bleh.

[schmerica]

Man, I am all out of the soda and salty junk food I bought myself to get through my period. Sad! And now I'm at the point where I'm not in much pain, except for how my head feels tight and I want to cry for no reason.

So, uh. You know. Anyone want to play comment tag with sentences or paragraphs of fic? Or do something else dorky and entertaining? I'm always up for Cliff/Shag/Marry. Or screencaps! Whatever.

*cuddles kitten sullenly*

Comments

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Mrrrrrrrrrrrrowr. It started out as my sandbox, but there's room for everybody. And yis. YUM. I am kind of lazy on historical accuracy, too, but there are always speakeasys, yeah?

*is in love with your brain*

[etben.livejournal.com]

I like your sandbox! it is a good place for my brain to be, right now.

the other one - which is kind of in the same vein, really - is at some party, pretty soon after Harry comes to stay with them, some extravaganza. according to clara, "all of the interesting people" are there. practically speaking, this means that everybody Harry meets is either fantastically wealthy, tremendously talented, or stunningly beautiful. some of them are all three, even.

and Harry's being cooed over by every single woman in the room, it feels like - everywhere he turns, there's a crowd of them, wanting to see him, hear him, take his hand, press against his arm. it's almost uncomfortable, as amazing as it is; it's too much, too soon, and he's drowning in all the attention. Ralph isn't helping at all, of course - when he's not ferrying armfuls of girls over to Harrys' corner of the room, he's leaning against the back of the couch, staring down at Harry's face, dropping all of these comments that just inflame the mob, make them want to know more and more and more.

Harry has to tilt his head back in order to glare at Ralph, but it feels uncomfortably like baring his throat, so he only does it once.

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Oh, man, YES. Ralph would totally be doing the total bastard thing. And once in a while Clara would swoop by and Harry would think she might be going to save him, but she'll just laugh and kiss him and say something about what an impression he's making and be gone again.

Later on, after everyone's gone, Harry says something to complain, and Ralph smiles and says, "It was ridiculous, wasn't it? All of those people thinking they could have a piece of you?" and puts his hand on the back of Harry's neck.

[etben.livejournal.com]

yes, yes! because Harry, poor boy, thinks that when Ralph and Clara come by, they're going to - to do something, stake some sort of claim, scare all these people off. He thinks they're going to try and protect what's theirs, because he thinks - no, he knows - that he's important to them, for whatever unfathomable reason. They're possessive of him, he knows they are; they've brought him to their house because they can't imagine him living away from them for even a day longer.

It doesn't make sense, the two of them encouraging all of this attention. He could put it down to Ralph, and Clara, and all of the tiny inexplicable things they do together and separately...but at the same time, this is so carefully planned, and they seem so pleased with it, that he can't help but think them aware, on some level, of what they're doing and - more important by far - why.

And then, after, with Ralph's hand warm and heavy on the back of his neck, Harry understands. They're possessive, to be sure, but they're also showing off, showing him off, like a child with a new toy or some small animal: Look what I found!

They're making him the center of attention so that it will be that much more obvious when they don't share.

Harry swallows, turns his body a little more towards Ralph's. Across the room, Clara's re-arranging the flowers, torn apart by the split-second brushes of a thousand coats over the course of the evening. There's a mirror behind it, and she meets Harry's eyes in it, smiling at him over her brother's shoulder.

(I love your brain, seriously. LOVE LOVE LOVE.)

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

/And then, after, with Ralph's hand warm and heavy on the back of his neck, Harry understands. They're possessive, to be sure, but they're also showing off, showing him off, like a child with a new toy or some small animal: Look what I found!

oh my LORD. i love you SO MUCH right now. !!!! just, eeee, high pitched squeak.

[etben.livejournal.com]

nooooooo! you can't just eeeeee at me (although, thank you! it's the best crack ever to have the creator pleased with me...) - you need to contribute, missy!

...please? *mournful eyes* I need someone to distract me from my translation assignment.

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Hee. I am totally falling asleep now, but i PROMISE, i'll try to give more tomorrow. <3<3<3

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Man, I am so in love with all their games and tension and everything, and yet last night when I was falling asleep my brain totally skipped ahead to the REALLY REALLY dirty parts. Like Clara giving Harry instructions on how to give his first blowjob, and Ralph watching Clara and Harry fuck and making commentary on it. Um, yeah.

BUT. Okay. God, they totally have Harry on this sort of loose leash, and it's fine -- because they know it's still a leash. He goes off by himself to work on his art, he goes out for a night or two with some of his old friends, but he comes back missing them, needing *them*.

[etben.livejournal.com]

...we could go with the porn? I have no problems with the porn: those are both lovely scenarios.

...and, actually, I'll have to tag back tomorrow: BSG friday chez shoemaster means that I am not, actually, sober enough to use my words.

[etben.livejournal.com]

And they play to that, they absolutely do. They're not angry - they're very obviously not angry with him for going out, leaving him alone. They make it into a teenage rebellion, of a sort - he comes back, full of pride at having slipped their control for a night, and they're just at the breakfast table, calm as anything. Ralph's drinking his coffee, looking idly through the news, and Clara's sitting in the sunlight, smiling a lazy smile at him.

Harry's all set to make some comment, some scathingly witty thing about how he's so sorry to have missed their evening last night, how he hopes they didn't miss him too much? Only Clara beckons him over, and he goes, leaning down to kiss her cheek, breathing in the soft, warm scent of her.

"Did you have a good time with your friends, last night?" she asks, and Harry just shrugs, unable to say anything without sounding sullen and resentful. And then Ralph notices him, looks up and smiles and calls him over, asking his help with a crossword or something similarly ridiculous. They don't ever solve it - they spend the rest of the morning filling in nonsense answers to the blanks.

It's all so calm and sweet and normal - Harry almost forgets what they're like, the rest of the time.

(...or we could write smut. smut is good!)

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

*is totally in love with your brain, my lord*

The truth is, Harry is starting to wonder if there is anything he can do to upset them like that. There seems to be no way he can go too far. He tries initiating sex -- he frigs Clara up against the wall in the hallway, he rubs Ralph's member through his pants sitting next to him at dinner. He tries refusing and declining their invitations, but they simply look disappointed, and he thinks he's missing more than he's gaining.

There seems to be no way for him to be the one in control. He's afraid he should mind that more than he does.

[etben.livejournal.com]

The trick, here is to be the one who cares the least - that's where the power is, that's how you take and get and keep control. And Harry tries - he's nonchalant and flippant and glib, he's unpredictable and mercurial and never where or when he says he'll be. He lies easily and often, and tells the truth at the strangest moments, about the most outrageous things.

No matter how far he goes, though, Clara and Ralph are always ahead of him, looking back and laughing.

In the hallway, Clara just smiles at him and wipes his cock clean with a handkerchief pulled from her purse. "Thank you, dear," she says, "that was quite nice." Nice, like he's brought her flowers or tea or something similary innocuous. She kisses his cheek, folds his fingers around the scrap of cloth, and glides off down the hallway, straightening her dress, leaving him with a soggy handkerchief and no idea what he's doing.

Ralph, for his part, keeps talking, articulate and charming and brilliant, going on about politics and art and the thousand and one people he knows. He doesn't ever look down, doesn't even look over at Harry, never shows the slightest hint that Harry's hand is wrapped around his prick, squeezing him tight and slick.

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

There's a frustration but also a thrill in it, in trying to play their games, even though he can never win. He's not quite sure, after all, why it's him they've invited to play.

They've invaded every facet of his life; he cannot imagine going back to his life without them, cannot imagine who he would be. The only thing left that's his and his alone is his work. Even when it's them he is painting, focused on -- in his art he's alone, and neither of them can get inside. Perhaps that's what keeps them interested.

Since Harry came here, he's moved on to greys and black and flashes of red, soft shapes and thick lines. It's the best work he's ever done. The nude Clara posed for, Eve unrepentant: if there's anything he'll be remembered for after he's gone, it would be this.

Clara said nothing when she saw it, merely covered her mouth with her hand. Ralph didn't look away from it, and simply said, "Harry -- Harry, this is a masterpiece." And Harry believed him, because Ralph might lie, easily and frequently and playfully, but not about things like this.

[etben.livejournal.com]

That night, at dinner, Harry's talking to one of their old family friends. He can't remember the name, but it's someone important, someone influential down at one of the big art museums. Harry's all set to be resentful, angry at Clara and Ralph for interfering like this, but he keeps remembering the look in Ralph's eyes, the way Clara's face had gone still and silent, and he listens to the elderly gentleman in the nice suit without comment.

Then, too, Clara's hand is wrapped around his cock, squeezing tighter with every pass, and that keeps him from saying anything too tremendously offensive, or anything at all, really.

Afterwards, Ralph catches him in the hallway, on his way back from checking to see if the library had a copy of [something suitably intellectual; my brain is dead] to loan to Miss Merriwether.

"You're developing quite the following, Harry," Ralph says, taking the book out of his hand and setting it on one of the million tables the house seems to have.

"It's all because of you," Harry replies, stepping back from Ralph until they're tucked in a corner. Ralph smiles, and the light against his profile is subtle and vicious and beautiful.

"I'm glad you remember that," he says, and then he's leaning in, kissing Harry fiercely, pinning him against the wall with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cock.

(have I told you today how much I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS? because, OMG HEARTS)

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

...okay, I have to admit, I am totally blanking on anymore ideas of where to take this. Instead I am just rolling around joyously over and over in the fruits of your NUMMY NUMMY BRAIN. My goodness. Oh, HARRY and CLARA and RALPH and NNRRRRRGH.

[etben.livejournal.com]

dude, my brain is nothing compared to your fandom. the glee is UNENDING OMG.

...we could write the bits you talked about earlier? with Clara talking Harry through a blowjob, or with Ralph giving running commentary on Harry and Clara having sex? please? because I kind of think this bit of it has reached its end, or at leas an end of some sort.

*puppy eyes*

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Mmmmmmm, yes. I think they would all be fully dressed, to begin with, maybe in a bedroom. Ralph is lounging in an armchair, and Clara is sitting cross-legged on the bed, perfect posture, like a queen looking over her kingdom, talking to Harry, who's standing between them.

"It's a skill, darling, so you can't expect to be good at it right away," Clara is saying to Harry, kindly, and Ralph smiles to himself and spreads his legs apart a little more, stretching the fine fabric of his trousers across his crotch.

[etben.livejournal.com]

And Harry wants to protest, but the fact of the matter is that he hasn't done this before, hasn't even imagined doing this—wanting it—before now.

He knows what it's like from the other side, of course. The first one had been Jane, the girl from the club that Max and George had taken him to, the night he'd sold his first painting. Her mouth had been wet and slick and warm, and the idea of what he was doing combined with the thing itself had been more than enough to send him over the edge. There'd been a few more in the intervening years: Alice and May and Henrietta, girls who wanted to be daring and dirty and scandalous, pushed past their inhibitions by the desire to escape their lives.

Then, Ralph and Clara. Clara first, of course; she goes first in most things, leaving Ralph to clear up her messes with sharp, cutting comments. She'd arranged him on the bed, one of their first nights, smiled at him with bright teeth and told him to stay put, there's a dear boy. He hadn't dared breathe, even, watching her move down his body and wrap her mouth around him.

"Oh, Harry," she'd said afterwards, "Ralph will be so jealous."

The next day, Ralph had caught up with him in the library, all dark eyes and devil-may-care smile; he'd pinned Harry to the wall and sucked his cock with devastating speed and talent, leaving Harry weak-kneed and clinging to the shelves, books sprawled at his feet, their covers creased and cracked.

"Clara was right," he'd said, cleaning Harry up briskly and impersonally.

For a long minute, Harry's throat had been too dry to speak. "She usually is," he'd croaked, finally, and Ralph had turned in the doorframe to smile at him, silent and impossible.

[um. yay flashback? sorry, I went on something of a tangent there...]

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Dude, this whole thing is kind of a tangent, you know? OWN IT. (Also, um, HEART. I thought we were going to try a different pov, but this is just as good. <3)

And this -- this was Clara's idea, as it was always was (or, at the very least, she was the one who always uttered them out loud). "I think you'd rather enjoy it," she had said. "I know Ralph and I will..." She trailed off, smiling at him, and had ruffled his hair a little.

Harry could think of any number of reasons to say yes, and only one reason to say no.

"Are we going to start any time soon?" Ralph said. Harry couldn't help grinning at him, matching his own expression, but Clara gave him an icy glare.

"No talking, Ralph," she said firmly. "You know better."

[etben.livejournal.com]

[dude. this fandom is a tangent. and sorry about changing the POV on you - or, rather, on failing to pick up your POV change. If you want to change it for reals, just give me a poke; we can totally do that.]

Ralph sighed, shifting in his chair; the play of the light across his trousers made Harry's fingers itch for a pencil, made his mouth water for other reasons entirely.

"Ignore him, dear," Clara murmurs, pressing herself against his back and slipping her arms around him. "He's only trying to distract you; he always does." One glance at Ralph's face is enough to confirm her words; Ralph is still smiling, but Harry can see the tension in his neck and shoulders, the desperation in the restless involuntary movement of his hips.

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

"Just let us know when you're ready, Harry," Clara says, squeezing him, her breasts and hips tight against him. "We don't want to rush you into anything."

Ralph's eyes don't leave Harry's the entire time Clara is speaking.

Harry doesn't break eye contact as he says, "I'm ready."

"Wonderful," Clara says, and her body is gone from his again just like that. "Now, darling. Kneel down."

[etben.livejournal.com]

Harry steps forward, folds to his knees with a little less control than he'd like, rests his hands on Ralph's legs, just above the knee. Clara's talking, still, but it's hard for Harry to focus on her voice - he keeps being distracted by the shape of Ralph under his hands, the fine tremors he can feel in the muscle, the slide of cloth over skin.

It's a good thing he's never been interested in sculpture, really; no stone or clay could ever capture this, and he'd be forever frustrated.

"Harry!" Clara says, and he snaps back to reality, jerking his head up from where he's been leaning towards Ralph. "Harry, dear," she says again, "If you don't want to, that's quite all right—"

"I want to," he says, and he does, he does; his throat is tight and dry with how much and how suddenly he wants this.

He doesn't need to see Clara's face to know she's smiling; the pressure of her hand on the back of his head is benediction enough.

"All right, then, dear," she says, "but you'll have to pay attention."

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

He nods, a little too quickly; he feels completely off-balance here.

"You can unbutton his fly now," Clara says.

Harry looks up and sees Ralph's face, the way he's staring at him, the way his fists are curled against the arms of the chair. He looks back down immediately and moves his hands to the front of Ralph's trousers.

[etben.livejournal.com]

Harry knows this - he's been where Ralph is, pinned to the chair by Clara's eyes, waiting and wanting and wanting to wait, wanting to see how long Clara will draw this out, how long she can hold back. Harry's been the man in the chair, staring down at the stark pale of hands on dark trousers. He knows what it feels like, the awkward backwards fumble of someone else's fingers opening his trousers, the way familiar actions feel entirely different when he isn't in control, the relief (only it isn't relief, not in any way that matters) of fabric pushed aside.

When he's done, though, and staring at Ralph's cock, he has to pause, because this - this is different, unfamiliar, impossible.

This, he doesn't know at all.

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

<3<3<3

I'm going to be leaving for long day of traveling soon, and then I'm going to be HOME for HOLIDAYS, complete with parents, grandparents and little sister, so I'm not sure how long it will take me to tag you back. But, bwee!