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palace_marton.
The Half-Mast was nice, Marton reflected soddenly. Sure, the lights hung at an angle and the floor was sinking on one side but, in his condition, what did it matter? Dunno why I bother arguing with Seanie and Harry, he thought. They always win and they're always right and they're my bestest friends. He blinked owlishly at his glass which was apparently floating two inches above the table surface. He grabbed at it and missed, realizing at the last minute that someone had hold of it and that someone was huuuge. He looked up. "You're big." he told Eric.
"That I am," Eric laughed, unable to keep the mirth out of his voice, deciding that it would be fun to tease Marton a little, bringing the glass forward and tugging it back as Marton reached for it. "You're not very good at this," Eric smirked, looking at the others around the table. Seizing the opportunity Marton grabbed the glass out of Eric's grip, triumphantly raising it to his lips.
"Oi" Eric said, secretly impressed that Marton had summoned up enough logic amidst his stupor to outsmart him.
"I may get drunk fast." Marton told him, holding up a finger to make his point. "But I still got the moves."
"Oh yeah" Eric snorted disbelievingly, "those are big words for a little man". Eric grinned lifting up his own glass, thoroughly amused at Marton's actions.
"Just because you're a giant fucking tree doesn't mean the rest of the world is small... just that you're absurdly big," Harry pointed out, tipping back the last of his beer. "I think this round's on Marton, eh? Objections? None? Sounds good."
Marton jumped up, swaying just a little and, seeing that Eric was half a head taller, poked him in the belly, causing him to fold just a little. "Not." he grinned. "Same size when flat." He looked around at Harry and Sean. Looked again to make sure it was Sean. That dark-haired thing he did when they went out always managed to throw him after a couple of drinks. "Mine." he agreed, wandering off toward the bar.
"Somebody better keep an eye on him," Harry warned. "I'm not following him into the ladies again."
Sean grinned, shaking his head. "The ladies didn't mind." he commented, glancing up at Eric. "Can you see him from there?"
"I still maintain that we should leave him to his own devices", he told Harry, turning to look out for Marton...
Sean grinned at them both, his head turning from side to side. "You two are drunker than I am drunk." he said, slurping down the last dregs from his beer glass and sighing with satisfaction. "I love doing this." he told them. "It's like a mini vacater . . . mini vacateron . . . holiday."
Eric raised an eyebrow, "You're just the soberest sober person that I ever saw". he raised his glass to his mouth, realising, when he tipped it up that it was empty. He frowned and set it down, looking round for Marton, unable to see him. "Where the hell has Marton gone?" he called out.
"You bastard- you were supposed to be watching him!" Harry gave Eric a punch in the shoulder. "Especially since he hasn't made it back with the drinks yet."
"What's wrong with you bloody looking after him?" Eric scowled, pointing a finger at Harry, "s'not just my responsibility. Is pretty much your bloody father in law after all."
"Oh fuck... well, not me, but fuck someone else," Harry scowled back. "Is not my father-in-law, ferchrissakes... now go look for him!" Harry said waving his hands at Eric, sending him off.
Eric sighed, not wanting to let Harry think he'd won but realised that someone really should go and find him. He stood up, grumbling to himself and looked around, spying Marton sat at a completely different table at the other side of the bar, table laden with drinks. He walked up to him, standing behind him and putting his hands on Marton's shoulders. "Marton?" he said quietly, almost whispering in his ear, "I don't want to alarm you but you're at the wrong table." Eric smiled, unable to understand the logic that had led him over here, "lets go back to everyone yeah?"
Marton waggled his finger at his adversary, leaning on the table. "The King," he said with drunken clarity. "Is a moron. Do you have any idea how complexicated the tariffs on imported bunny slippers can be?? The trick is, you see, they make the slippers in country A, then ship them to country B to do the embroidery thing, then add the plastical eyes in country C, an' when they come into the country the importer guy is trying to sneak them in under the quota of whichever country hasn't yet exceeded their quota, but if we've already gotten however many million "slippers, embroidered" from country B it doesn't matter that country C still has room left on their, "embellished thingamajig, footwear, plastic quota." Someone tapped his shoulder and he looked up. "Wha? Oh. Hello Ewic." he blinked. "What are you doing here?"
Eric smiled apologetically at the people sat opposite Marton, "I've come to bring you back to your table, so you can stop disturbing these nice people." Eric saw the lips of the man opposite twitch and a grin broke out on his face. "C'mon". Eric tried to lift him into an upright position but to no avail, "Marton, you need to bloody help me here."
Marton shot upright, wobbled and wrapped his arms around Eric's waist for safety. Then he cuddled him, smiling down at the table with his nice new friends sitting around it and told them, "This is Eric. He's gorgeous."
"And you're very pretty yourself Marton, now c'mon" Eric wrapped a strong arm around Marton steadying him further, "people are getting worried about you."
"Aww." Marton pouted prettily. "Can't have that. Cuuuming Seanie!" He yelled across the room and then collapsed into a fit of the giggles. "Said that a few times! Bet you have too. Eh, Eric?" He elbowed his prop in the ribs.
"And you," Eric poked him back, "lest you forget". He tried to steer Marton across the room.
Marton stopped dead in the middle of the floor, his brow furrowed. "You're drunk." he accused. "I already said that!" He looked around the room, swaying slightly. "I need to go." he said, heading for the front door instead of the bathrooms.
"Go where? Marton!" Eric hurried after his charge, who was moving surprisingly quickly for a drunk man.
"Go!" Marton looked over his shoulder, nearly colliding with a chair. "You know, go! Now!"
Eric watched Marton speed off, realising that if he was about to bugger off in hot pursuit he had better tell people that Marton was safe, well, safe-ish. He walked quickly over to their table, Harry and Sean turning to look at him. "Marton's about to do a runner, so am gonna stay with him until he sobers up a bit." The two seated men nodded and Eric went off in pursuit of the king. "Hope he doesn't bloody injure himself," Eric muttered to himself as he walked out the door, hoping that he would find Marton somewhere safe, and sensible.
~~~
Harry watched Eric go, snorting as he watched one of the guys sitting at the bar turn and take an incredibly unsubtle look at Eric's arse as he walked past. "Mate, guy on the fourth barstool in... just checked out your boyfriend's arse. If this was one of those old vid's, you'd be taking a chair to his head right about now... that or popping him one with a pint glass."
Sean lifted his head, peering around behind Harry to see. He snorted and shook his head. "I'm not that barbaric." he said. "An' that guy's not all that cute. Eric wouldn't look twice anyway. Lookit 'im, 'is bloody clothes 'an can smell 'im from 'ere."
"He can prolly smell you from here too," Harry snorted. "You're wearing half of that last... two ago... ah, whatever- that beer that you tried to chug when that guy jostled your elbow. Plus, your head looks strange."
Sean smoothed back his hair clumsily. "I know." he agreed sorrowfully. "But it washes out." He looked at his almost-empty glass and frowned at it. "Hope they hurry up." he muttered. "Am almost out. Mebbe should have stuck to shots, eh?"
"Well, too late now. Can't switch back." Harry sighed, craning his neck around and looking for Eric or Marton. "Want I should give up and go get us a round, send Orlando in to steal change off Marton's dresser to cover it later?"
Mel was on his way to the gents, stepping carefully to avoid outstretched feet and all, when he spotted a familiar face. A very familiar face. He stopped and looked hard, squinting just a little. The nose, the jaw, the eyes, the mouth... the hair was the wrong color, but hey, you could change that easy enough. It was! He deviated about a hundred degrees off course and approached the table where He was sitting. Once there, he stopped and just looked some more. His arms were wrapped around his middle and his mouth was open just a little, and he was pretty sure he had a real dopey expression on his face but he couldn't help it! He had to ask.
"Are you--? I'm sorry, I'm really sorry for interrupting and bothering you and all but, but are you... Sean Bean?"
Sean looked up at the sound of his name. And up. And up. The man was massive a veritable mountain of an individual whose thighs alone were as big round as Sean's waist! "I . . . umm . . . no." he said, trying to think. "Look-a-like. Yeah, that's it. I'm a professional look-a-like. Name's, err, Barry." He stuck out his hand.
"Quite the market in the celebrity look alike business, isn't there, Barry," Harry said, trying not to laugh. "Why pay for the real thing when a reasonable facsimile can be yours for a few bob and a nice dinner?"
"Really? Wow!" Mel took Barry's hand and pumped it carefully. "You're really good! You look just like him except for the hair, you know? And I mean exact! I've got all the calendars, and all twelve posters -- including the one you could only get with two hundred boxtops from Newberry's Strawberry Lube -- and four file cabinets with pictures and mags and articles and you look exactly like him! Were you just lucky or did you have it done?" The happy prospect of hanging out with a fellow afficionado made Mel forget all about his errand. He slid in next to Barry and settled down for a talk, waving to the waiter to bring another round.
The prospect of beer not only cheered Sean immensely, it endeared the other man to him and his smile was natural and bright. "Why, thank you . . .?" he queried. "Me and BillyBob here was gettin' a little thirsty." There, Sinclair, he thought. Me in, you in too. "It's natural." he confirmed. "And it's a good living. Opened a supermarket in Sedat last week."
You cunt. "Plus, when you go with the look-alike, you don't have to deal with the absolute diva attitude you can get from some of the Palace blokes- especially those high end, overpriced tarts. I know a bloke works up there, and he's always got stories to tell 'bout those folk."
"Really?! Wow, I'll bet that's fun! I'm Mel, I'm in construction." He reached over and shook BillyBob's hand, too. "You actually know someone who works at Palace? Wow. I've never been there, but I'm saving up. I figure if I can afford Sean just once before I retire I can die happy, you know?"
Sean's face flushed and he hid it by ducking his head into his newly-arrived fresh beer.
"Hey, Barry, have you ever met Sean himself? I mean, the real thing? Wouldn't it be great if they had, like a contest for look-alikes and he was the judge? I'll bet you'd win. All you've gotta do is bleach your hair and if you can get it that perfect dark-gold you'd have him down!"
Spluttering a little when his sip went down the wrong way, Sean looked up. "Ahh no, 'fraid not Mel." he said. "I . . . umm . . . well, I do have blond hair but I had this job see . . ." he waved a hand vaguely hinting at professional secrets and looked at Harry-BillyBob for help. Which was, of course, a stupid thing to do.
"Y'see, Mel," Harry said, relaxing back in his chair. "It's an old theatrical thing. Too close to the truth just ends up looking like a lie. The fair hair just calls attention to all the things that aren't right, y'see... but you give one major difference- the dark hair- and all the shite that's close enough for government work looks even better. It sounds backassward as all hell, but it works. Worked on you, didn't it, Mel-my-man," Harry grinned- raising his glass and clinking it with Mel's.
Mel nodded at BillyBob. "Hey, you know, that actually makes sense!" He grinned at Barry and said, "So when you're working you can say you're really Sean but that you felt like a change. Hey, maybe you wanted to match Eric? I like the contrast, myself, but that'd work for an excuse, right? Wanting to match? It just has to sound sort of plausible, you know? Or, hey, maybe you could find a guy who looks like Eric and have him go blond!" He beamed at the sheer brilliance of that thought.
Harry had a sudden coughing fit inspired by the thought of Eric as a blond.
"Hey, whoa there!" Mel reached over and slapped BillyBob on the back.
"Umm . . . yeah. Now there's a thought!" Sean smiled weakly, trying to imagine Eric blond and . . . yeah. Harry was not helping him keep a straight face, his coughing sounded like a donkey choking on hay and Mel's attempts to help simply weren't. He tried to change the subject. "So, what do you do, Mel?"
Mel gave BillyBob one last worried look. "Umm, I'm in construction, like I said. I run an extruder -- one of the hover-jobs that can go right up to the top. It's great, when I was an apprentice they only went up as far as they could run supports, had to pre-fab the poured components and hoist 'em up, but now we could go to the top of Palace and even farther and lay in a composite wall wherever they wanted with no scaffolding or anything." He gave a proud nod and took another slug of his beer.
Eyes red and watery, Harry looked across the table at Sean, again, battling down a smirk. That's the look he gets when he's trying to figure out ways to kill himself using stuff that's accessible and close at hand... "You ever been up to Palace yourself, Mel?" he asked, searching for anything to talk about that wasn't scaffolding ... or hovering jobs...
Mel squirmed a bit, feeling suddenly silly. "Well, I go to the cafe sometimes. Just to have some tea and sit and watch the people, you know? Sean never goes there but just being in the same building is kind of fun. And there are some really nice looking guys who come through there, and I can always sort of dream that one day I mightsee Sean there, you know?" Mel felt himself blushing and looked down into his glass.
Sean felt a wave of guilt wash over him and he looked to Harry-Bob for help, but he was looking the other way. He sighed and leaned across the table. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked Mel. "A real secret."
Harry's head whipped around.
Mel looked up at Barry, who was looking really serious all of a sudden. "Umm, sure."
Sean slid back the sleeve of his shirt and laid his wrist on the table. "I didn't mean to lie to you mate." he said. "But you know how it is. Man wants a quiet drink with his mates an' all."
Mel stared down at Barry's wrist. He was wearing what was unmistakably a Palace bracelet. A gold Palace bracelet. A real gold Palace bracelet. It wasn't a fake -- Mel knew what the fakes were like. He had three fake sets himself, the good ones, and he knew what was different about each one of them. These were real. And the only real gold Palace bracelets were worn by King Marton, Mads and.... "You're Sean," he whispered. "You're really Sean." He blinked, then stood up so fast his chair nearly tipped over. "Oh, man, you're Sean and I just sat right down! You wanted to have a quiet drink and I'm intruding. I'm sorry, really I am!" He started to back away.
Sean waved him back. "Sit down!" he urged. "I didn't tell you 'cause I wanted you gone. C'mon, have your drink with us, alright?" His face was flaming and he was squirming, but thankfully nobody had overheard the outburst. God! Marton'd kill him if he fucked over their anonymity. Assuming, of course, that Marton was sober enough. Which was unlikely, seeing as how he'd not reappeared just yet. Mel had slid gingerly back into his seat so Sean stopped trying to peer over in the direction of the bathrooms and gave him a brilliant smile. "Forgiven?" he asked.
"What? Of course, hey, nothing to forgive, seriously!" Mel felt himself flushing and he took a slug of his beer to try to hide it. He glanced at BillyBob and said, "So, I guess you really do know someone who works at Palace, huh?"
"Well, that was true. But I also am someone who works at Palace." Harry extended his hand across the table. "Harry Sinclair. Good to meet you, Mel."
"Hey, you too, Harry!" Mel beamed and shook his hand again. "I've heard of you! You and Sean go way back, right?"
"Back as back," Harry nodded. "'Though I can't imagine why you would know that," he said, looking politely puzzled.
"Oh, I know everything about... I mean, well, I'm a fan, you know?" Mel hunched his shoulders, feeling like he'd put his foot in it again. It was one thing to blather on when you were with other fans, but when you were with the man himself it suddenly felt sort of... impolite. Uncool, even.
"Know what it's like mate." Sean patted Mel's arm. "I met the forward of me favorite footy team once, mouth opened and closed and nothing bloody came out! You're a shit-load better than I am, lemme tell ya!"
"Oh- and when I met my lover's mom, I got all tongue tied and she cussed to snap me out of it," Harry piped up.
"Don' mind him." Sean confided. "He's pissed."
Harry scowled and stuck his tongue out at Sean, leaning back again and focusing on his beer.
Mel had perked up some at the thought that his idol had idols of his own, and had felt like a fan a time or two. "Heh, yeah. My lover's mom cusses all the time," he confided. "And you actually met the Blades' forward? That's great! Although I bet he was just as honored to meet you, you know?"
"Ahhh no." Sean scratched at the back of his head and looked kinda . . . rueful. "Wasn't the ideal time, ya know? He was head down, arse up if you know what I mean."
Mel stared, then suddenly burst out laughing. He clapped Sean on the back and hollered for another round.
~~~~~~~~~
Marton found the gents with no problem and came back out into the hallway, shirt adrift, but otherwise ready to return to the others. He went right, opened a door and discovered he should have gone left as now he was outside. He sighed, but had a look around anyway. Was a little courtyard garden with tables and chairs and furled umbrellas, ferns in bronze containers, their fronds waving in the night air and tall brick walls on all sides, separating the little haven from the rest of the world. Nice. He took a few steps further in and a deep breath of air, turning at the sound of footsteps behind him ready to apologize for trespassing to whomever had caught him. But it was Eric, not a staff member.
"Hey" Eric murmured, stepping softly towards Marton, "you ok? You seem a little worse for wear?" Marton was still swaying a bit and Eric thought they should sit down before Marton fell down. "Come on," he said, "lets sit down over there and chat for a bit, sober you up a little." Eric pointed towards a table, noting that this part of the bar was lovely.
"I'm good." Marton insisted, but still let Eric lead him toward the tables. "Bit cold though." he shivered a little, the difference in temperature making itself felt on skin exposed by the shirt he'd not tucked in properly. Marton stopped to face Eric, slid his arms around his waist and burrowed in like a heat-seeking missile, face pressed to Eric's chest. "Mmm. Das better."
Eric pulled Marton in tightly, running a strong hand along the other man's shoulders in an attempt to get him warmer. "You had a good night?" Eric asked quietly as Marton burrowed in closer together. He looked down, unable to believe how small Marton looked against his chest. Just because he's cold, Eric thought.
"Mmm." Marton was feeling all relaxed and kinda fuzzy, protected and warm. He leaned in closer, widening his stance to brace himself and slipping his hands up under Eric's shirt and onto warm skin. He could smell him, feel his heartbeat and . . . Marton's nose was itchy, so he rubbed his face on Eric's shirt. "Not over yet." he mumbled.
"Cold hands!" Eric gasped, wriggling to try and get them away from his skin but they soon warmed and Eric relaxed again. "We still have a bit of time" Eric smiled, really wanting to kiss Marton right now. He reached down, pressing his lips against Marton's forehead, not sure if he should go lower, kissing him fully on the lips. He waited to see how Marton would react.
Ooo, kisses. Marton lifted his head without a second thought and offered his lips, softly parted, fingers circling the base of Eric's spine. He couldn't get their bodies any closer if he tried, but he did try, his hips pressing against Eric's as their mouths met and fused, Eric's tongue darting out to lick his lips.
Eric cupped the back of Marton's head, bringing his head lower and claimed Marton's mouth. The kiss was brutal, Eric deeply involved ravaging Marton's mouth. Their lips parted and soon were back together; It felt right to kiss Marton and Eric wondered why the hell they had never done this before.
Feeling one hell of a lot more sober than he had moments before, Marton moaned with pleasure as Eric took charge of the kiss, letting himself slide into that place where nothing mattered but how it felt and how his body was reacting to it. It was easy not to worry, to open his eyes, blink and whisper, "Don't stop."
Marton's whisper excited Eric, and he slid his hands under Marton's shirt, brushing fingers over a pebbled nipple. He looked intently at Marton, looking for a sign that he should stop but all he saw was want, need, and a tremendous amount of desire.
With a hiss of sheer pleasure, Marton arched into the touch, head falling back, eyes closed. His nipples were incredibly sensitive and the touch sent a shock wave of feeling in a direct line to his crotch. "Yes." He whispered, fingers sliding around to grab at Eric's hips for balance and he bought his head up, leaning in to nibble and lick at the exposed flesh around Eric's shirt collar.
Big hands fumbled with Marton's shirt, but, fuck the cold, Eric needed to get Marton naked now, here in the bloody dark chilly courtyard in front of God and everybody. Buttons finally undone, Eric moved, pulling Marton up into his lap so he could lick, bite and tease his chest, pressing light kisses along his nipples, desperate to touch more, and deciding to, deftly pulling open Marton's fly and easing his hard cock out of the cloth.
Marton had never in his life been so completely handled and it was thrilling. No permission asked, no hesitation and he let it pull him under, doing anything Eric's hands, fingers, tongue asked of him and letting out soft, breathy moans as accompaniment and a loud groan when Eric's hand freed his cock into the cool night air.
Eric ran his hand along Marton's cock, teasing and gentle, stroking softly up Marton's cock, along his bare chest and to his face, pressing his lips against a warm pink mouth, licking the flesh with a grin. Eric then spoke, the words coming out gruff and somewhat coarse, his eyes black with desire, "I going to fuck you," he growled, "right here on the table."
Marton canted his hips up, wanting more, needing more and Eric's words made him tremble. "Please." It was scarcely more than a whisper but enough that Eric pushed him back until the backs of his thighs impacted the polished wood, driving him up onto his toes. He wrapped his arms around Eric's neck and planted frantic kisses along the strong jaw. "Whatever you want." he told him, not giving a thought to anything other than the raging flare of desire currently warming his skin to burning.
Eric pulled his t-shirt off over his head, letting it fall carelessly onto the floor. He kicked off his shoes so he could pull down his jeans, pausing only to grab a sachet of lube from his pocket not even bothering to undo the buttons. He had packed the lube to maybe use on Sean not on Marton, the thought made him smile. Naked and not caring whether people saw, Eric moved towards Marton and pulled the other man's pants off and onto the floor. He tore open the packet of lube, sliding a little over his fingers as he moved up Marton's body, kissing him as he pushed the first finger into Marton's entrance.
Seeing Eric naked had Marton's cock, which he'd not thought could possibly get any harder, reacting by becoming so hard it ached. Another one of the devastating kisses and Marton hardly felt Eric probing until he was pushing inside, finger curling, stroking over . . . God! Marton bit down on the cry and buried his face in the curve of Eric's throat, nearly overwhelmed by the incredible sensation, his hands stroking ceaselessly across Eric's broad, muscled shoulders in an automatic rhythm of press and scratch and caress. He felt his body accommodate the first intrusion and then the second, waves of pleasure ricocheting up his spine and curling across his belly.
Eric slid the second in, brushing lightly against Marton's prostate as he opened him up, trying to exorcise all the tension from his body. He then pulled out and slicked lube on his cock, positioning it against Marton's entrance. Marton's body stiffened as Eric edged in, and he gripped Marton's hips, massaging comforting circles on his skin as he breached the muscle. Slowly he pushed forward, leaning to kiss the other man, and finding himself finally seated firmly within Marton's body.
For a second, Marton stiffened, his body fighting the intrusion and he bit down hard on Eric's shoulder, muffling the word of denial that tried to come out. No, he wanted this and, after Eric stilled himself and Marton's body adapted, it was no longer an issue. His hips started to move of their own accord, just tiny little movements to and fro and his tongue darted out to slide over Eric's earlobe, mute encouragement.
Eric grunted as he thrust into Marton, the man was tight, extremely tight, but Eric didn't dwell on it, too intoxicated by the feeling of Marton's ass around his cock. He felt amazing. Eric told him this and Marton blushed, pink mixing with his glistening skin, causing Eric's heart to thump. He loved Marton's shyness, the way his body keened with Eric pushed into him, as if he hadn't expected things to feel like this. Eric loved all of it and more, reaching for Marton's cock, wanting to give Marton just as much pleasure as he was giving him.
Eric's weight settled atop him, pinning him and it was delicious. Hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him and his cock sliding in and out, hips bumping and Eric's breath hot against his face. And . . . Christ . . .that again, that shiver-thrill when the head of Eric's . . . his lover's cock brushed against his prostate that made his hips jerk upward and his belly tighten. Need was a hungry animal, gnawing at him and his breath came in shorter and shorter gasps as his nerve endings fired in one glorious blaze and his legs locked around Eric's waist, urging him on.
He stroked in time with his thrusts, Eric's hand movements increasing in gear, changing from long and loose to hard and rough. Eric other hand gripped Marton's hip, his fingers digging into the soft surface as lifted him higher still, making it easier for him to hit the other man's prostate.
The firm grip, the demanding rhythm had Marton on the edge in moments as the frenzied, hurried fucking approached its, and his, climax. Fingers tightening painfully on Eric's shoulders, Marton pulled up, the force of his orgasm driving his head into Eric's shoulder and he cried out, feeling every pounding movement of Eric's cock as a separate shock as his sensitive spot bore the brunt of each thrust, becoming almost painful, but a pain he reveled in.
Eric could feel that Marton was close and worked to push him, and himself, ever closer to the edge. He thrust, feeling Marton's body clench around his cock, feeling the pulse of his release in his hand. Eric moaned, the tightness and the heat bringing him to his own climax. He shuddered, emptying himself inside of Marton's willing body, arms, now weak, wobbling under Eric's weight. He sank down on top of Marton, not wanting to crush him, but exhausted, needing to just lie here a second and revel in what they just did.
Breathless and sated, Marton wrapped his arms around Eric's wide shoulders and just held on, waiting for his heart to slow and enjoying the closeness, the feel of warm skin on skin and mutually pounding hearts. Eventually though, the cold began to intrude and it was Eric who moved first, levering himself up onto his elbows and indulging in a long, slow kiss before saying regretfully, "Best get dressed." Marton nodded and slowly sat up, disregarding the ache the movement brought on in favor of cleaning up with the tail of his shirt before he slipped it on.
Eric dressed quickly, feeling the cold now and keen to get back inside into the warm. He watched Marton dress, the King looking shyly at him as he buttoned up his pants. "Best get inside" Eric said, when the two were fully clothed. He wrapped an arm around Marton's waist and led him inside, the warm air hitting them, soothing the chill from outside. Together they walked back into the bar and back to their table. Their entrance went unspotted, Sean and Harry were deep in conversation.
~~~~~~~~~
Marton was a lot more sober than when he'd left, which wasn't saying much though. He was tucking his shirt in and he slid into the chair beside Sean, stole his beer and quaffed it, smiling as he wiped the foam from his upper lip. "Ahhhh. Thanks mate!" He gave Sean a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
Sean raised an eyebrow at Harry but he was just grateful that Eric had managed to keep Marton in one piece and return him to the table, so he kept his comments to himself. He looked around. "Where's . . .? Oh, here he comes."
"Bloody wankers. Send 'em off for a round, and they come back ages later, not a drop to be seen," he muttered. "I'll get it, but you're paying," Harry insisted, poking Marton in the chest. "And you- you've got the next one for losing him in the first place," Harry went on, glaring at Eric.
"Don't you dare." Eric said to Harry, "you lot sit here on your arse while I chase after him. You lot should be buying me drinks forever. " Eric sat down next to an infinitely more sober Marton, leg brushing against his as he shuffled, getting comfortable.
Sean looked between both of them and stopped Harry from getting up. "Let's move on." he suggested. "Bit of fresh air fore we start up again, eh?"
"Suits me... but I'm going to start getting sober if I don't have a drink soon," Harry said with a shudder.
"Me too." Marton said mournfully, getting to his feet. "Fresh air sobers me up. Don't want any more fresh air." Beside him, Eric got to his feet and Marton leaned slightly in his direction, increasing the press of thigh against thigh and enjoying the touch, alcohol negating the need for complicated thought. "But if the boss says we must . . ."
"Slaves to the Seanie," Harry smirked, slapping Sean on the arse and throwing his arm over Sean's shoulder as they walked outside, frowning at the sound of raised voices. "Hang on," he muttered, slipping his arm off from Sean and walking over towards the sound, seeing a couple of guys laughing and jeering at a girl. "Evening, boys... something I can help you with?" he asked smoothly.
Sensing the tension in the air, Sean moved a little away from the others, making room while still trying to stay between Marton and trouble. The shadows were around, they were always around, but under strict orders not to interfere. On nights like this it was his job, his and Harry's and tonight, Eric's as well, to keep Marton out of trouble and safe. Marton, drunk or sober, could get nasty damned fast if he thought there was reason and Sean wanted to be in a prime position to help if needs be. He came level with Harry. "You alright, miss?"
"I'm fine," she said, her voice low, the quick look that she darted at Sean and Harry showing that she was anything but.
Oh, fuck, Harry groaned mentally, not risking a look at Sean.
Before Sean could get in his way, Marton had pushed to the front. But, thank God, he merely wrapped an arm around the girl and guided her out of the way, handing her off to Eric who walked her to a position of safety by the door before he, too, returned.
Sean eyed the men. "The lady is with us now." he told them, fists already clenching in readiness for what he could tell was coming. "Time you moved on."
"The lady." the skinnest of the two men spat. "Owes us our money back. We gave her good coin for no service." The sneer on his face left little doubt about what kind of 'service' he was referring to. Sean's face hardened. True or not and illegal if it was, these bozo's had no right to speak to anyone the way he'd heard them speaking to the woman. Nor to menace her either.
Sure that the woman was now safe, Eric stepped back into the fray, smirking inwardly as he saw the stupid punks flinch as he came into view. Size does matter, he thought to himself, as he stepped to the front of the group. "I suggest you two fuck off right now" he growled, balling his hands into fists, "before people get angry."
"Fuck you, you big ape!" The larger of the two men, obviously spoiling for a brawl waited no longer and swung a fist at Eric's face, obviously hoping to surprise him. The skinny boy swung one at Harry and Sean moved to grab the little bastard from behind, getting a kick to his knee for his trouble and missing Marton's move as he swung around to help Eric.
Eric stepped neatly out the way, making the man's attempts at violence seem even more inferior. He rolled his eyes as the man came back for more, Eric didn't want to hit him but he clearly wasn't getting the hint.
Harry easily avoided the punch, ducking just out of reach, deciding the best way to take this guy down. "Now, I've got strict instructions from a list of people longer'n my... arm to not punch anyone in the face for at least a few months," Harry cautioned, suddenly moving forward and catching him with an elbow to the face. "There, that'll do."
"A gentleman." Marton said, admiring of Eric' restraint. He had none and kicked the idiot in the back of the leg, sending him sprawling to the ground. "I admire that."
As the skinny guy doubled over, he spun around, obviously hoping to avoid any more of Harry's punishment but completely forgetting about Sean who got him with an uppercut that knocked him backwards. "Ow!" he said, shaking his hand.
The big man came up off the ground in a silent flurry and got a punch into Marton's face before he could react to deflect it. For a big guy, he sure moved fast! Marton staggered backward and tried to clear his vision, waiting for the follow-up punch he was sure would come.
Eric saw the blow land and surged forward, blocking Marton and smacking the guy right on the chin as he tried to hit Marton again. The guy went down and Eric turned, immediately forgetting about the waste of space he'd just hit. Instead he focused on Marton, and put an arm out to steady him, asking him, "are you ok?"
"Better watch out, Sean," Harry drawled, staring down at the guy on the ground, then cutting his eyes to Sean. "Phil's about had it with injured hands, and she's out for blood now."
"Yeah. He was just quick. Bastard!" It was a sign of pain that Marton even swore at all and he was glad he'd got his quota of bad language out of the way as the sound of a siren penetrated and flashing lights swam across his blurring vision. "Uh-oh."
"Nothing broken." Sean told him, turning around. "We got company."
"Did Marton just swear?" Harry said, distracted, sighing as the car got closer. "Aw buggering shit damn fuck. This should be fun."
Sean looked over his shoulder and noted Eric's protective arm around Marton's shoulder as he led him across to where they were standing. He made a mental note to ask about it later and then turned back, putting on a friendly, harmless smile for the approaching officers.
"And what seems to be the problem here?" The younger of the two policemen had raced ahead, eager to do his duty, the older of the two following slowly behind, wanting to go home to bed, sick of attending to drunken fights. This had been the fourth one that night.
"See, it's like this," Harry stepped over the prone body of the skinny guy to talk to the cop, thumbs in his beltloops. "They were hassling a lady, we stepped in, they stepped up, they went down."
The officer looked around. "Lady, what lady? I don't see no lady?"
"She's right over... well, Christ on a fuckin' cracker," Harry said, squinting over to the corner where he'd seen Eric take the girl. "Okay, she was there a moment ago."
Everyone looked around and there was no one in the doorway. Marton sighed and stepped forward, dropping his hand away from his eye as the older of the two officers joined them, stepping into the light. Marton recognised him and cleared his throat. "Good evening." he said as soberly as he could manage.
"Looks like you guys are coming down to the station," the younger officer said, not seeing the looks he was getting off his superior. "I don't think that will be necessary" the older officer stated, "just get on your com and get these men a cab." He paused, nodding at Marton, "good to see you your highness."
"Hey- Jimmy!" Harry beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good to see you!"
"You too, Jimmy. Sorry 'bout this. After last time . . ." Marton waved a vague hand around the general area. "There was a woman, but . . ."
"No problem Sir, a complete misunderstanding." He glared at the younger officer, "just get yourselves along home now and everything will be just fine."
The cab arrived and they all piled in, still apologising for the mess. Marton, exhausted and sleepy now, leaned heavily into Eric's shoulder while Sean squashed in against the door, Harry half sitting on his lap. "Coulda got in the front." he grumbled, not really minding.
"Oh shut up," Harry yawned, snuggling in closer. "So who do we blame this on tomorrow... Marton or Eric?"
The cab moved off and Sean relaxed back into the seat for the ride home. "No blame needed." he pronounced. "Bloody good time had by all."
Marton leaned back against the broad chest and stared up at the roof of the cab, smiling despite his sore face. "That was fun!" he told it and then lifted his head, finally hearing Eric's pleas to explain about the 'last time'. "Sean!" he admonished lightly. "You didn't tell him about the one-legged stripper!!??"
The Half-Mast was nice, Marton reflected soddenly. Sure, the lights hung at an angle and the floor was sinking on one side but, in his condition, what did it matter? Dunno why I bother arguing with Seanie and Harry, he thought. They always win and they're always right and they're my bestest friends. He blinked owlishly at his glass which was apparently floating two inches above the table surface. He grabbed at it and missed, realizing at the last minute that someone had hold of it and that someone was huuuge. He looked up. "You're big." he told Eric.
"That I am," Eric laughed, unable to keep the mirth out of his voice, deciding that it would be fun to tease Marton a little, bringing the glass forward and tugging it back as Marton reached for it. "You're not very good at this," Eric smirked, looking at the others around the table. Seizing the opportunity Marton grabbed the glass out of Eric's grip, triumphantly raising it to his lips.
"Oi" Eric said, secretly impressed that Marton had summoned up enough logic amidst his stupor to outsmart him.
"I may get drunk fast." Marton told him, holding up a finger to make his point. "But I still got the moves."
"Oh yeah" Eric snorted disbelievingly, "those are big words for a little man". Eric grinned lifting up his own glass, thoroughly amused at Marton's actions.
"Just because you're a giant fucking tree doesn't mean the rest of the world is small... just that you're absurdly big," Harry pointed out, tipping back the last of his beer. "I think this round's on Marton, eh? Objections? None? Sounds good."
Marton jumped up, swaying just a little and, seeing that Eric was half a head taller, poked him in the belly, causing him to fold just a little. "Not." he grinned. "Same size when flat." He looked around at Harry and Sean. Looked again to make sure it was Sean. That dark-haired thing he did when they went out always managed to throw him after a couple of drinks. "Mine." he agreed, wandering off toward the bar.
"Somebody better keep an eye on him," Harry warned. "I'm not following him into the ladies again."
Sean grinned, shaking his head. "The ladies didn't mind." he commented, glancing up at Eric. "Can you see him from there?"
"I still maintain that we should leave him to his own devices", he told Harry, turning to look out for Marton...
Sean grinned at them both, his head turning from side to side. "You two are drunker than I am drunk." he said, slurping down the last dregs from his beer glass and sighing with satisfaction. "I love doing this." he told them. "It's like a mini vacater . . . mini vacateron . . . holiday."
Eric raised an eyebrow, "You're just the soberest sober person that I ever saw". he raised his glass to his mouth, realising, when he tipped it up that it was empty. He frowned and set it down, looking round for Marton, unable to see him. "Where the hell has Marton gone?" he called out.
"You bastard- you were supposed to be watching him!" Harry gave Eric a punch in the shoulder. "Especially since he hasn't made it back with the drinks yet."
"What's wrong with you bloody looking after him?" Eric scowled, pointing a finger at Harry, "s'not just my responsibility. Is pretty much your bloody father in law after all."
"Oh fuck... well, not me, but fuck someone else," Harry scowled back. "Is not my father-in-law, ferchrissakes... now go look for him!" Harry said waving his hands at Eric, sending him off.
Eric sighed, not wanting to let Harry think he'd won but realised that someone really should go and find him. He stood up, grumbling to himself and looked around, spying Marton sat at a completely different table at the other side of the bar, table laden with drinks. He walked up to him, standing behind him and putting his hands on Marton's shoulders. "Marton?" he said quietly, almost whispering in his ear, "I don't want to alarm you but you're at the wrong table." Eric smiled, unable to understand the logic that had led him over here, "lets go back to everyone yeah?"
Marton waggled his finger at his adversary, leaning on the table. "The King," he said with drunken clarity. "Is a moron. Do you have any idea how complexicated the tariffs on imported bunny slippers can be?? The trick is, you see, they make the slippers in country A, then ship them to country B to do the embroidery thing, then add the plastical eyes in country C, an' when they come into the country the importer guy is trying to sneak them in under the quota of whichever country hasn't yet exceeded their quota, but if we've already gotten however many million "slippers, embroidered" from country B it doesn't matter that country C still has room left on their, "embellished thingamajig, footwear, plastic quota." Someone tapped his shoulder and he looked up. "Wha? Oh. Hello Ewic." he blinked. "What are you doing here?"
Eric smiled apologetically at the people sat opposite Marton, "I've come to bring you back to your table, so you can stop disturbing these nice people." Eric saw the lips of the man opposite twitch and a grin broke out on his face. "C'mon". Eric tried to lift him into an upright position but to no avail, "Marton, you need to bloody help me here."
Marton shot upright, wobbled and wrapped his arms around Eric's waist for safety. Then he cuddled him, smiling down at the table with his nice new friends sitting around it and told them, "This is Eric. He's gorgeous."
"And you're very pretty yourself Marton, now c'mon" Eric wrapped a strong arm around Marton steadying him further, "people are getting worried about you."
"Aww." Marton pouted prettily. "Can't have that. Cuuuming Seanie!" He yelled across the room and then collapsed into a fit of the giggles. "Said that a few times! Bet you have too. Eh, Eric?" He elbowed his prop in the ribs.
"And you," Eric poked him back, "lest you forget". He tried to steer Marton across the room.
Marton stopped dead in the middle of the floor, his brow furrowed. "You're drunk." he accused. "I already said that!" He looked around the room, swaying slightly. "I need to go." he said, heading for the front door instead of the bathrooms.
"Go where? Marton!" Eric hurried after his charge, who was moving surprisingly quickly for a drunk man.
"Go!" Marton looked over his shoulder, nearly colliding with a chair. "You know, go! Now!"
Eric watched Marton speed off, realising that if he was about to bugger off in hot pursuit he had better tell people that Marton was safe, well, safe-ish. He walked quickly over to their table, Harry and Sean turning to look at him. "Marton's about to do a runner, so am gonna stay with him until he sobers up a bit." The two seated men nodded and Eric went off in pursuit of the king. "Hope he doesn't bloody injure himself," Eric muttered to himself as he walked out the door, hoping that he would find Marton somewhere safe, and sensible.
~~~
Harry watched Eric go, snorting as he watched one of the guys sitting at the bar turn and take an incredibly unsubtle look at Eric's arse as he walked past. "Mate, guy on the fourth barstool in... just checked out your boyfriend's arse. If this was one of those old vid's, you'd be taking a chair to his head right about now... that or popping him one with a pint glass."
Sean lifted his head, peering around behind Harry to see. He snorted and shook his head. "I'm not that barbaric." he said. "An' that guy's not all that cute. Eric wouldn't look twice anyway. Lookit 'im, 'is bloody clothes 'an can smell 'im from 'ere."
"He can prolly smell you from here too," Harry snorted. "You're wearing half of that last... two ago... ah, whatever- that beer that you tried to chug when that guy jostled your elbow. Plus, your head looks strange."
Sean smoothed back his hair clumsily. "I know." he agreed sorrowfully. "But it washes out." He looked at his almost-empty glass and frowned at it. "Hope they hurry up." he muttered. "Am almost out. Mebbe should have stuck to shots, eh?"
"Well, too late now. Can't switch back." Harry sighed, craning his neck around and looking for Eric or Marton. "Want I should give up and go get us a round, send Orlando in to steal change off Marton's dresser to cover it later?"
Mel was on his way to the gents, stepping carefully to avoid outstretched feet and all, when he spotted a familiar face. A very familiar face. He stopped and looked hard, squinting just a little. The nose, the jaw, the eyes, the mouth... the hair was the wrong color, but hey, you could change that easy enough. It was! He deviated about a hundred degrees off course and approached the table where He was sitting. Once there, he stopped and just looked some more. His arms were wrapped around his middle and his mouth was open just a little, and he was pretty sure he had a real dopey expression on his face but he couldn't help it! He had to ask.
"Are you--? I'm sorry, I'm really sorry for interrupting and bothering you and all but, but are you... Sean Bean?"
Sean looked up at the sound of his name. And up. And up. The man was massive a veritable mountain of an individual whose thighs alone were as big round as Sean's waist! "I . . . umm . . . no." he said, trying to think. "Look-a-like. Yeah, that's it. I'm a professional look-a-like. Name's, err, Barry." He stuck out his hand.
"Quite the market in the celebrity look alike business, isn't there, Barry," Harry said, trying not to laugh. "Why pay for the real thing when a reasonable facsimile can be yours for a few bob and a nice dinner?"
"Really? Wow!" Mel took Barry's hand and pumped it carefully. "You're really good! You look just like him except for the hair, you know? And I mean exact! I've got all the calendars, and all twelve posters -- including the one you could only get with two hundred boxtops from Newberry's Strawberry Lube -- and four file cabinets with pictures and mags and articles and you look exactly like him! Were you just lucky or did you have it done?" The happy prospect of hanging out with a fellow afficionado made Mel forget all about his errand. He slid in next to Barry and settled down for a talk, waving to the waiter to bring another round.
The prospect of beer not only cheered Sean immensely, it endeared the other man to him and his smile was natural and bright. "Why, thank you . . .?" he queried. "Me and BillyBob here was gettin' a little thirsty." There, Sinclair, he thought. Me in, you in too. "It's natural." he confirmed. "And it's a good living. Opened a supermarket in Sedat last week."
You cunt. "Plus, when you go with the look-alike, you don't have to deal with the absolute diva attitude you can get from some of the Palace blokes- especially those high end, overpriced tarts. I know a bloke works up there, and he's always got stories to tell 'bout those folk."
"Really?! Wow, I'll bet that's fun! I'm Mel, I'm in construction." He reached over and shook BillyBob's hand, too. "You actually know someone who works at Palace? Wow. I've never been there, but I'm saving up. I figure if I can afford Sean just once before I retire I can die happy, you know?"
Sean's face flushed and he hid it by ducking his head into his newly-arrived fresh beer.
"Hey, Barry, have you ever met Sean himself? I mean, the real thing? Wouldn't it be great if they had, like a contest for look-alikes and he was the judge? I'll bet you'd win. All you've gotta do is bleach your hair and if you can get it that perfect dark-gold you'd have him down!"
Spluttering a little when his sip went down the wrong way, Sean looked up. "Ahh no, 'fraid not Mel." he said. "I . . . umm . . . well, I do have blond hair but I had this job see . . ." he waved a hand vaguely hinting at professional secrets and looked at Harry-BillyBob for help. Which was, of course, a stupid thing to do.
"Y'see, Mel," Harry said, relaxing back in his chair. "It's an old theatrical thing. Too close to the truth just ends up looking like a lie. The fair hair just calls attention to all the things that aren't right, y'see... but you give one major difference- the dark hair- and all the shite that's close enough for government work looks even better. It sounds backassward as all hell, but it works. Worked on you, didn't it, Mel-my-man," Harry grinned- raising his glass and clinking it with Mel's.
Mel nodded at BillyBob. "Hey, you know, that actually makes sense!" He grinned at Barry and said, "So when you're working you can say you're really Sean but that you felt like a change. Hey, maybe you wanted to match Eric? I like the contrast, myself, but that'd work for an excuse, right? Wanting to match? It just has to sound sort of plausible, you know? Or, hey, maybe you could find a guy who looks like Eric and have him go blond!" He beamed at the sheer brilliance of that thought.
Harry had a sudden coughing fit inspired by the thought of Eric as a blond.
"Hey, whoa there!" Mel reached over and slapped BillyBob on the back.
"Umm . . . yeah. Now there's a thought!" Sean smiled weakly, trying to imagine Eric blond and . . . yeah. Harry was not helping him keep a straight face, his coughing sounded like a donkey choking on hay and Mel's attempts to help simply weren't. He tried to change the subject. "So, what do you do, Mel?"
Mel gave BillyBob one last worried look. "Umm, I'm in construction, like I said. I run an extruder -- one of the hover-jobs that can go right up to the top. It's great, when I was an apprentice they only went up as far as they could run supports, had to pre-fab the poured components and hoist 'em up, but now we could go to the top of Palace and even farther and lay in a composite wall wherever they wanted with no scaffolding or anything." He gave a proud nod and took another slug of his beer.
Eyes red and watery, Harry looked across the table at Sean, again, battling down a smirk. That's the look he gets when he's trying to figure out ways to kill himself using stuff that's accessible and close at hand... "You ever been up to Palace yourself, Mel?" he asked, searching for anything to talk about that wasn't scaffolding ... or hovering jobs...
Mel squirmed a bit, feeling suddenly silly. "Well, I go to the cafe sometimes. Just to have some tea and sit and watch the people, you know? Sean never goes there but just being in the same building is kind of fun. And there are some really nice looking guys who come through there, and I can always sort of dream that one day I mightsee Sean there, you know?" Mel felt himself blushing and looked down into his glass.
Sean felt a wave of guilt wash over him and he looked to Harry-Bob for help, but he was looking the other way. He sighed and leaned across the table. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked Mel. "A real secret."
Harry's head whipped around.
Mel looked up at Barry, who was looking really serious all of a sudden. "Umm, sure."
Sean slid back the sleeve of his shirt and laid his wrist on the table. "I didn't mean to lie to you mate." he said. "But you know how it is. Man wants a quiet drink with his mates an' all."
Mel stared down at Barry's wrist. He was wearing what was unmistakably a Palace bracelet. A gold Palace bracelet. A real gold Palace bracelet. It wasn't a fake -- Mel knew what the fakes were like. He had three fake sets himself, the good ones, and he knew what was different about each one of them. These were real. And the only real gold Palace bracelets were worn by King Marton, Mads and.... "You're Sean," he whispered. "You're really Sean." He blinked, then stood up so fast his chair nearly tipped over. "Oh, man, you're Sean and I just sat right down! You wanted to have a quiet drink and I'm intruding. I'm sorry, really I am!" He started to back away.
Sean waved him back. "Sit down!" he urged. "I didn't tell you 'cause I wanted you gone. C'mon, have your drink with us, alright?" His face was flaming and he was squirming, but thankfully nobody had overheard the outburst. God! Marton'd kill him if he fucked over their anonymity. Assuming, of course, that Marton was sober enough. Which was unlikely, seeing as how he'd not reappeared just yet. Mel had slid gingerly back into his seat so Sean stopped trying to peer over in the direction of the bathrooms and gave him a brilliant smile. "Forgiven?" he asked.
"What? Of course, hey, nothing to forgive, seriously!" Mel felt himself flushing and he took a slug of his beer to try to hide it. He glanced at BillyBob and said, "So, I guess you really do know someone who works at Palace, huh?"
"Well, that was true. But I also am someone who works at Palace." Harry extended his hand across the table. "Harry Sinclair. Good to meet you, Mel."
"Hey, you too, Harry!" Mel beamed and shook his hand again. "I've heard of you! You and Sean go way back, right?"
"Back as back," Harry nodded. "'Though I can't imagine why you would know that," he said, looking politely puzzled.
"Oh, I know everything about... I mean, well, I'm a fan, you know?" Mel hunched his shoulders, feeling like he'd put his foot in it again. It was one thing to blather on when you were with other fans, but when you were with the man himself it suddenly felt sort of... impolite. Uncool, even.
"Know what it's like mate." Sean patted Mel's arm. "I met the forward of me favorite footy team once, mouth opened and closed and nothing bloody came out! You're a shit-load better than I am, lemme tell ya!"
"Oh- and when I met my lover's mom, I got all tongue tied and she cussed to snap me out of it," Harry piped up.
"Don' mind him." Sean confided. "He's pissed."
Harry scowled and stuck his tongue out at Sean, leaning back again and focusing on his beer.
Mel had perked up some at the thought that his idol had idols of his own, and had felt like a fan a time or two. "Heh, yeah. My lover's mom cusses all the time," he confided. "And you actually met the Blades' forward? That's great! Although I bet he was just as honored to meet you, you know?"
"Ahhh no." Sean scratched at the back of his head and looked kinda . . . rueful. "Wasn't the ideal time, ya know? He was head down, arse up if you know what I mean."
Mel stared, then suddenly burst out laughing. He clapped Sean on the back and hollered for another round.
~~~~~~~~~
Marton found the gents with no problem and came back out into the hallway, shirt adrift, but otherwise ready to return to the others. He went right, opened a door and discovered he should have gone left as now he was outside. He sighed, but had a look around anyway. Was a little courtyard garden with tables and chairs and furled umbrellas, ferns in bronze containers, their fronds waving in the night air and tall brick walls on all sides, separating the little haven from the rest of the world. Nice. He took a few steps further in and a deep breath of air, turning at the sound of footsteps behind him ready to apologize for trespassing to whomever had caught him. But it was Eric, not a staff member.
"Hey" Eric murmured, stepping softly towards Marton, "you ok? You seem a little worse for wear?" Marton was still swaying a bit and Eric thought they should sit down before Marton fell down. "Come on," he said, "lets sit down over there and chat for a bit, sober you up a little." Eric pointed towards a table, noting that this part of the bar was lovely.
"I'm good." Marton insisted, but still let Eric lead him toward the tables. "Bit cold though." he shivered a little, the difference in temperature making itself felt on skin exposed by the shirt he'd not tucked in properly. Marton stopped to face Eric, slid his arms around his waist and burrowed in like a heat-seeking missile, face pressed to Eric's chest. "Mmm. Das better."
Eric pulled Marton in tightly, running a strong hand along the other man's shoulders in an attempt to get him warmer. "You had a good night?" Eric asked quietly as Marton burrowed in closer together. He looked down, unable to believe how small Marton looked against his chest. Just because he's cold, Eric thought.
"Mmm." Marton was feeling all relaxed and kinda fuzzy, protected and warm. He leaned in closer, widening his stance to brace himself and slipping his hands up under Eric's shirt and onto warm skin. He could smell him, feel his heartbeat and . . . Marton's nose was itchy, so he rubbed his face on Eric's shirt. "Not over yet." he mumbled.
"Cold hands!" Eric gasped, wriggling to try and get them away from his skin but they soon warmed and Eric relaxed again. "We still have a bit of time" Eric smiled, really wanting to kiss Marton right now. He reached down, pressing his lips against Marton's forehead, not sure if he should go lower, kissing him fully on the lips. He waited to see how Marton would react.
Ooo, kisses. Marton lifted his head without a second thought and offered his lips, softly parted, fingers circling the base of Eric's spine. He couldn't get their bodies any closer if he tried, but he did try, his hips pressing against Eric's as their mouths met and fused, Eric's tongue darting out to lick his lips.
Eric cupped the back of Marton's head, bringing his head lower and claimed Marton's mouth. The kiss was brutal, Eric deeply involved ravaging Marton's mouth. Their lips parted and soon were back together; It felt right to kiss Marton and Eric wondered why the hell they had never done this before.
Feeling one hell of a lot more sober than he had moments before, Marton moaned with pleasure as Eric took charge of the kiss, letting himself slide into that place where nothing mattered but how it felt and how his body was reacting to it. It was easy not to worry, to open his eyes, blink and whisper, "Don't stop."
Marton's whisper excited Eric, and he slid his hands under Marton's shirt, brushing fingers over a pebbled nipple. He looked intently at Marton, looking for a sign that he should stop but all he saw was want, need, and a tremendous amount of desire.
With a hiss of sheer pleasure, Marton arched into the touch, head falling back, eyes closed. His nipples were incredibly sensitive and the touch sent a shock wave of feeling in a direct line to his crotch. "Yes." He whispered, fingers sliding around to grab at Eric's hips for balance and he bought his head up, leaning in to nibble and lick at the exposed flesh around Eric's shirt collar.
Big hands fumbled with Marton's shirt, but, fuck the cold, Eric needed to get Marton naked now, here in the bloody dark chilly courtyard in front of God and everybody. Buttons finally undone, Eric moved, pulling Marton up into his lap so he could lick, bite and tease his chest, pressing light kisses along his nipples, desperate to touch more, and deciding to, deftly pulling open Marton's fly and easing his hard cock out of the cloth.
Marton had never in his life been so completely handled and it was thrilling. No permission asked, no hesitation and he let it pull him under, doing anything Eric's hands, fingers, tongue asked of him and letting out soft, breathy moans as accompaniment and a loud groan when Eric's hand freed his cock into the cool night air.
Eric ran his hand along Marton's cock, teasing and gentle, stroking softly up Marton's cock, along his bare chest and to his face, pressing his lips against a warm pink mouth, licking the flesh with a grin. Eric then spoke, the words coming out gruff and somewhat coarse, his eyes black with desire, "I going to fuck you," he growled, "right here on the table."
Marton canted his hips up, wanting more, needing more and Eric's words made him tremble. "Please." It was scarcely more than a whisper but enough that Eric pushed him back until the backs of his thighs impacted the polished wood, driving him up onto his toes. He wrapped his arms around Eric's neck and planted frantic kisses along the strong jaw. "Whatever you want." he told him, not giving a thought to anything other than the raging flare of desire currently warming his skin to burning.
Eric pulled his t-shirt off over his head, letting it fall carelessly onto the floor. He kicked off his shoes so he could pull down his jeans, pausing only to grab a sachet of lube from his pocket not even bothering to undo the buttons. He had packed the lube to maybe use on Sean not on Marton, the thought made him smile. Naked and not caring whether people saw, Eric moved towards Marton and pulled the other man's pants off and onto the floor. He tore open the packet of lube, sliding a little over his fingers as he moved up Marton's body, kissing him as he pushed the first finger into Marton's entrance.
Seeing Eric naked had Marton's cock, which he'd not thought could possibly get any harder, reacting by becoming so hard it ached. Another one of the devastating kisses and Marton hardly felt Eric probing until he was pushing inside, finger curling, stroking over . . . God! Marton bit down on the cry and buried his face in the curve of Eric's throat, nearly overwhelmed by the incredible sensation, his hands stroking ceaselessly across Eric's broad, muscled shoulders in an automatic rhythm of press and scratch and caress. He felt his body accommodate the first intrusion and then the second, waves of pleasure ricocheting up his spine and curling across his belly.
Eric slid the second in, brushing lightly against Marton's prostate as he opened him up, trying to exorcise all the tension from his body. He then pulled out and slicked lube on his cock, positioning it against Marton's entrance. Marton's body stiffened as Eric edged in, and he gripped Marton's hips, massaging comforting circles on his skin as he breached the muscle. Slowly he pushed forward, leaning to kiss the other man, and finding himself finally seated firmly within Marton's body.
For a second, Marton stiffened, his body fighting the intrusion and he bit down hard on Eric's shoulder, muffling the word of denial that tried to come out. No, he wanted this and, after Eric stilled himself and Marton's body adapted, it was no longer an issue. His hips started to move of their own accord, just tiny little movements to and fro and his tongue darted out to slide over Eric's earlobe, mute encouragement.
Eric grunted as he thrust into Marton, the man was tight, extremely tight, but Eric didn't dwell on it, too intoxicated by the feeling of Marton's ass around his cock. He felt amazing. Eric told him this and Marton blushed, pink mixing with his glistening skin, causing Eric's heart to thump. He loved Marton's shyness, the way his body keened with Eric pushed into him, as if he hadn't expected things to feel like this. Eric loved all of it and more, reaching for Marton's cock, wanting to give Marton just as much pleasure as he was giving him.
Eric's weight settled atop him, pinning him and it was delicious. Hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him and his cock sliding in and out, hips bumping and Eric's breath hot against his face. And . . . Christ . . .that again, that shiver-thrill when the head of Eric's . . . his lover's cock brushed against his prostate that made his hips jerk upward and his belly tighten. Need was a hungry animal, gnawing at him and his breath came in shorter and shorter gasps as his nerve endings fired in one glorious blaze and his legs locked around Eric's waist, urging him on.
He stroked in time with his thrusts, Eric's hand movements increasing in gear, changing from long and loose to hard and rough. Eric other hand gripped Marton's hip, his fingers digging into the soft surface as lifted him higher still, making it easier for him to hit the other man's prostate.
The firm grip, the demanding rhythm had Marton on the edge in moments as the frenzied, hurried fucking approached its, and his, climax. Fingers tightening painfully on Eric's shoulders, Marton pulled up, the force of his orgasm driving his head into Eric's shoulder and he cried out, feeling every pounding movement of Eric's cock as a separate shock as his sensitive spot bore the brunt of each thrust, becoming almost painful, but a pain he reveled in.
Eric could feel that Marton was close and worked to push him, and himself, ever closer to the edge. He thrust, feeling Marton's body clench around his cock, feeling the pulse of his release in his hand. Eric moaned, the tightness and the heat bringing him to his own climax. He shuddered, emptying himself inside of Marton's willing body, arms, now weak, wobbling under Eric's weight. He sank down on top of Marton, not wanting to crush him, but exhausted, needing to just lie here a second and revel in what they just did.
Breathless and sated, Marton wrapped his arms around Eric's wide shoulders and just held on, waiting for his heart to slow and enjoying the closeness, the feel of warm skin on skin and mutually pounding hearts. Eventually though, the cold began to intrude and it was Eric who moved first, levering himself up onto his elbows and indulging in a long, slow kiss before saying regretfully, "Best get dressed." Marton nodded and slowly sat up, disregarding the ache the movement brought on in favor of cleaning up with the tail of his shirt before he slipped it on.
Eric dressed quickly, feeling the cold now and keen to get back inside into the warm. He watched Marton dress, the King looking shyly at him as he buttoned up his pants. "Best get inside" Eric said, when the two were fully clothed. He wrapped an arm around Marton's waist and led him inside, the warm air hitting them, soothing the chill from outside. Together they walked back into the bar and back to their table. Their entrance went unspotted, Sean and Harry were deep in conversation.
~~~~~~~~~
Marton was a lot more sober than when he'd left, which wasn't saying much though. He was tucking his shirt in and he slid into the chair beside Sean, stole his beer and quaffed it, smiling as he wiped the foam from his upper lip. "Ahhhh. Thanks mate!" He gave Sean a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
Sean raised an eyebrow at Harry but he was just grateful that Eric had managed to keep Marton in one piece and return him to the table, so he kept his comments to himself. He looked around. "Where's . . .? Oh, here he comes."
"Bloody wankers. Send 'em off for a round, and they come back ages later, not a drop to be seen," he muttered. "I'll get it, but you're paying," Harry insisted, poking Marton in the chest. "And you- you've got the next one for losing him in the first place," Harry went on, glaring at Eric.
"Don't you dare." Eric said to Harry, "you lot sit here on your arse while I chase after him. You lot should be buying me drinks forever. " Eric sat down next to an infinitely more sober Marton, leg brushing against his as he shuffled, getting comfortable.
Sean looked between both of them and stopped Harry from getting up. "Let's move on." he suggested. "Bit of fresh air fore we start up again, eh?"
"Suits me... but I'm going to start getting sober if I don't have a drink soon," Harry said with a shudder.
"Me too." Marton said mournfully, getting to his feet. "Fresh air sobers me up. Don't want any more fresh air." Beside him, Eric got to his feet and Marton leaned slightly in his direction, increasing the press of thigh against thigh and enjoying the touch, alcohol negating the need for complicated thought. "But if the boss says we must . . ."
"Slaves to the Seanie," Harry smirked, slapping Sean on the arse and throwing his arm over Sean's shoulder as they walked outside, frowning at the sound of raised voices. "Hang on," he muttered, slipping his arm off from Sean and walking over towards the sound, seeing a couple of guys laughing and jeering at a girl. "Evening, boys... something I can help you with?" he asked smoothly.
Sensing the tension in the air, Sean moved a little away from the others, making room while still trying to stay between Marton and trouble. The shadows were around, they were always around, but under strict orders not to interfere. On nights like this it was his job, his and Harry's and tonight, Eric's as well, to keep Marton out of trouble and safe. Marton, drunk or sober, could get nasty damned fast if he thought there was reason and Sean wanted to be in a prime position to help if needs be. He came level with Harry. "You alright, miss?"
"I'm fine," she said, her voice low, the quick look that she darted at Sean and Harry showing that she was anything but.
Oh, fuck, Harry groaned mentally, not risking a look at Sean.
Before Sean could get in his way, Marton had pushed to the front. But, thank God, he merely wrapped an arm around the girl and guided her out of the way, handing her off to Eric who walked her to a position of safety by the door before he, too, returned.
Sean eyed the men. "The lady is with us now." he told them, fists already clenching in readiness for what he could tell was coming. "Time you moved on."
"The lady." the skinnest of the two men spat. "Owes us our money back. We gave her good coin for no service." The sneer on his face left little doubt about what kind of 'service' he was referring to. Sean's face hardened. True or not and illegal if it was, these bozo's had no right to speak to anyone the way he'd heard them speaking to the woman. Nor to menace her either.
Sure that the woman was now safe, Eric stepped back into the fray, smirking inwardly as he saw the stupid punks flinch as he came into view. Size does matter, he thought to himself, as he stepped to the front of the group. "I suggest you two fuck off right now" he growled, balling his hands into fists, "before people get angry."
"Fuck you, you big ape!" The larger of the two men, obviously spoiling for a brawl waited no longer and swung a fist at Eric's face, obviously hoping to surprise him. The skinny boy swung one at Harry and Sean moved to grab the little bastard from behind, getting a kick to his knee for his trouble and missing Marton's move as he swung around to help Eric.
Eric stepped neatly out the way, making the man's attempts at violence seem even more inferior. He rolled his eyes as the man came back for more, Eric didn't want to hit him but he clearly wasn't getting the hint.
Harry easily avoided the punch, ducking just out of reach, deciding the best way to take this guy down. "Now, I've got strict instructions from a list of people longer'n my... arm to not punch anyone in the face for at least a few months," Harry cautioned, suddenly moving forward and catching him with an elbow to the face. "There, that'll do."
"A gentleman." Marton said, admiring of Eric' restraint. He had none and kicked the idiot in the back of the leg, sending him sprawling to the ground. "I admire that."
As the skinny guy doubled over, he spun around, obviously hoping to avoid any more of Harry's punishment but completely forgetting about Sean who got him with an uppercut that knocked him backwards. "Ow!" he said, shaking his hand.
The big man came up off the ground in a silent flurry and got a punch into Marton's face before he could react to deflect it. For a big guy, he sure moved fast! Marton staggered backward and tried to clear his vision, waiting for the follow-up punch he was sure would come.
Eric saw the blow land and surged forward, blocking Marton and smacking the guy right on the chin as he tried to hit Marton again. The guy went down and Eric turned, immediately forgetting about the waste of space he'd just hit. Instead he focused on Marton, and put an arm out to steady him, asking him, "are you ok?"
"Better watch out, Sean," Harry drawled, staring down at the guy on the ground, then cutting his eyes to Sean. "Phil's about had it with injured hands, and she's out for blood now."
"Yeah. He was just quick. Bastard!" It was a sign of pain that Marton even swore at all and he was glad he'd got his quota of bad language out of the way as the sound of a siren penetrated and flashing lights swam across his blurring vision. "Uh-oh."
"Nothing broken." Sean told him, turning around. "We got company."
"Did Marton just swear?" Harry said, distracted, sighing as the car got closer. "Aw buggering shit damn fuck. This should be fun."
Sean looked over his shoulder and noted Eric's protective arm around Marton's shoulder as he led him across to where they were standing. He made a mental note to ask about it later and then turned back, putting on a friendly, harmless smile for the approaching officers.
"And what seems to be the problem here?" The younger of the two policemen had raced ahead, eager to do his duty, the older of the two following slowly behind, wanting to go home to bed, sick of attending to drunken fights. This had been the fourth one that night.
"See, it's like this," Harry stepped over the prone body of the skinny guy to talk to the cop, thumbs in his beltloops. "They were hassling a lady, we stepped in, they stepped up, they went down."
The officer looked around. "Lady, what lady? I don't see no lady?"
"She's right over... well, Christ on a fuckin' cracker," Harry said, squinting over to the corner where he'd seen Eric take the girl. "Okay, she was there a moment ago."
Everyone looked around and there was no one in the doorway. Marton sighed and stepped forward, dropping his hand away from his eye as the older of the two officers joined them, stepping into the light. Marton recognised him and cleared his throat. "Good evening." he said as soberly as he could manage.
"Looks like you guys are coming down to the station," the younger officer said, not seeing the looks he was getting off his superior. "I don't think that will be necessary" the older officer stated, "just get on your com and get these men a cab." He paused, nodding at Marton, "good to see you your highness."
"Hey- Jimmy!" Harry beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good to see you!"
"You too, Jimmy. Sorry 'bout this. After last time . . ." Marton waved a vague hand around the general area. "There was a woman, but . . ."
"No problem Sir, a complete misunderstanding." He glared at the younger officer, "just get yourselves along home now and everything will be just fine."
The cab arrived and they all piled in, still apologising for the mess. Marton, exhausted and sleepy now, leaned heavily into Eric's shoulder while Sean squashed in against the door, Harry half sitting on his lap. "Coulda got in the front." he grumbled, not really minding.
"Oh shut up," Harry yawned, snuggling in closer. "So who do we blame this on tomorrow... Marton or Eric?"
The cab moved off and Sean relaxed back into the seat for the ride home. "No blame needed." he pronounced. "Bloody good time had by all."
Marton leaned back against the broad chest and stared up at the roof of the cab, smiling despite his sore face. "That was fun!" he told it and then lifted his head, finally hearing Eric's pleas to explain about the 'last time'. "Sean!" he admonished lightly. "You didn't tell him about the one-legged stripper!!??"
