his way through the tables and chairs and men.
"Dick!"
Dick, and a multitude of others, turned. "Pierce, hey."
"Come for a rematch?" Pierce's eyes twinkled, one corner of his mouth quirked.
"Not tonight, showing a friend around. Pierce, this is Connor Hawke. Connor, Pierce Brosnan." Dick stepped back a pace so Pierce and Connor could see each other clearly.
"Nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you more later, but I think your friend here has plans for you," Pierce laughed.
"Right now, I'd be happy just to find Orli."
Pierce nodded knowingly. "I'm sure you'll find him soon enough. In the meantime, take one of these. You might have need of it." And he tossed something to Dick.
Dick caught it reflexively, and it was his turn to blush beet red. "Here, Connor," Dick muttered, holding it out.
Connor took the red lollipop before Dick could drop it. "Why do I get the feeling I don't want to know?"
"Because your instincts are seldom wrong."
Now it was Connor's turn to blush, shoving the lollipop in his pocket and trying in vain to block the mental images. Pierce was obviously not in the 'most' that Dick didn't know as well as he wished.
Pierce just laughed at them and waved them on.
Dick scanned the yard, finally spotting a lone figure nursing a beer and watching over the crowd. Orlando. "There he is."
"Finally," Connor muttered.
"Hey, relax. Trust me, this is way better than a bar," Dick murmured, drawing Connor towards Orli.
Orlando looked up and smiled as they approached.
"Nice night," Dick said with a smile, gripping Connor's wrist tightly to keep the trembling archer from bolting.
"Yes, it is," Orlando replied, dark eyes dancing with laughter and understanding. "I see you brought a friend."
"Orlando, this is Connor Hawke. Be gentle. Connor, this is Orlando Bloom."
Dick could feel Connor twitch. "Wait...you're...you're..." Connor stammered. "You played Legolas in Lord of the Rings!"
Dick slapped his forehead with his free hand; Orlando just laughed.
"Yes, I did..." He stopped as Dick shook his head.
"I'll explain later, trust me. It's not what you think." Dick looked at Connor out of the corner of his eyes, then back at Orlando. 'He doesn't need the adoring fan treatment.'
Orlando raised one eyebrow in acknowledgement, then looked Connor over once, up and down, taking his measure. "I think I'll hold you to that." He glanced back over at Dick. "I should warn you, Harry's upstairs. Somewhere."
Dick grimaced. "If he-"
"He won't. Neither will anyone else."
Dick just stared, reading in Orlando's eyes, his posture, that Christian had, indeed, tracked him down. He let out a tiny sigh, knowing that Connor wouldn't so much as be pressured - flirted with, oh my yes, but no pressure. Nothing he wasn't ready for.
Connor just watched the other two, feeling the mantle of authority, the aura of power that had nothing to do with meta abilities, that Orlando wore with ease and grace. It made him feel safe and comfortable somehow in this very uncomfortable setting. "I take it that you're the man in charge here, then?"
"That would be me, yes," Orlando said, half distracted as he looked over the men enjoying themselves. "Well," he started mildly, turning back to face Connor and holding out his free hand, "welcome to my humble abode."
Connor took Orlando's hand and shook it firmly. "There is nothing humble about it, but thank you very much," he replied with a laugh.
"When you play host for a hundred and fifty or so people, you can try cramming them in however you please. I, however, prefer a little luxury and a lot of space."
Another one of those tiny squeaks was heard as Connor goggled in shock.
"You did ask how many people were here," Dick said, shrugging. "I didn't realize that many were here, actually."
Orlando smiled. "Shall we?"
Dick nodded, knowing Orlando had settled on the perfect someone for Connor; all that was left was to introduce them and make sure Connor wasn't out of his depth.
Connor was pleased that they didn't have to go back through the mass of humanity on the patio, instead being led around a corner and through a side entrance into another empty hallway.
Orlando stopped, reaching out to touch Dick's arm. "Connor's one of your other colleagues." It wasn't quite a question.
"Green Arrow the younger, from Star City." Dick didn't even hesitate.
"Um." Connor blinked, not quite sure if he should, or wanted to, protest.
"He Knows." Nightwing's voice. That explained it all - Orlando knew, knew, that Dick was Nightwing.
Connor relaxed instantly; his own costumed identity wasn't half the secret that Dick's was. And he could see the necessity, if this was what he was beginning to suspect.
"I'm sure Dick has gone over most of them, if only in concept, but there's a few rules you should know about here." Orlando's tone was firm and unquestionable. "If you don't want someone, or something, say so. If you want something and feel comfortable asking for it, or him, or them, ask. Everyone - and I do mean *everyone* - here is clean. That said, there are condoms and lube in great supply here, for obvious reasons." And Orlando had to smile at Connor's blush. "Safe, sane, and consensual. Remember that."
Connor managed a shaky nod.
"I don't know about sane - " Dick started.
"But compared to dressing up in spandex and getting shot at, it's sane," Orlando finished for him.
"Hey!" Connor's indignant shout made the two older men laugh.
"I have a feeling you'll fit right in. Eventually," Orlando said with a laugh, leading them further down the hall, around another corner and down a flight of stairs. "Not sure you'll ever lose the blush, though. That is rather spectacular."
"I don't want him to," Dick put in.
"Terminal blushing, Dick," Connor threatened, beet red again.
Then Orlando had stopped, and was knocking on another half-open door.
"Not again," Connor said softly.
"You guys decent in there?" Orlando asked laughingly.
"Depends on your definition of decent!" was shouted back in answer.
"Come on in," a different voice answered.
Orlando looked at them both and tilted his head in invitation before pushing the door open and entering the room.
Connor felt his muscles relax just at the sight of the room itself: a finished basement-style recreation room, television, couch, recliner, with its attendant wet bar, mini fridge and microwave on one side, and a pool table, dart board, and pinball machine on the other.
And two men sprawled on the furniture, thankfully not in the middle of foreplay. Or postplay, if his instincts weren't wrong about the pair he'd seen earlier.
Orlando and Dick traded an 'Are you going to do the honors, or should I?' glance, before Dick nodded acceptance.
"Connor, this is Ewan McGregor and Eric Bana. Guys, this is Connor Hawke."
"Thought he'd be a bit more comfortable down here instead of braving the hordes upstairs," Orlando added.
Connor twitched again, blinking. "Um."
"Yes, Connor, that Ewan McGregor," Dick laughed, winking at Ewan.
Orlando glanced back at the two of them. "I take it this is part of the 'I'll explain later.'"
Dick nodded.
"I'm not sure I want to know," Ewan said.
Dick shrugged in answer. "Let's just say Connor's not had much of a chance to develop his inner fangeek."
"Why'd I ever let you talk me into this?" Connor muttered.
"Uh, you're the one - " Dick started.
"Put it this way," Connor interrupted. "I grew up in a monastery. Not much opportunity to watch television. Or movies. So I didn't expect to actually recognize anyone."
"A monk, huh? Then you're a Jedi Knight, of a sort," Ewan guessed, holding up his beer bottle in salute. "Be interesting to compare notes." He sat up on the couch to make room, his expression one of invitation.
Connor took it with some trepidation, settling into the cushions with a sigh. He watched in some relief as Dick settled into the loveseat on the corner.
Eric caught Ewan's eye as he got up. "I'm gonna go get another beer. Can I bring you anything?" he asked.
Recognizing the excuse for what it was, and knowing there was plenty in the fridge behind the bar, Ewan shook his head. "Connor?"
"No, thanks, I don't drink." Connor smiled his thanks and watched as Orlando moved away from the door to let Eric out.
"One of these days, Connor..." Dick threatened.
"You'll actually acquire a sense of humor?" Ewan broke in.
"I have a sense of humor; you people just have no appreciation for it!" Dick protested.
"That's because we have taste," Orlando added.
Connor let the banter flow around him, his tension and nervousness fading in the familiarity. He could almost imagine he was at home, or in the Titans' Tower. Eventually, he even relaxed enough to join in, aiming most of his barbs at Dick, since he was the only one the archer knew well, but earning a few sly smiles and winks from Orlando and Ewan as well.
Then, as he and Ewan were comparing meditation techniques they'd learned over the years, Orlando excused himself, saying there were other things he needed to take care of, and Dick got up as well. Connor just waved in fond farewell, knowing that, all blushing aside, Dick had been right in bringing him here.
~*~
"What I want to know," Dick started as he followed Orlando back up the stairs, "is how I got to be the poster boy for 'alternative lifestyle' in my circles?"
"Is that what they call it now?" Orlando replied with a laugh. "I don't know, but I'm glad you did. And that you brought him here." He smiled fondly over his shoulder.
Dick couldn't help but smile in response. He waited until they'd reached the kitchen before saying anything else. Then, grateful that the kitchen was empty and the game of Strip Twister had ended and its participants had gone elsewhere, "Thank you." The simple word was heartfelt.
"For what?" Orlando asked, one eyebrow arched. He turned, opening the refrigerator and handing over a beer before grabbing one for himself as he waited for an answer.
Dick shrugged. "For that, for knowing. For protecting him. He thought I'd just take him to a bar or something," he said and shuddered at the thought.
Orlando grimaced around a mouthful of beer and managed to swallow without incident. "You people trust each other with your lives and your secrets, but you don't trust each other with your hearts? Your souls? I was right when I said you people are insane." He shook his head.
"It's not like that, really, it isn't. Connor's just...in a very odd situation, with his background." Dick took a long pull at his beer bottle.
"Monastery, huh. He wasn't kidding about that?"
Dick shook his head.
Orlando nodded once. "You did the right thing, bringing him here. He's in good hands with Ewan."
"I know." Dick sounded confident, unconcerned.
Orlando knew better, could read him better than just about anyone. That was his gift, after all. "He's safe here. He'll always be safe here, you know that better than anyone." He crowded Dick back against the counter, setting his beer on the counter and rescuing Dick's before it could fall and spill across the floor. Dick's lips tasted of beer, but the tang of fear lurked beneath. "Let go, Dick, he's safe. You're safe. It's all right."
Dick shuddered, burying his face in Orlando's shoulder as his hands clutched the slender waist in a bruising grip. His own fear, fear of failure, fear of seeing the light die in Connor's eyes, came pouring out, freed of his near-legendary control.
~*~
"You know, this would be a great deal easier if you'd actually brought a bow with you," Ewan said, trying not to laugh.
"I know. I thought Dick was going to take me to a bar, and a bow and arrows aren't exactly appropriate attire for clubbing. Now scoot your right foot back an inch." Connor sounded half-strangled.
Ewan tried to slide his foot back, concentrating hard on not ruining anything else Connor had already gotten in the 'proper' position. And failed as his weight shifted, sending him lurching backwards. Only Connor's strong body behind him and the arm around his waist kept him upright. "This," Ewan said, making no move to regain his balance, "isn't working."
"Sorry, I've never tried to teach someone proper form without the requisite equipment before."
The words made Ewan shudder, moist breath across his skin raising goose bumps as arousal filled the air.
Connor trembled, then forced himself to stillness. "Ewan...?" The man's name was a question, shy and uncertain.
Ewan rested his hands over Connor's, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. "Connor?" He turned his head, awkwardly trying to make eye contact.
"Can I..." Connor stopped, saw the invitation and - dare he hope - desire in Ewan's eyes, and started again. "Can I kiss you?"
A warm smile spread across Ewan's face. "I thought you'd never ask," he replied, rubbing full-body against Connor as he turned in the archer's embrace.
Connor stared at Ewan's lips, unable to move.
Seeing the deer-in-headlights expression on Connor's face, and realizing the man was incapable of following through on his request, Ewan leaned in, tilting his head slightly, and softly kissed him.
Gasping, Connor pressed into it for a long moment before a vague sense of panic struck, making him pull away and bury his face in Ewan's neck. Gentle hands stroked up and down his back, calming him, until he gained the courage to look up.
"Would you like to try that again?" There was nothing but reassurance and a banked hunger in Ewan's eyes as he cupped Connor's cheek in one hand, a warm shiver running up his spine at the kiss Connor pressed there.
Connor swallowed hard, took a deep breath and let it out, then another, and nodded.
"Here," Ewan said, smiling, as he pried Connor's hands from their death-grip on his t-shirt and repositioned them, one at the small of his back, the other at the back of his neck. "Like this." And he leaned in again, brushing his lips over Connor's.
Connor tried to savor it, tried to learn and think about what Ewan was doing, was showing him, but lost himself in taste and sensation all too quickly. Small, hungry cries filled his ears, and at the realization that they came from his own throat, he pulled away. "More," he demanded raggedly.
One elegant eyebrow arched in question. "More kissing, more...? More what? You'll have to be a little more specific," Ewan replied, his own voice rather rough.
Struggling to control his breathing, Connor didn't answer right away; he just stared, running his hands down to Ewan's waistband and jerking his t-shirt upwards. "More."
'You over-controlled types go a little crazy when you lose it, don't you?' Ewan thought to himself, knowing far better than to say anything of the kind. Stepping back a little, he stripped off his shirt and let it fall in a puddle of fabric by the couch. "Better?"
A soft whimper was the only answer.
Ewan watched, waited, as Connor rocked forward, eyes dark. One hand rose toward him, pausing before it met his chest. "Touch me, Connor." He matched actions to words, reaching out and guiding Connor's hand to his chest.
Connor sighed deeply, running calloused fingers over hot skin, stepping closer and bending his head to Ewan's shoulder. His other arm wrapped around Ewan's back.
Ewan's hands found their way to Connor's hips, brushing up and down the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He could feel the tremors running through the archer's body, and Ewan pressed closer, nuzzling Connor's ear. "Can I take this off?" he whispered, drumming his fingers on Connor's flanks and earning a shudder.
"Mmmhmm," Connor sounded drugged, and looked it when he pulled back to let Ewan drag the shirt over his head. He shook his head, blond hair falling back into place.
Then it was Ewan's turn to stare. "You...are too beautiful for words," Ewan said breathlessly, stepping forward and drawing Connor into another kiss, soft brush of lips swiftly deepening to something of less restraint and more passion.
Connor moaned, feeling his nipples drag in sharp jerks across Ewan's chest. Unable to think, to act, he could only react to the pleasure swamping his body, the unrelenting pressure in his too-tight jeans, and pressed blunt nails into the smooth skin of Ewan's back. Then everything shifted, one strong thigh slipping between his, and Connor bucked his hips, his sharp scream muffled against Ewan's mouth as the world went white.
Thankfully braced for the weight, Ewan held Connor close, easing him through the aftershocks with soft strokes of his back. Feeling the thundering heartbeat slow, breath evening out, he rested his hands at Connor's waist. "You ok?" he asked when Connor seemed unwilling to look at him.
"'M sorry," Connor managed roughly, shame and embarrassment thick in his voice.
"What for? Connor, look at me," Ewan said firmly. "Look at me, will you?" he repeated in exasperation.
Connor thought about not looking at Ewan, but the hand beneath his jaw convinced him otherwise. The knot of shame in his gut loosened at the expression of understanding and desire in Ewan's eyes.
"I wasn't kidding when I said you're beautiful," Ewan said hoarsely. "I'm flattered, and it's nothing to be ashamed of." He could tell that Connor didn't believe him. "You think I didn't enjoy feeling you come apart in my arms? Is that it?"
The note of gentle disappointment in Ewan's voice and words was too much for Connor to bear; he lunged forward the scant distance between them, kissing Ewan hard and swallowing the resultant gasp. His hands roamed Ewan's back, pulling him closer until there wasn't a breath of space from neck to knee, the bulge in Ewan's jeans pressed deliciously between them. Connor suppressed the discomfort of his own sticky jeans, instead concentrating on giving back the same pleasure he'd been granted moments before.
Ewan tried to temper the onslaught, show Connor what he liked, but let the archer have his way. Part of his mind was too busy trying to deal with their location to do otherwise: there was no way he'd make love to Connor on the floor or the pool table, or god forbid, against the wall. The couch, loveseat and recliner were better, but offered little room.
The floor creaked as Ewan shifted his weight, the sound drifting off to his left. Harbor coming to the rescue again.
That answered that question, Ewan thought as he started nudging Connor in the right direction.
It took a moment for Connor to realize they weren't simply shifting at random. "Where?" he managed between kisses, leaving Ewan's lips swollen and empty to explore the planes of his jaw, the curve of throat and shoulder.
"Bedroom," Ewan rasped, fingers of one hand threading themselves through Connor's hair.
Connor stilled, part in nervousness, but mostly it was his training kicking in. There had been only one door in the room, the one he'd come in.
Ewan's fingers closed and he tugged Connor's head up gently, insistently. "Do you trust me?"
Swallowing hard, Connor looked Ewan in the eyes. They were much like Dick's had been, comforting, understanding, supporting, if a different color. And burning with desire. Connor couldn't help but remember Dick's words, urging him to trust. Connor nodded, leaning forward to kiss Ewan again, the whispered "Yes" swallowed between them.
Ewan let him have that soft, accepting kiss, then reluctantly backed up, drawing Connor with him to the door that hadn't been there moments before.
Connor blinked, shivered, thought about everything that had happened since he'd first talked to Dick.
About his thinly-veiled accusation of Dick choosing his partner, realized Dick hadn't.
Realized Orlando had, had measured him, what little Dick had told him, and set him up for his own seduction.
Realized he didn't give a damn as he followed the slender muscled body through a door that had not existed into a bedroom that was strange to him, but homey. Not a guestroom, nothing like a hotel room. Something welcoming and somehow very like the man who even now took him back in his arms.
~*~
Dick made his way out to the stables, thankful the usual crowds were on the other side of the house or indoors. No one out here to stop him, no one to give him a pep talk or try and make him explain his melancholy. The horses would listen without judging.
As much as he'd rather stay with Orlando the rest of the night, just stay wrapped in the man's protective embrace, there were too many others who needed his attention.
Too many others.
Dick frowned at the thought floating out of the cloudy miasma that had taken over his brain. He hadn't been a member of the Harem nearly as long as some, but it'd grown far too large for one man to run. And Orlando wasn't making any move to ask for help.
//Unlike some others I could name,// a snide voice whispered, barely heard over the stamping and faint noises of the horses in their stalls.
"Oh, shut up. This is why I talk to the horses, they don't talk back."
//You realize you're talking to yourself now.//
Dick rolled his eyes. "He can't be everything to everyone. Not anymore."
"Dick?" Eomer's voice carried across the corridor from another stall. "You talking to yourself again?"
"Hey," Dick managed wearily, throat and eyes aching from his earlier loss of control. "Wasn't expecting anyone else down here, came to talk to the horses."
"Would you rather talk to me? I'd at least offer an opinion," Eomer said, slapping the horse he was looking after on the rump. The horse shifted over and Eomer slipped out of the stall.
Dick hesitated, trying to decide.
The pause gave Eomer a chance to get a good look at him; the soldier frowned. "Don't answer that, I don't think you could if you wanted to. Upstairs, mister. There's a bottle with your name on it." Eomer gave Dick a gentle shove in the right direction before setting the bucket of grooming supplies next to the wall.
Nodding dumbly, Dick turned and started for the stairs, wondering dully if he'd actually intended to talk to the horses, or subconsciously hoped that someone would be out here to give him a good kick in the pants, metaphorically speaking.
Then he decided he just didn't want to think at all and slumped against the wall at the top of the stairs. A moment later he heard Eomer taking the stairs two at a time, and then he was all but dragged through the door.
"Sit down before you fall down," Eomer ordered, going straight to the cabinet he kept the liquor in.
Dick complied with a sigh, settling into the cushions and watching as Eomer splashed some strong-smelling liquor into two snifters. Then one of the glasses was shoved under his nose.
"Here. Drink. You look like someone killed your cat."
"Don't have a cat." Even so, Dick took the glass and tried to empty it, only to choke.
"I said drink, not guzzle. Amateurs," Eomer muttered taking the snifter before Dick could drop it.
"What--IS--" Dick wheezed. "That stuff?"
"Firewhiskey. Malfoy's private stock, so don't waste any more of it, ok?" Eomer wrapped Dick's hand around the glass.
Eyeing the amber liquid suspiciously, Dick tried again, taking a sip so small he could barely taste it over the lingering fire his first attempt had left behind.
"Better." Eomer retrieved his own snifter from the shelf and settled into the other chair. "Now, you want to talk, or you just want to get drunk? 'Cause I can do either one."
Dick pondered that over another sip, letting most of the liquid trickle down his throat before swallowing. "I want to stop thinking," he mumbled, eyes on the floor.
"I can help with that, too, but it'd probably work better if you stopped drinking the firewhiskey," Eomer said, amused.
"You're the one who gave it to me," Dick shot back, taking another sip before holding out the snifter.
Eomer took it and set it aside without breaking eye contact. Questions were asked wordlessly, answered the same way. Eomer surged up out of his chair, yanked Dick to his feet and backed the acrobat against the wall, pinning him there with hands and lips and body.
Dick shuddered, arching his back and wrapping his legs around the Rohirrim's waist. His last thought was that at least someone was willing to force his brain into shutting off, then everything was frantic heat and surrender.
~*~
There was something purring.
Loudly.
Considering the vibrations running through him, probably on top of him.
Connor stretched sleepily, still somewhat less than awake.
The purring paused.
Taking careful note of the lingering aches, lethargy, and the fact that his internal clock said he'd overslept by...rather a lot, Connor cracked his eyes open.
The soft edge of early morning cast Ewan in shadows.
Connor smiled softly at the tender expression on his lover's face, staunchly ignoring the fact that basement rooms did *not* have windows, and shut his eyes again. "Didn't know you had a cat."
The bed shook with quiet laughter. "I don't." Ewan leaned down and pressed a kiss to Connor's temple, then resumed rubbing the small of his back.
A low rumble of pleasure filled the room again for a long moment. Then Connor's eyes snapped open, and he turned bright red even in the dim light of the bedroom from scalp to somewhere below the edge of the sheet.
"You awake now?" Ewan asked.
Connor swallowed hard, looking rather panicked. "Uh, yeah." He moved as if to get up, legs shifting beneath the sheets, but stopped as Ewan's hand pressed more firmly.
"Don't, Connor. I enjoyed watching you sleep. And listening," Ewan added, eyes twinkling. The tension eased, and Ewan swept his free hand from the small of Connor's back up to ruffle the blond hair and back down again, watching as the green eyes closed to slits.
Relaxing under the soothing touch, Connor heard the purring start up again, and made no effort to stop it. When Ewan started pressing wet, sucking kisses to his shoulder, shifting to half blanket him, Connor rolled his shoulders, pushing at the sheet getting tangled between them.
"Good morning?" Ewan laughed against his skin, earning a full-body shiver as he pulled the sheet out and tossed it to one side. He could feel Connor watching as he swept the archer's body with his gaze, taking in the honeyed bronze skin, the red and darker marks of passion, the lack of tan lines.
"Mmhmm...So much for awkward morning afters." The words came slowly, laden with sleep and arousal. Connor shifted, rolling a little. Muscles flexed and rippled, then stilled as Ewan leaned down, blanketing him with his body, and latched onto the back of his neck, sucking another bruise into his skin. The purr deepened to something closer to a growl.
Ewan gave the deep red mark a wet kiss. "I'd ask if you're feeling ok, but I think the purring speaks for itself."
Connor twisted, catching Ewan's lips in an awkward kiss. "Sleepy and well-loved and wonderful," he answered shyly, the blush once again making its appearance. He opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped as Ewan smiled.
"Think there's room for improvement?"
"Ewan," Connor started, the blush deepening to something closer to brick despite the certainty in his eyes, "if you don't finish what you started, I'll take your balls home with me as a trophy."
There was the slight tremor of suppressed laughter. "Make it kind of hard to do this again, wouldn't it?" Ewan managed, rubbing his cheek along Connor's shoulder blade.
Connor bucked at the feel of stubble. Panting, he dropped his head almost to the pillow, supporting his upper body on his elbows as Ewan pulled back, leaving the area feeling raw and tender.
"I think..." Ewan kissed the red mark his few days' stubble had left, then licked his way across to another, fainter mark left from the night before. "Something..."
Connor shuddered, the purr starting again deep in his chest, but deeper, rougher, as Ewan painted cool, damp lines across his back, stopping to rub already bruised spots raw or suck the marks deeper into his skin. "Something...what?"
Ewan bit the next mark he came to, earning a high pitched whine. "Something slow," and he flickered his tongue over the dents left behind, "and sweet--"
"And torturous, yeah, I get that, now get *on* with it!" Connor rasped over his shoulder, shifting his weight so he could free one hand.
"Patience--"
"If you call me your Padawan, I'll go find someone else to help me take care of this."
Catching Connor's hand in one of his, Ewan flashed him a mischievous grin before bending to kiss the next mark. "Yes, Master," he laughed at Connor's hiss and growl, "Of course, Master." He rested his chin on the small of Connor's back, rubbing in small circles as he fumbled for the lube. "Anything you say, Master."
Connor was trembling by the time Ewan released his hand, and he immediately reached down to give himself some relief only to be stopped short.
"Don't. It'll be worth it, trust me."
"I'll hold you to that," Connor managed through clenched teeth. A warm hand smoothed down his side and he curved into it, following as Ewan urged him silently into position. His skin darkened as he realized, remembered how he must be on display, ass up and open, balls tight beneath. Then there was no room for embarrassment as warm air wafted over his anus. "Ewan?"
"Relax." The word was half reassurance, half amusement.
Somehow Connor didn't trust it. Then he found out why.
Warm. Wet. Licking up and down the cleft, around the puckered entrance itself, then thrusting in, curling...Connor whimpered, pushing back, shivering as Ewan hummed against him, his fingers clenched in the sheet, twisting, and still it went on, Ewan pulling his thighs further apart, tilting his hips for deeper penetration.
"Please," Connor gasped, begged, desperate.
Ewan gave him one last, wet kiss, swiftly replacing his tongue with a single slick finger.
Connor squeaked at the sudden intrusion, then relaxed, arching and squirming as Ewan gently stretched him. The rumbling purr started up again as the frantic need abated a little and then there were two fingers inside, scissoring.
Fighting down laughter at Connor's purring, Ewan stroked his hip soothingly. "That's it, relax. Slow is good," he murmured, whispering reassurances as he eased himself over Connor's back. Adding a third finger, he started thrusting, twisting his fingers and making sure Connor was loose and slick and ready, a steady pleasuring without the sparks of need and ecstasy that Connor was looking for.
Letting Ewan's voice and touch ease him back from the edge, Connor found himself basking, rocking with each careful thrust. He felt the vibrations of his own purring deep in his chest, sharpening momentarily each time one of the marks on his back was touched, only to settle back into that ratcheting thrum he'd never known himself capable of before. Some tiny fraction of his mind marveled at his sudden acquiescence, the abrupt shift between being frantic for relief, for release, and this languorous savoring. Then even that vague thought dissolved.
Ewan lifted up, swiftly replacing fingers with hard shaft and sank deep, plastering his chest to Connor's sweat-slicked back and pinning him in place before the archer could do more than whine in reaction. "Easy," Ewan whispered roughly, keeping his hips flush with Connor's buttocks as he struggled for control. "I'm not going to move." His hands skimmed down Connor's arms to twine fingers.
Words were lost on Connor as he trembled, unconsciously squeezing Ewan's fingers between his own. His breath came in gasps, the purr reduced to broken whimpers as he shifted, adjusting. He felt engulfed, sheltered in the curve of Ewan's body, protected in ways he had no hope of explaining. This was safety.
The slight burn faded, and Connor squirmed, needing to move, needing Ewan to take control, and he yelped as pleasure flared white behind his eyes.
One moment Ewan was using every trick he knew to keep his promise not to move as he felt every twitch and flex of Connor's body; the next, wide-eyed and startled, wondering what went wrong as Connor's body went rock-still, the archer muttering, "No..." and "Off..." and "Too much..." between keening whimpers. "Connor?" His voice was raspy, hoarse with concern and an iron control wearing thin.
"Don't want to, too much, too soon. Not yet," Connor managed. He squeezed Ewan's fingers between his own again, hoping.
Ewan blinked. Connor wasn't giving him freedom to pull out, so what...oh. He had to muffle a chuckle against Connor's neck as he carefully shifted his weight, stopping when he felt the tension in Connor's body ease. "Better?"
Connor didn't answer for a long moment, too busy trying to rein in his impending orgasm. The heartbeat thundering in his ears slowed a bit, and he rocked experimentally, bracing himself for another jolt.
"Connor?"
"At the risk of agreeing with you," Connor said, voice gravelly, "slow is good."
Taking that as the signal it obviously was, Ewan rolled his hips, thrusting carefully, the hot silk of Connor's body trying to keep him prisoner each time he withdrew. Kissing the red mark he'd made earlier, he murmured, "Yes, slow is good." He wasn't going to last long, he knew, but what he could give Connor...he wanted to see if he could get Connor to--
Connor started purring.
It was Ewan's turn to whine, feeling the vibrations all along Connor's back and straight up his spine from where they were so intimately connected. One thrust, a second...the third he took at the wrong angle, Connor's purring ratcheting up a notch as he hit the archer's sweet spot, and it was all over, Ewan biting the back of Connor's shoulder to muffle his scream of completion.
The clash of pleasure against pain broke Connor's control, and the weight of Ewan collapsing on top of him, the warmth of his release deep inside sent Connor over the edge a moment later. His limbs failed him, and Connor slid in an unconsciously graceful sprawl, arms outstretched, fingers still twined, and Ewan still buried deep inside.
For long minutes, the only sounds were gasps, panting whimpers and the occasional broken, muffled purring as the pair calmed.
Then Ewan shifted, trying to get his legs working so he could relieve Connor of his weight. He groaned, pausing mid-motion, as Connor clenched tight around him in protest.
"Don't," Connor mumbled. "Like you there."
"I'm heavy."
"Don't mind. Feels good," Connor managed, his face straining around a suppressed yawn. His eyes cracked open a bit at Ewan's affectionate chuckle, then closed again.
Ewan couldn't help but remember Connor as he'd first woken and compare it with him as he was now. After a few whispered promises that he wasn't going anywhere, Connor let him wiggle his hands free. He ran his fingers tenderly over the archer's shoulders, skimming them down the cooling sweat-slick torso, hoping the caress was soothing rather than arousing. A small smile of sleepy contentment crossed his lips as Connor's breathing slowed, and he reached out and snagged the sheet, tugging it over the both of them.
Connor heaved a sigh beneath him, features stilling in exhausted slumber, the purring evening out to something more felt than heard, and only if someone was up close and personal, and was looking for it.
"I guess I do have a cat, at that," Ewan mumbled, tucking the sheet tighter around their tangled bodies before closing his eyes and joining Connor in sleep.
Later would be soon enough for breakfast.
~*~
Reeling from Eomer's kiss, Dick gasped, saluting in fond farewell as he backed out the door into the morning sunshine. Turning, he felt the exquisite soreness that resulted from a good night of not thinking. Normally he'd still be abed, not thinking, but Eomer had horses to take care of, and he himself had to find out how Connor was.
If Connor was even awake yet.
Intellectually, he knew nothing seriously wrong had happened, since no one had hunted him down and made him actually think.
//And aren't you avoiding the topic at hand.//
"Not everyone fucks just to fuck, okay? Shut up." He took the porch stairs in one leap and slipped through the door, shutting it silently behind him in deference to the majority of people who were undoubtedly still asleep. Or hadn't gone to sleep yet.
~*~
Lucius Malfoy, Sean Connery and Liam Neeson were sharing breakfast and newspapers at the kitchen table.
Dick stopped at the counter, snagging a blueberry muffin and a cup of hot cocoa.
"Well, you're in a chipper mood this morning," Sean said, glancing up from the London Times.
Dick grinned, peeling the paper off his muffin. "It's not often I manage not to think. And not to think that well." His eyes were twinkling as he said it, and then he'd bit into his breakfast, steam rising from the muffin.
There was a small, haughty sniff that could only have come from Lucius, but nothing more.
"Any of you seen Orlando this morning?"
"I might have," came a familiar voice from behind Dick.
Dick spun, straightening in shock and missed knocking over his cocoa only by Harbor's timely intervention. Trying to get his heart rate back under control, he gasped, "Don't do that!" His eyes read something else entirely: 'Bruce is going to kill me.'
~*~
Orlando raised an eyebrow; someone at the table coughed to cover a laugh. "As much as I hate to admit it, I'm glad I managed to sneak up on you." He tilted his head in invitation. 'Bruce answers to me, here.'
"Yeah, yeah. Listen," Dick lowered his voice, changing the subject. "I'm not trying to pry, but is Connor--?"
Orlando leaned against the pantry door, clasping one elbow with the opposite hand, and shut his eyes. A moment later, he opened them, a sly grin on his face. "Connor is, shall we say, enjoying himself at the moment. I doubt he'll be out for breakfast. Probably more like lunch."
Dick sighed in relief. "I just wanted to make sure he was taken care of."
"Of course, he's your friend." Orlando sounded surprised. "Speaking of taken care of...While Harbor is wonderful, there are certain things--" he cut himself off. "Lucius?"
"Why do you think I'm here having tea?" Lucius stared at Orlando over the rim of his mug. "I am better at that sort of spell than anyone else here. And thank Harbor for the tea. I loathe that bagged trash they dare call 'tea'."
"Harbor knows, that's why you have the good stuff in the morning," Orlando said with a smile. "Just...ah...use some discretion with the spells."
Lucius managed to look only mildly insulted. "I, sir, am a Malfoy, not one of those Weasley upstarts." Finished with the conversation, he turned back to the Daily Prophet and ignored the muffled laughter around him.
Orlando turned back to Dick and watched as he piled a plate full of pancakes and sausage, dousing the entire thing liberally with maple syrup. The way the acrobat was moving was rather telling. "You sure you don't want one of those anti-soreness spells yourself? You're rather--" He stopped as Dick looked up at him, long black hair half hiding his eyes.
"I'm used to it," Dick said, laughing, as he pulled Orlando into the other room. "Connor, on the other hand..."
Smiling ruefully, Orlando just shook his head. "I'm beginning to think your particular lifestyle requires a certain amount of just plain masochism."
"Only beginning? I was sure you'd figured that one out by now," Dick replied, then took a huge bite of his pancakes.
Orlando shrugged. "I never said I was perfect."
"Close enough as to make no difference." Dick eyed Orlando warily. "Go get some breakfast. You haven't eaten."
"Close enough, huh?" Orlando laughed and obeyed, returning from the kitchen a few minutes later with a tray covered in food and drink.
"Harbor thought you were hungry?" Dick asked, looking at the feast once his friend set it down on the table.
"Actually..." Orlando looked like he was debating with himself over something. "Something like that."
Dick and Orlando spent the rest of the morning talking over a breakfast tray that somehow never seemed to be empty. A few hours later, Connor found his way in, gingerly sitting on the edge of the loveseat, glancing at Orlando for permission before reaching for a plate.
Orlando picked up the coffee pot, rising to his feet and nodding in greeting before returning to the kitchen.
"Good morning. Or what's left of it," Dick said.
Connor smiled in answer, the expression in his eyes happy and grateful. He bent over his full plate, biting into a Danish and licking his lips clear of crumbs and icing.
Dick watched in amused relief as Connor ate, shifting his weight unconsciously. There was a slight build-up of what felt like static electricity, an increase in air pressure, then it was gone, and Connor settled back into the cushions, pain eased if not eliminated.
Connor was too astute for Lucius to risk healing him entirely. Discretion was required, after all.
Dick waited until Connor was nearly finished with his breakfast, then said, "I take it you enjoyed yourself last night."
Pausing mid-bite, Connor lowered his fork, belated turning beet red. "Um."
Dick had to grin. "I think the blush is answer enough."
"And just what did *you* do last night, Dick?" Connor asked.
Dick blinked, unsure how to answer that.
"Or, considering how well you don't know most of the people here, perhaps I should ask who?" Connor asked slyly.
Dick blushed.
