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Perry tried not to sigh at the answers, knowing that they were not exactly what he was expecting, but at the same time, had to ask why he was expecting something anyways. Lockhart was obviously a ‘good boy’ when it came down to the nasty, so he really shouldn’t have been even slightly surprised that Harry didn’t know much about the BDSM world.

“Put it on before we leave the house. A good pet – or submissive in your terms – would always have their collar on.” and like Perry would be the bitch in this relationship, so it had to be Harold. “All you have to do is basically listen to what I say, do what I say,” because that happened far less times than the listening part. “And above all else, keep your eyes trained on the ground if someone’s looking. Don’t speak to anyone unless spoken to.” and bend over at all times for Perry to get a good look at that phat ass.

No wait, that’s not part of the plan.

Once they reached the condo, he swiftly went in and began to already strip as he continued to chatter away about little things Harry should and shouldn’t do. Whether or not the other male knew some of the things didn’t matter, as he wanted to cover all bases. His tie was unknotted soon and his dress shirt was already unbuttoned all the way down.

It was then that he paused at the stairs and turned around to check on Harry. “I’ll take thirty minutes. Why don’t you…” he was going to regret this. “Why don’t you go on my computer and check some of this stuff out. Learn about it before you blow our cover.” Perry hated having his things touched. But efficiency was top priority, and they were going to miss the time they were supposed to be at the Rose Lounge if he delayed them.
 
"Right, so this is basically the same as every day, just with leather." Harry replied - it was a joke, of course, but he found himself a little disturbed to find there was an element of truth to it. In general, Perry made the demands and Harry obeyed, with a few concessions.

Of course, it had occurred to Harry that there would be a lot of people who would proclaim that the entire scheme was ridiculous, humiliating, and that they wouldn't do it - but he was pretty sure there could be worse things than wearing a bit of kinky stuff, right? And anyways, Harry had the tendency of jumping head-first into things like Pete Rose; it didn't always turn out well, but if he always looked before he leapt, he wasn't sure he would ever leap at all. He sure as hell wouldn't have ended up in L.A. if he had thought twice.

He did his best to listen as Perry moved through the house, taking in as much information as he could manage, but ultimately he settled for the internet idea; sitting down, he tried to ignore the way the leather hugged against everything and he googled 'BDSM', only to be assaulted by pictures of women strapped down in various, terrifying positions.

"Shit. No. That can't be, uh - Perry? I don't have - I don't think I'm looking for the right thing here." Harry said, voice dying down to nothing, so he was only speaking to himself as he tried Wikipedia instead - there was plenty of information, but it mostly pertained to everything Perry had just told him.

He took the full thirty minutes to browse through the information, eventually resorting back to google, but with a little more caution. Regardless, when the time was up, he ended up a little red-faced, a fact he was trying desperately to will away - he wasn't some innocent little virgin or anything. Just. You know. Vanilla. It was a rough transition to neopolitan.
 
During the time that Harry decided to take to the internet, Perry tried to get ready as fast as he could and still look good. After all, who knew what Lockhart would do when he wasn’t looking? After a few minutes, he was washed and half way dressed. Slipping on socks and shoes after his pants, he walked down the stairs and raised an eyebrow at the sight Harry made.

A nice little image of a brunette worker. . . as if he was really working.

Ha ha ha… oh god, that shouldn’t be that funny for someone he has on his payroll.

“What do you mean?” he asked standing in front of the desk, where Perry was facing Harry. Since he was facing the same direction as the screen, he didn’t bother leaning over to glance, but assumed that Harry knew what he was looking for. How could someone get something like BDSM wrong, right?

The detective was still half undressed, with his shirt thrown over his shoulder, a towel around his neck to catch the water droplets from his hair, and his pants unzipped. He was currently adjusting himself, not worried that this would bother Harry, as they were both males. Plus, he had to wonder if Harry could handle seeing… Perry. Not that he was hanging out there, but a good strip of skin around his pelvic area was cradled with the skin tight leather.

His was less squeaky than Harry’s, as his was custom ordered. “You looked up BDSM for male couples, didn’t you?”
 
"What I mean is," Harry said, "You can't possibly be saying that this Rose Lounge has people tied up like thanksgiving turkeys. Right?"

He peered over at Perry; at the time, he was sitting, so this granted him a direct view of Van Shrike's torso, moreso the lower portion of it, and the bigger man currently had his hand down his pants, adjusting himself in the second-skin trousers he was wearing. For a long moment, Harry was silent, his eyes stuck on the exposed abdominals before he finally seemed to snap out of it, even starting a little, before his eyes went up to Perry's face,

"Well, at least i'm not the only one wearing leather." he said, "And yeah, I did eventually get to the - dude-on-dude thing, I kind of had to work up to that. It turns out there's a lot to take in about this - you know. Stuff. But I figure it's just the same thing as the heterosexual stuff, just with more, uh, sparkles."

It was a shot at Perry, but a good-natured one. That, and he was still trying to wipe the flush from his face - he had just watched some things that he was sure he would need to scrub off his brain with steel wool later on,

"Anyways, it can't be that hard. Do what you say, be quiet, look for Ravan. Simple, right?" he said, offering up a heart-breakingly sincere smile before he slapped a hand against the desk as though to punctuate the simplicity of it.
 
The blonde noticed the stare and tried not to just ‘whip it out’. Most likely that would send Harry in a heterosexual panic attack. Either that, or he’d get his dick sucked a lot sooner than inviting the doctor over would get it sucked.

Probably the first situation would happen. Sadly.

But when Harry finally glanced up at his face, he couldn’t help but let the smirk stretch over his lips. Such a fuckable face, flush with probably embarrassment from even looking at the websites. “Well, you get to sparkle with me tonight, Harold. Come on, strip out of your hobo clothes and let’s get going soon.”

Perry zipped himself up and used the towel to dry himself, before slipping the shirt on. Just a simple white dress shirt to compliment his black leather pants. They hugged just at the right places, but not as tight as Harry’s – nothing could compare to the supple cupping of those cheeks. Once he was done, he made a quick jog upstairs to throw the towel into the hamper, before coming back down to check on Harry’s progress. Only if Harry was ready would they get going, but he hoped that the brunette hadn’t put on the collar without him.

Now, Perry wasn’t a sadistic fuck – well, maybe a little – nor was he some raging dominant – just a little, as stated before – but he did have the desire to collar Harry. Not in the “I’m making you my bitch, bitch!” way, but… a more sensual, claiming desire.

If this night went successfully well, then he’d have to play nice with Harold. If the night went wrong, then Harry was going to suffer more than a kick to the ass. Either way, this affectionate thing he was feeling for his partner was making him addle minded. “Ready, chief?”
 
"Can't I just wear the hobo clothes in the car, too?" Harry asked, and there was a tinge of desperation in his voice as he watched Perry head up the stairs, "I don't really have to take them off until the club, right? I mean, what if I need to change or something? I don't want to end up running through L.A. wearing just leather pants, you know? 'Cause - Perry?"

He dropped his eyebrows,

"Perry, 'cause you know that sort of thing happens. To me."

When Perry came down the stairs, Harry was standing at the door, still in the hoodie and jeans, moving the leather collar between his fingers like he was playing with a card,

"I'm ready. Seriously, I'll just take them off in the car. I'm just - this is a pre-emptive strike against, you know, the bad luck. I'm planning ahead." he said, looking down at the collar.
 
“Dipshit, if you keep saying it, then you’ll get the fucked up shit that comes to you.” he snapped out, a bit annoyed that Harry hadn’t stripped down. Snatching the collar from the other male’s hands, he glanced up and down the hobo outfit that covered up the leather. “Besides, you’ll be with me. Don’t you trust me to protect you from that shit?”

Not that he meant that to sound like he was hurt, but Perry was miffed that Harry forgot he’d be with Perry. Mr. van Shrike was not some small punny thing that got thrown around or looked at funnily. At least, not where he could see it, and that was all that counted in the end. If Harry was with him, he wouldn’t just stand there and wave to some fuckup as the person dragged Harry away to do some unspeakable thing to the brunette.

That was Perry’s goal.

“Chin up.” he demanded in mid-rant, nudging the other male’s chin up with the back of his hand. Fingers unlatched the collar and eased the smooth material over the slender neck. The collar was a single black band with a silver buckle in the front for any leash attachments, while Harry’s flesh was a caramel smoothness that the collar complimented. Perry barely had to adjust the thing before it looked like the brunette was born for it.

The detective’s fingers were gentle – not more so than usual, but actually gentle – when he placed the collar on. The digits smoothed over the flesh to massage it and ease the feeling of the collar around the neck, before lingering his fingertips against the collar itself. “Is it too tight?” he asked, almost whispering as he was mesmerized with such a simple act. Maybe Harold didn’t know it, but this was a symbol of trust among these kinds of relationships. Trust and ownership of something that Perry didn’t even want to think about with Harry, but knew he didn’t have it with his fucks.
 
"I'm not sure I buy that," Harry said, "I mean, yeah, to an extent we create our own destiny and all that shit, but I'm pretty sure I didn't go into the park thinking 'hey, I bet Santa is gonna brain me with a giant fucking sign today'. It sort of happened out of the blue. Definitely not a self-fulfilling prophecy."

He shifted uncomfortably on the spot, like a kid who had done something wrong,

"I trust you." Harry said, and there was an odd shyness in his voice; he scratched at the side of his head, looking over at the wall, "It's just - you can't always predict everything. I mean, you're basically Super Dick - like, dick as in Private Eye, I'm not saying you're a mega phallus or something - but shit happens, right?"

And, frankly, it would be ridiculous for Harry to expect it not to happen; in his experience, the sheer number of bad events tended to vastly outweigh the good ones - it didn't depress him or cause angst or anything, but that was just the way life was. Had always been. Harry had lived his life perpetually down on his luck until after the whole gunfighting-in-L.A thing.

At Perry's prompting, Harry gave a tiny grin,

"My chin is - oh, you mean literally. Yeah, sure. Why?" he said, lifting his chin, and watching as Perry handled the collar, "Oh. Okay. Yeah, probably better you do that, 'cause I'm not, uh, I don't exactly put these on often."

He felt Perry's hands at his throat and eased his head back just a little more to give him better access, swallowing against the feeling of the leather around his neck - it was a strange sensation, like a bowtie gone wrong.

"Yeah. No, it's not too tight." Harry said, shrugging his mouth a little, and he reached up to touch it, brushing his fingertips against the strap as though testing the feeling of it against his hand and his skin, "It's, uh, fine. For a collar."

Looking at Perry, he realized there had been a subtle change in his partner's expression and general posture - something in his face had softened, just a little, and he looked almost entranced. It was enough to make Harry bashfully avoid his eyes, then go for the door,

"Yeah, so let's - let's get out of here." he said, "Leather daddies await us, and shit."
 
As soon as the brunette turned away and headed towards the door, it felt as if the strange moment broke. Perry snapped out of his trance and shook his head, half because he needed to clear it, and half because he couldn’t believe he allowed himself to get swallowed by such a moment.

A fake moment, because Harold Lockhart was not his pet, nor was Lockhart his partner in that way. Perry had to remind himself that he took in the straight fuck because he was being kind – god, what made him think he should be kind to the fuckup? Perhaps it was because he had already began to develop feelings for the other male (please don’t be this one) or perhaps it was because there was just something about Harry that screamed “save me!”.

…

Both didn’t seem like a great answer for Perry.

“Yeah, we should… get going. But you know,” he spoke up, taking a few large strides towards the brunette. Perry’s hand snatched out and grabbed the smaller male’s waist to yank him closer. Daft fingers were skilled at stripping, so it wasn’t a surprise that he had Harry’s pants undone and was already pulling them down the slender hips before even himself was aware of it. The jeans were rough against his palms compared to the brushing leather.

Once pulled down towards Harry’s knees, he brought his leg up and stepped on the material between Harry’s legs and pushed down until they were around Lockhart’s ankles.

Now… well, normally, now would be the time he’d bend the other male over and drive into him without lubrication like they were being held at gunpoint.

But he kept himself in check and instead, he only allowed his palms to smooth over the leather covered hips. “You really should get used to doing as I asked the first time soon, Harold. Because we’re not playing softball, and at the lounge, if you fuck up, I will fuck you up. In front of everyone.” he half teased and half threatened. Perry was holding Harry by the hips and his front was almost plastered against the other male’s back. His lips ghosted the words along the other’s ear shell, hinting that fucking Harry up in front of others probably wasn’t just a beating, but a discipline closer to the theme of the club.

“Now take the hobo clothes off and come along. I’ve got your ass.” van Shrike took a step back and smacked Harry’s ass once. The sound of flesh against leather gave a sharp snap in the evening air, leaving a slightly stinging sensation on Perry’s palm. He side-stepped Harry then and began to walk towards the door, picking up the rental car keys and fully expected for Harry to join him. They wouldn’t – shouldn’t – waste any more time and he’d drive directly to the Rose Lounge.
 
Harry had been too focused on getting to the door to even notice Perry striding up behind him like a man on a mission - which it turned out, he was, and the mission consisted of Harry's pants. He was startled when he felt himself tugged back by the waist, the feeling of Perry's hands grabbing the material of his jeans and using it to direct him backwards. Long fingers were suddenly on his hips, then at his front, and suddenly his pants were down his knees, then down to his ankles and Harry almost tripped over them, just managing to catch himself on the door, his feet stuck in the bunched-up denim. Eyebrows raised, he glanced back at Perry over his shoulder,

"Right. Uh. Mr. Hardball, we don't need to really get into character until we're - there, since -" he began, but then his voice died his his throat as Perry's breath tickled against his ear and jaw, "-wha?"

And it was quickly followed up by a hard palm to his ass, which startled a small noise out of the smaller man,

"That's the second time this week." Harry groused, extracting himself out of the denim and carting it along with him as he followed after Perry, trying not to think about it too much as he got in the car; he unzipped his hoodie, shrugging it off and leaving him in a well-loved Rolling Stones t-shirt, "And i'm not taking this off yet. You've given me enough speeches about your cars, I'm not putting my bare back -"

Probably a poor choice of words.

" - uncovered flesh - against these seats. Nope."
 
Bareback… well, that was certainly an option.

But it was a good thing that Harry didn’t take off the tee-shirt, as it wouldn’t please him in the least if the other male sweated on the seat. Despite it being a rental car, Perry still felt that if he let up on one thing, Harry would just grow like some weed and continue to do bad habits.

As soon as the other male was buckled in, he steadily drove down the road this time. Not that he was nervous, but they had just a few minutes to spare so that they would join the lounge at a ‘fashionable’ time. “How much did you read up on the sites? When we’re there, call me Master, got it?” they were perhaps getting a bit into the roles, but that was detective work for some of the cases. Fill into the role that one needed to, to become someone or thing else, so that one could trick their suspects into believing else wise.

After a few minutes, they arrived at the back of the Rose Lounge – the way that most VIP members arrived – and he got out of the car to hand the keys to the valet parker. Without waiting, he moved over to open the door for Harry, as if he was helping his prized pet out of the car rather than yanking his dimwitted partner out. “Follow me. I don’t know if we’ll meet him here or if Ravan truly is here, so keep an eye out.”

The bouncer at the door gave them a nod, took their names, and opened the door for them. While it had been quiet as death outside, as soon as the doors were opened, loud music soon blasted them back. It pulsated the air around them the further they walked in. It wasn’t any different than other clubs really, what with the entertainment, the people in random cages and boxes dancing, the music, the grinding against each other dance floor… the only difference had to be that there were small subtle hints of a power and control fluctuation.

Like the couple to the far right of the bar. Not every day did one see a woman spanking a man’s bare bottom out in public. “Want a drink?” he asked loudly into Harry’s ear so that the other male could hear them. The underlining question was if he saw anyone he recognized either.
 
There was a long stretch of silence between them, almost an uncomfortable one, before Perry broke it; Harry looked over at him with raised eyebrows - his reading had led him far enough to recognize that he would need to address his partner by something other than his name as a sign of respect, but he wasn't sure he could handle 'master' without giggling like a school-girl.

"Right." Harry said, a little grimly as he watched the club come into view - it was a pretty typical L.A. scene, lots of black and red and not enough windows. Back in New York, clubs were usually in the subfloors and basements of big, old buildings - it made it seem somehow dirtier. Here, the clubs were big and loud and out in the open, like a carnival.

He waited until the car came to a stop, he even waited until Perry had stepped out before he moved to get rid of his shirt, placing it beneath the dashboard with his jeans and hoodie; for a moment he sat in the car and stared at the club, reaching up to tug at his collar a bit.

Yeah. That's right Lockhart. Your fucking collar. 'Cause you're wearing one.

"Well." Harry said to himself, but couldn't think of anything else; his eyes snapped up to Perry when the door opened, a little wider than normal, before he stepped out into the open, feeling utterly ridiculous - until he saw some of the other people going in. Then he suddenly felt like he had more clothes on than anyone else.

The inside of the place was a pretty predictable scene too, but only in the sense he had seen it a couple of times before at L.A. parties; art nouveau dancers in glass boxes, women dressed as Angels in wired up cages, people grinding on poles - just with a lot of leather and PVC and gags in the mix. There was even a woman on her hands and knees, acting as a footstool.

Harry did his best not to stare at anyone; in fact, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor as much as he could manage, but with so much noise and light whirling around him, it was hard not to be distracted like an ADHD eight year old.

"Yes." Harry said, equally loud, "A drink would be a great idea. Definitely. I mean, I should go get them, right? Or should I? Am I allowed to talk to the bartender? Shit, I'm already confused."
 
Upon hearing that Harry was already confused, he couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out of him. Not that he wanted his partner to be confused in the scene, but at the same time, he found it funny how much effort such a simple statement could have. “Follow me. Just keep an eye out.” he gently grasped Harry’s wrist and began to tug him through the throngs of people and towards the bar.

There wasn’t much room around the area, so they ended up just a few feet away from the woman spanking her submissive. The man gave rough cries, probably slowly breaking down as his bottom was a delicate red – must have done something bad. She wasn’t viciously out of control though, as she steadily spanked him while he began to break down and plea for her to stop.

Perry just raised an eyebrow at that, before turning to the bartender. “Two vodka shots.” they’d best not drink too much, least they needed their senses. Whether or not Harry wanted vodka wouldn’t have mattered, as he was one, making sure that even the bartender saw that he made decisions for the ‘pet’, and two, he was sure that Harry could handle an Absolut shot.

The bartender affirmed that and soon, two shot glasses were placed in front of them. Perry held his up and gave Harry a ‘cheers’ tip of his cup, before downing it. They stood there for a few minutes, the blonde half pretending to make idle chat, and mostly scanning the area around them for Damien.

After a few minutes though, he blinked hard to see if the buzz was hitting yet or not. Nothing too bad, so he grabbed for Harry’s waist, dragged him from whatever the brunette was doing – he might have zoned out and stopped paying attention for a moment – and leaned in close. “Let’s dance.” that way, there’d be more of an excuse for Harry to keep his head up and eyes wandering. Searching.
 
"Right." Harry said, allowing himself to be pulled around by the arm, going where Perry went, not only because he technically had to, but because he really just didn't want to end up standing around alone in the club, not when people were getting spanked and shit.

"Keeping an eye out." he confirmed, staring around himself, but not entirely sure what he was even looking for - and if he found it, he wasn't sure he would recognize it. The fact of the matter was that the place was distracting as fuck, and all it needed was a disco ball to completely throw Harry for a loop.

He welcomed the vodka like an old friend, raising the shot glass in a mutual cheer before knocking it back like it was water - despite all of his naivete, Harry was an experienced drinker back from an age when he probably shouldn't have even been able to reach his dad's liquor cabinet. Not that his dad had exactly been responsible with his booze - bottles of it had been everywhere, in every room, it had made it easier for him to stumble to the next one without having to really search.

That said, one shot wasn't going to be nearly enough for Harry to forget this had ever happened, and definitely not enough for a buzz; he decided not to mention this to Perry because the last thing he wanted was for the big guy to start questioning his drinking habits.

He spent the next few minutes looking idly around the club, observing the various, bizarre pairs that were strewn across the place - he was only pulled out of his reverie when Perry literally - pulled him.

"Dance?" Harry repeated, "I'm not much of a -"

He remembered himself. Right; it wasn't a request on Perry's part.

"-okay." Harry said, correcting it.
 
He was just about to correct Harry when the other male seemed to protest, before Harry corrected himself and began to follow him. Lucky for the brunette, because Lockhart wasn’t the only one that took some habits or skills from their father, and Perry was just two seconds away from beating Harry in Morse code.

The dance floor wasn’t more than a few feet in front of them, so it didn’t take long for them to be in the midst of the pulsating bodies and gyrating hips. The blonde wrapped his hands around Harry’s waist and attempted to spin him around. “Do you see her?” he asked, forming against Harry’s back like just minutes before. In tune with the music that sounded familiar and new at the same time, he rocked his hips against Lockhart’s.

They were swayed by music and people around them alike, some propositioning to switch partners so that the other man could get a go at Harry. Perry faked an interested look towards the other person’s partner, before shaking his head and saying that he had a shy pet.

More likely, he was just possessive and didn’t want to give up his time with their bodies so close. Luckily, Perry had more control over his body, and just this gentle rocking of hips wasn’t going to spring up an erection for him. Because he wasn’t sure if even he was strong enough to hold Harry still if the straight male felt another man’s cock pressed up against his buttocks. “Lean your head back and pretend you’re tipsy… gives leeway for you to let your eyes wander.” Perry advised, letting Harry in on the purpose of the drink.

He gave a moment of pause to pray that he was correct in assuming that Harry had a high alcohol tolerance. If he was wrong, then having a drunken partner when they were on a case was not going to end well. Plus, he’d be the only one to blame, because he gave Harry the drink.

Perry hadn’t seen Damien yet, but there had been a few glimpses of strawberry blonde here and there. Perhaps one of them was Damien and he hadn’t gotten a good look yet.
 
Harry's only experience with dancing had been back in grade eleven at the senior dance - he hadn't made it to prom, he'd been expelled before then. He hadn't been the popular kid or the unpopular kid, just somewhere in between, not exactly troubled but always distracted, skipping out on classes when they were boring and sometimes setting off cherry bombs in the toilets just because he'd wanted to see what would happen if he did it.

It occurred to him that he'd never asked Harmony to dance with him, partly because, back then, she wouldn't have done it - she would never be seen with him in public, just on the bleachers or after school when no one else was around, and he would listen to her talk and put an arm around her when she cried because she had a lot to cry about in those days. He'd wanted to break her dad's knees. He'd wanted to break his own dad's knees, too. But that was life back then; they were two kids with dead moms and no clue what the hell they were going to do.

Harmony was gone by grade eleven anyways, hopping on a bus and going to L.A.; she wouldn't have been there to dance with him. He'd asked the girl in the corner to dance, the one with the black hair and black lipstick and the mean gaze. Consequentially, it was the same night he'd lost his virginity, so it hadn't been all bad.

Probably not a good segway, given the current scenario, however.

Harry had been setting himself up for a stereotypical school dance, briefly panicking to himself about where he was supposed to put his hands - Perry's shoulders? His hips? Shit, he didn't even pay attention to the dancing in school - but then he was turned around and Perry's chest was against his back and Harry just stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do.

A quick glance around told him, though, as did the feeling of Van Shrike's hips against his own.

Right. Grinding.

Swallowing against the collar, he leaned his head back against Perry's shoulder, peering off to the side, eyes scanning the crowd as he tried damn hard not to think about what he was doing right then. No big deal. Just two guys getting their groove on. In leather.

Yeah.

Fuck.

"I'm not sure I'd recognize her in, uh, you know. Leather. She was pretty distinctive in the park, though, kind of dressed like a 1940s pin-up model."
 
“Didn’t you get a look at her face? What about the Santa guy that threw you like yesterday’s pair of pants? Got a look at his face?” because hell, he could be here too.

Perry didn’t stop his gyrating though, as they were most dancing in the public’s eye. To anyone else, they were two lovers, dancing and grinding and whispering into each other’s ears. Assumingly loving words to the others.

In the corner of his eyes, he spotted a few women that fitted that description, but they were all less suspicious than he assumed they should have appeared. Then again, his motto returned to him in his mind.

This business in real life? Boring.

It was then that he saw someone watching them, particularly watching Harry. The blonde raised an eyebrow at that person, in which the person seemed to frown at them. “Don’t fight me.” he warned his partner, fingers creeping from the brunette’s waist towards the brunette’s crotch. The fingertips stopped just at the bulge that was naturally there, massaging the inner thighs and joints as he grinded his hips harder against Harry’s ass. After a few moments of basically humping and groping, the watcher seemed to realize that Perry was staking a claim and turned his eyes away from the couple.

“May we cut in?” a deep voice asked, causing Perry to turn his head.

Damien. So the other person, the petit woman, must have been Ravan… right?

“Da-.” but before he could finish the name, the strawberry blonde pulled Perry aside and began to gyrate against him.

They were seemingly lost in the throngs of the crowd soon enough, and the woman happily molded herself against Harold. “Hello, Mr. Lockhart. Are you having a nice evening?” she asked with a silken tone.

Meanwhile, Perry was half fighting and half dancing with his ex boyfriend. “What the fuck is going on?” he asked the other blonde roughly.
 
"Yeah, I mean, I got a decent look at her face. She was - she was - pretty. But in an L.A. way. You know. Doesn't eat enough. Spends too much on her clothes? That sort of pretty. I guess I was looking at her legs more than anything." Harry admitted; that, and her shoes, "And I was too busy having my head held underwater when Santa showed his jolly fucking face."

He squinted; he tried to remember everything that had happened just before Elaine had shown up - he'd seen the Santa Clause earlier, hadn't he? Big guy, standing around looking miserable while holding a sign, guy had even glared at him,

"He had blue eyes." Harry said pointlessly, "And a fat suit on. Maybe just a pillow under it. Strong as hell, it was like he had 'roid rage."

He stiffened a bit when he felt Perry's hand begin to slip downwards but he resisted the urge to pull away; it was just for show. Just for show. God damn, he needed more vodka.

Van Shrike was suddenly rolling his hips hard against him, fingers touching and massaging his legs, his hips, and it went on long enough that Harry began to feel a buzz of heat in the base of his spine, which turned out to be the most disturbing thing of all. Maybe more vodka was a bad idea after all.

Of course, as quickly as it happened, it stopped, because Harry suddenly had warm, soft skin pressing fully against him, the familiar fit of a woman against his body, and he stared, bewildered, at the woman who had pushed onto him - she was shorter, with a lot more padding than L.A. girls had and her hair stuck out in wild dreadlocks that had been dyed in garish hues of red and green. Her face was soft, round, and it would have been almost welcoming if her smile hadn't been so sharp.

"I'm - uh, having a great evening." Harry said, a little absently as he looked around the club; the woman's hands went to his face, turning his head back towards her.

"Hey, pay attention." she said.

"Look, I'm flattered, but I'm here with -"

"- Van Shrike?" she finished for him, grinding her hips against his, rough enough that it hurt a little, "I know your name, dumb shit. I know his too. If you didn't figure it out, I'm Elaine Ravan."

She reached up and put a finger through the loop on his collar, using it to tug him down near her, her mouth at his ear while Harry protested,

"Will you stop doing that thing with your hips, it's really -"

"Listen. Hey. Listen to me, shut up. You need to get a new career, Lockhart, 'cause the one you've got? It's gonna take more than your finger next time. You got me?" she said, and her tongue came out enough to swipe along his earlobe, causing Harry to twitch visibly, "You don't belong in L.A."

Harry tugged himself back enough to be able to make eye contact again, though her finger stayed looped in his collar,

"Look, sweetheart," Harry said, and lifted his middle finger, "Just make sure they don't take this one. Where the fuck is Perry? I'm - let go of me. I don't hit girls."

He yanked himself back again and she finally let go,

"They're just having some quality time." she said, and Harry was looking around, standing on the tips of his toes, peering at the crowd - he could see Perry's blonde head, tall fucker that he was, somewhere further in the throng. And it looked like he was struggling.

And if Perry was struggling, that wasn't fucking good.

Harry moved in that direction, but Ravan was suddenly striding over to him; she put one hand in his hair and wrenched - hard - while one stiletto-clad foot kicked into the back of his leg, knocking him down.

In any other setting, the scene might have been met with shock by the surrounding crowd, but here - it was just a submissive being punished. Ravan's other available hand went to Harry's forehead, a fake fingernail pressing into the sutured wound, causing sharp pain to go through Harry's entire head, so sudden that it briefly blinded him,

"Fuck off, Lockhart," she said, and gave him a shove forward; he hit the ground on his side and Ravan put a heel onto his hip, pressing it in - and when Harry's vision swam back, he found himself staring at her other foot. The boot was fake leather, it laced up to her knees, the tip of it was sharp, the heel even sharper - a spike shoe.

Harry reached out and gripped the heel of the boot and, with one jerking motion, successfully snapped it off; Ravan's balance dissappeared with it and she fell to the ground with a shocked cry, clutching at her ankle - it gave Harry enough time to dart off into the crowd, weaving his way through until he glimpsed Perry for a second time. Another guy was holding onto him, pressing himself against Van Shrike - it wasn't the sort of thing Harry would normally interfere with, granted, but it was pretty clear that Perry wasn't interested.

He looked around himself, pausing only when he glimpsed the woman who had been paddling her submissive earlier, and he picked up the handled, wooden plank with a vague:

"Just-gotta-borrow-this."

Of course, he felt ridiculous when he got over to them; Damian was a hell of a lot taller than he was, and he was armed with just a plank of wood and leather pants, but what the hell.

"Hey," Harry said, striding up to where they were struggling, and in retrospect, he probably could have found a better battle cry than:

"Get your hands off my partner."

Before he soundly cracked Damian across the knee with the paddle.
 
“Listen, I’m not in the mo-.” but before Perry could finish his little speech, he heard a cry out in the dance floor. The blonde turned his head just in time to see Harry get owned by the mysterious woman. ‘Score one for Harry…’ he sarcastically thought, but outwardly, called out Harry’s name.

Damien wasn’t to be ignored though. The strawberry blonde grabbed a hold of van Shrike and kept a strong locked grip on his waist. “Going somewhere, Per? ‘cause I’d hate to cut our time short.”

“Sorry, I can’t help the fact that you’re a quick shooter.” he snapped back, elbowing Damien hard in the side. The other male gave a grunt and stumbled back, eyes glaring at the comment. Hitting sore spots weren’t that uncommon between them – even while they had been dating.

It was then that they heard a battle cry that was less than… accurate. At least, in this type of setting.

Damien turned around just in time to catch the paddle with his knee. He gave a cry of sharp pain, but buckled his knee in and glared murderously at the small brunette. With a growl of his own, he drew back his fist to swing at Harry, only to have another sharp pain hit the back of his head. This time, he lost conscious.

Behind him was Perry, staring with slightly wide eyes at Harry and a clenched fist that had knocked Damien in the back of his head. “Lockhart, that was the most dumbass thing…” well, not the most dumbass thing Harry’s ever done, but the most dumbass thing he’s done tonight. “Shit, where’s Ravan?” he asked suddenly, doing a 360-spin to see where the woman was. He still had questions as to why she was bothering them – or rather, trying to cut their business.

After his spin, his eyes landed back on Harry’s form… holding a paddle. He had many questions to ask – such as how did Harry even get that and why did he let Ravan get out of his sight? – but the only thing he could focus on for the moment was the fact that Harry was holding a paddle and facing him.

Now, Mr. van Shrike had always been told he had an overactive imagination. Mind you, he reined it in and didn’t share it out loud every second like Mr. Lockhart did, but he had one. One just didn’t appear cool and suave if he was spouting nonsense.

But now, it kicked in with a quick jab to the nuts. In Perry’s mind, he could shift this situation into a more private setting. Harry standing in front of him, him sitting on the bed or couch, Harry asking him please punish him because he fucked up something… again. Harry, bound up in leather, writhing and beggi-.

Thank god the bouncer came by to ask what was the matter, because he wasn’t sure how much he could hide the fact that he was working himself up. Quite literally. “Sir?” the bouncer prompted when he didn’t answer the first time.

Perry just turned to face the bouncer, a rather tall male with more tattoos than he had hair. “Nothing. Just someone distracting me from my pet.” he flashed a smile. The bouncer glanced here and there as if to access the situation, before nodding his head and telling them to keep the violence to a minimum, since punishment and pure violence was two different things.

The detective turned his head back to Harry and frowned at him, as if blaming Harry for a somewhat failed moment in the case. “Well?” he prompted of the other male.
 
Harry could safely say that he had experienced more intelligent, well thought-out moments in his life, though if he was pressed to come up with one on the spot, he probably wouldn't have been able to - either way, standing there with a paddle in his hand, Lockhart felt pretty stupid, particularly in combination with Perry's reaction.

"You were struggling." Harry protested, at Perry's evident annoyance, stepping over Damien and closer to Van Shrike, "I was just getting him off you. And anyways, if you don't remember, someone turned your car into a pile of rubble in a parking lot? Someone's out to get you, seems kind of a coincidence that these two are sidling up and threatening us three days later, doesn't it?"

He peered into the crowd; he couldn't see Ravan, but he could only assume she was still somewhere in the building,

"I broke her shoe. She's probably pretty pissed off." Harry said a little morosely, then touched at his forehead, "But she was trying to break my stitches. I think I was fair. She was telling me to get out of L.A. - I'm kind of sick of people telling me that, Per. I mean - Sir."
 
Perry’s left eyebrow twitched, from anger or irritation, he couldn’t tell. But he felt a mixture of things at the moment, and irritation was always high on the list of things he felt when Harry was involved. “I was not struggling. I just didn’t want to cause a scene.”

Unlike some people. the hint was obvious, as he glanced around them to see a few people staring at Harry. Not just Harry Lockhart, but rather, Harry the pet that fought against a mistress. While some were interested in the fact that the pet has yet to be broken into, others were more suspicious as to why he wasn’t.

The blonde reached out and grabbed Harry by his collar, before pulling in closer and grabbing the paddle. “Fuck, could you make us any more suspicious?” he whispered as he wrapped one arm around Harry’s back and the other swung the paddle to give a light, but somewhat firm smack on the other’s bottom. The sound of the rubber and wooden paddle smacking against leather covered cheeks was sharp and attention grabbing.

“You’ve been a bad boy, pet. Just asking to be punished.” Perry said in a firm and commanding tone. His voice was louder than the whisper from before, clearing speaking for the few audience members that were staring at them than for Harry’s benefit. Shoving the brunette towards the bathroom’s direction, he snapped out that he would punish Harry in private. Plus they needed a private area – we as private as they could get without being suspicious – to talk rather than on the dance floor.

It wasn’t too suspicious, because many owners preferred that punishments were private, while pleasure was public.
 
Harry's staggered for a moment when one of Perry's fingers hooked into the wrung of his collar - a fashion feature he almost could have forgotten he was wearing if he never had the inkling to breathe - and he stumbled in close,

"You were struggling." Harry shot back, voice low now that they were standing so close, "You were definitely struggling, you were jerking around like an epileptic at a U2 show, alright? And anyways, he was like, the same size as you and - nngk!"

The last part came in unison with the paddle striking against his ass, light enough that it didn't really hurt, but hard enough to make a definite punctuation against his leather-clad rear. Harry's eyebrows popped up as he stared up at Perry, falling into silence as he realized - yes, people were staring. Harry Lockhart, through no deliberate fault of his own - but through the inattention that comes with someone as hyper as him - had the tendency of forgetting that he was surrounded by other people from time to time, because when he focused on something else, the rest of the world tended to fade away.

And right then, he had been focused on Perry.

Now he was extremely focused, and that was because he was using that tone, and even Lockhart couldn't be distracted by anything else right then; he just blinked up at Van Shrike, wetting his lips after a moment, then muttering,

"Yes, sir."

Before he was ushered towards the bathroom; he just hoped Perry didn't drown him in a toilet - it wasn't exactly the way he wanted to go. Regardless, he went along without struggle, his face flushing just a little when a man to his right gave a low whistle of appreciation.

And inside the bathroom he let his eyes sweep over the stalls before he turned to Perry and said:

"Hey, look, you're gonna have to cut me a little slack; you've got someone trying to blow you up and suddenly you've got, you know, Ken-doll Gozdilla doing a violent leather tango all over you. Seems kinda messed up there."
 
Once they were in the bathroom and the stalls were checked to be empty, he moved to lock the bathroom door and sighed. Harry was more of a stressor in his life than Damien had been; which was saying a lot. The only difference would probably be that he had affectionate feelings for the dipshit while Damien had been a good fuck.

Harry has yet to prove he is a good fuck.

Fuck, not that he wanted to fuck Lockhart.

Not that he was thinking about fucking Lockhart.

Somewhere in Middle America, people were throwing popcorn at how many times he could narrate the word and action of fucking.

But that wasn’t the situation at hand. Instead, he was faced with his partner nagging him. “Shut up.” Perry demanded, reaching out and placing his palm over the flapping mouth. He should have invested in a gag for tonight – it would have been the sane route.

“That woman you were with – it was Ravan, right? What did she say to you – anything relating to the case other than what she said when you first met her?” he paused, as if contemplating. “If they’re going through all of this trouble just to have us stay out of an art thief, then maybe it’s more than that…?” the detective spoke aloud, not really sharing his thoughts with Harry other than unconsciously voicing his thoughts.

Maybe he could charge them more if it was a murder case along with an art thief.
 
A big palm moved over his mouth; it was a familiar enough motion that Harry even relaxed a little, staring at Perry under the dim lamps because, christ, even the bathrooms had mood lighting.

"Her name was Elaine Ravan," Harry agreed, "But she's not the woman from the park. That's not her. We've got two Elaines on this case - how weird is that? I don't even know of any other Elaines. It's not really an L.A. name, is it? Fuck it, anyways, she knew about my, you know, my hand before she even saw it, made a few thinly-veiled threats about hacking other pieces off of me, but she was pretty cryptic otherwise - aside from the whole, digging-her-finger-into-my-stitches thing."

He hazarded a glance at the mirror and he found himself briefly caught off guard by his own reflection; his face was predictably bruised and scratched up, but the addition of the collar and leather caused him to grimace like he'd just seen something particularly unpleasant. He looked back to Perry, deciding he was going to avoid mirrors for the rest of his life,

"And what about that Damien guy, yeah? You said you knew him, I didn't know you'd, you know," Harry said, and made a vague gesture, "Known him. In the biblical sense. Except that sort of thing probably isn't biblical. I'm assuming you and he - I mean, because that whole bump-and-grind thing there, Perry? Pretty gay. Who is this guy?"
 
While Harry spoke, Perry tore some napkin from the dispenser and was wiping his hands and half thinking about what the other male said. Two Elaines… because that made sense. He wouldn’t say it was a common name, but he couldn’t be sure of that fact. Rich people had the most fucked up names, after all.

At the question though, he raised an eyebrow and chose to wet a new napkin instead. He tugged Harry’s head towards him via Lockhart’s chin, before dapping at the stitches to clean them. So they may or may not have been closer to jabs than daps… either way, he was ending after the idiot.

“Yeah, I knew him… known him. Either way, it’s in the past – and who I bump-and-grind with is none of your business.” Perry snapped out, thinking that they both probably needed a lot of booze to drown out this failure of a night. “He used to work with another detective company… that’s how I got started in this business actually. But that doesn’t matter right now. Let’s just… fuck, let’s just get out of here. I need a drink.” he sighed, changing the subject and pulling away from Harry.

“Come on, chief… you did… good today.” Perry commented, reaching out and smacking Harry’s cheeks with both palms like he was fluffing the cheeks up. Once they were a delicate pink as if the other male had been blushing – like he had been punished – the blonde moved to leave the establishment. He reached into his wallet and pulled out both key and a card.

Maybe calling Larry up for a perk-me-up fuck wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Maybe he could make the doctor scream so loud, Harold would cream himself just from the sexual energy.

“Once we’re back, why don’t you do some background check on Ravan – see if you can find anything.”
 
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