Disclaimer: The sad truth is that I don't own these characters. The sadder truth is that this story makes me no money.

Warning: This is just plotless smut. If you want a plot, please seek elsewhere.

Notes: I've actually written something! For the first time since late December, I've written a fic. For the first time since... October I think?... I've written KKBB. Now, normally I wouldn't post something that pushes the limits of the M rating, but I decided that after my long hiatus, something needed to be posted. I'm not sure this is up to my usual standards in characterization or story-telling, but it's just something light and plotless to get me back in writing shape.

"Thank you again for all your help, Perry," the client effused, pumping the detective's hand with vigor… and in a motion that reminded Harry, in his current uncomfortable state, of other things Perry's hands could be doing. Things they'd done in the not too distant past. "And I'll be sure to let you know the next time I'm in town so we can do that round of golf."

"I'm looking forward to it," Perry replied smoothly as they edged their way to the door. Harry couldn't see the other man's face from where he was half-hiding behind his larger body, but he had no doubt it was covered with a gracious, if smarmy, smile. Only the tension of the PI's shoulders and the painful tightness of his grip on Harry's wrist as he pulled him out of the hotel suite gave the lie to his response.

That and the torture he had just put his assistant through for the last ten to fifteen minutes.

"How could you do that to me!" Harry demanded in a hushed, strangled shout as soon as the double doors of the penthouse suite closed behind them. "How?" he repeated, clutching the lapels of Perry's blazer as he did so and taking muted, childish satisfaction in the wrinkles he made in the impeccable linen.

"How many times, Harry?" The false smile melted from Perry's face to reveal a very genuine frown of irritation.

"What?"

"How many times did I tell you not to mention golf to the client, hmm? How many times?"

"About fifty, but—"

"And how many times did you promise me 'I will not mention golf to the client?'" The icy condescension in Perry's tone was unfortunately doing nothing to cool Harry's anger… or his other problem.

"I think you only made me repeat it 49 times, but—"

"But you still brought it up, forcing me to lose half an hour of my precious time to fucking golf reminiscences from a director so boring they pay him not to include commentary on his DVDs!" A shudder of remembered disgust communicated itself to Harry, generating an agonizingly light friction against the front of his pants.

"I didn't mention golf!" Multiple levels of frustration caused Harry to raise his voice. "All I did wamph mmph…" Perry's hand over his mouth cut him off.

"All you did, idiot,was ask about his cabin in Tahoe – where he stays when he plays in the celebrity golf tournament!" The PI loosed a drawn out, dramatically long suffering sigh as his fingers moved from Harry's mouth to smooth the wrinkle between his own brows. "It was all I could do to keep a look of polite interest plastered on my face."

"All you could do! Fuck that! Do you know how—how—how… argh!" His indignant tirade deteriorated to an inarticulate growl of anger as the heat currently infusing his body and fogging his mind burned away the few words he had to express his embarrassment and discomfort.

"Well, Chief," Perry responded to the unfinished question, his frown finally giving way to a self-satisfied smirk that fueled the fires of both Harry's rage and his arousal, "I can feel exactly how." It was only then that Harry realized how his groin was pressed up against the other man's. How he was rubbing his arousal against Perry with slight, unconscious thrusts of his hips. "I think it's time we took this… discussion elsewhere."

With that, the detective removed Harry's weakened grip from his jacket and led him in an awkward walk past the elevators to the door to the stairwell. He pulled it open one handed, dragged Harry through and then pushed him back against the wall of the stairwell.

"What the hell was that for?" the magician hissed, slightly winded.

"Prying eyes, Chief," Perry replied, right hand tilting Harry's head up to look at the camera above their heads. His left hand moved down Harry's flank in a way that made it hard to focus on the security device. "Wouldn't want our discussion to be interrupted."

"I don't see wh— AH!" Harry did see – or rather, feel – as that distracting hand slid down and around to cup his ass while the other shifted its light grip from Harry's chin to the bulge in his trousers. "What are you doing!"

"Teaching you." A finger traced his clothed erection with teasing pressure. "To follow." Again. "Instructions." And again.

"I did…" Harry struggled for clarity and coherency as blood rushed from his head to his groin and his gaze locked on the slow, sensuous motion of Perry's tongue as it slipped out to wet full lips curved in a wicked grin. "I didn't –" The struggle ended with a gasp and shiver as Perry increased the pressure of his strokes.

"You did, Harry," the larger man leaned forward to whisper in Harry's ear, the hairs of his goatee just tickling his earlobe. The former thief shivered again at the contact, then groaned in frustration as the hand on his erection stopped moving. "And what's more," Perry continued, left hand sliding up the curve of Harry's backside before pulling his shirt and undershirt free of the waistband of his pants. Harry gave yet another shudder as that warm, strong hand contacted the bare skin of his back. He froze though, as that hand found the hand towel that Harry only half-remembered taking during a trip to the bathroom. "You've been stealing."

"It's just a hotel towel," he countered, weakly defensive. "Everybody takes those."

"We're not talking about everyone." Perry replied, voice soft but firm. "We're talking about Harry Lockhart." He jabbed a finger into his assistant's chest with each part of his name. Harry made a small groan of protest, though whether it was at this statement or at the removal of Perry's right hand from his groin, he wasn't sure.

"But—"

"No more excuses," the PI clipped out as he took a small step back from Harry, ending most of the contact between their bodies. Harry's hands reached up reflexively to pull him back, but the larger man lightly gripped his wrists and pressed them against the wall at his sides.

"Goddamn it, Perry." There was nowhere near enough force behind the words.

"It's time for you to take responsibility for your actions." The chiding tone of Perry's voice was undermined by an undercurrent of amusement. That same amusement – and something else – danced in the PI's narrowed eyes.

"Well, I'm sorry!" Harry hissed as he tried to extricate himself from the other man's hold, desperate to do something – anything – about his now throbbing arousal.

"Sorry for what?" Perry's grip held firm.

"Perry!"

"Sorry for what, Chief?" The detective's knee came up to brush tantalizingly, agonizingly against Harry's crotch. The action and question were repeated when there was no reply, "Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for… for…" Harry's eyes fluttered closed as he tried to recall, through the fog of painful, frustrated lust, just what he was apologizing for. "Sorry…"

"For what, Harry?"

"Jesus, I'm sorry for everything!" He reopened desire-misted eyes and locked them on his tormentor. "Now, please, Perry." To his distant embarrassment, the words came out in a breathy almost whine.

"Well…" Perry's Adam's apple bobbed slowly as he swallowed audibly. His next words were oddly shaky, "I guess that'll have to do." He released Harry's wrists and stepped forward, returning to his former position. Before the smaller man could even think about responding in any way, Perry covered his mouth with his own. As his tongue slipped in between Harry's parted lips, his hands busied themselves the magician's pants and underwear.

"Mmm…" Harry's hands clutched convulsively at his lover as his erection was at last freed from its prolonged confinement and brought in direct contact with Perry's now hot hand. A shudder and a moan shook Harry's body, making him almost bite down on Perry's tongue in his mouth. He started sucking on it gently, to make amends, as he thrust eagerly into Perry's hand.

It was Perry's turn to groan as he pulled back from the kiss to growl softly, "Mine, too." When the words didn't register, his left hand again grasped Harry's right wrist, moving the hand down to his own groin. Meaning taken, both of Harry's hands worked feverishly at the detective's fly, somehow managing to get it open. Perry helped him to push down the front of his briefs and wrapped both their hands around his own erection, guiding Harry in a long, slow stroke before shifting his hold to Harry's hip. "Leg. Up," he ordered huskily.

The smaller man complied, half-wrapping his right leg around Perry's hip and moaning again as the motion brought their mutual arousal into delicious, grinding contact. He pressed his shoulders back against the wall, thrusting his hips even further forward – anything to increase that blissful friction. His right hand moved to clutch at the nape of Perry's neck, trying to pull him closer… trying to stay upright. His left hand continued its strokes, reflexively, convulsively. Feeling another moan building in his throat, he pulled Perry's mouth toward him, muffling the sound in a kiss and inadvertently loosing the other man's hair from its ponytail. He took advantage of the accident, tangling his fingers in the surprisingly soft hair as the tongues, hands, and hips of both men moved together in instinctive passionate rhythm.

Perry, Harry said in his mind, moaned breathlessly into their kiss as his lover stroked a thumb across the dripping head of his erection, then back again to tease his slit with a thumbnail. He felt the heated pressure within him growing close to its breaking point. He tightened his left hand's grip on Perry's cock, three sweat and pre-ejaculate-slicked fingers caressing every ridge as the bony tip of his severed ring finger pressed into the heated flesh.

"God, Harry," Perry gasped, breaking their kiss. His head slumped forward against the wall and he continued, voice low and deep against Harry's ear, words punctuated by heated breaths, "I guess… you're half forgiven." His left again slid to Harry's back. "We… have a use… for this towel…" Swiftly, if awkwardly, he pulled the stolen hand towel free and used it to cover their erections. "Here we go, Chief," he whispered before placing a fierce, sucking kiss under Harry's ear. Then, he moved both his hands, one covered in the towel, in a long, vigorous stroke on Harry's cock.

"Perry!" Brain and stairwell reverberated with his lover's name as Harry finally came. He shuddered repeatedly against Perry as wave after wave of orgasm swept him, intensified by the period of denial. The cry and the motion apparently pushed the larger man over the edge as, with a soft grunt, his release covered Harry's left hand and mingled with his in the cotton folds of the towel.

"Fuck…" Harry breathed the only word that he could currently find. First, his right leg slipped from Perry's hip. Then, his whole body began slowly slipping down the wall behind him. Perry moved down with him, guiding him into a sitting position before slumping down beside him. Both men sat there, panting, side by side, for long moments. "Mmm," Harry breathed, a remnant of heat kindling in his belly as Perry used the towel to clean them both up. His head tipped back and the security camera was again in his sight.

It cut through the remaining fog in his brain.

"What the fuck were you thinking Perry?" The man thus question looked up at him, half-startled. "What if someone had walked in on… up to… Shit! What if we'd been caught?"

"Unless the spectacular orgasm I inspired drew someone's attention, I don't think there's much risk." Perry seemed recovered enough from his own orgasm to smirk again. "Who takes the stairs to the penthouse?"

"But… STILL," was the only response Harry could find.

"Well, for one thing, it might have taught you to keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself." That smirk decidedly needed wiping from Perry's face.

Harry shifted to a kneeling position facing Perry. "You sure about that?" He asked with an impish smile of his own.

"Half an hour of my life I will never get back lost to 'once upon a golf tee.' Plus who know how many hours yet to be lost when the head of Soporific Studios calls me for that round of golf. Yeah, I'm pretty sure about that."

"Well, if that's what you really want it's your loss then," he responded with a wave of his hands.

"What?"

Harry found it hard to answer with his smile tugging his mouth so wide. "If you really want me to keep my mouth shut." He licked his lips and shifted closer to Perry. "And my hands to myself." He reached out to caress Perry's chest briefly with both hands before pulling them back. "Then I guess I can't make it up to you after that round of golf." With a nearly full body shrug and a wry twist of his lips, Harry sat back on his heels, still facing Perry.

"You—" It was a rare treat to see that flabbergasted look on Perry's face. "I…" Harry couldn't stop the gleeful, childish laugh that escaped him at the PI's continued confusion. Finally Perry sighed, smiled ruefully, and conceded, "Alright. The towel never left the hotel." He tossed it into a corner of the stairwell. Harry didn't envy the housekeeping staff. "You've already made up for the time today." He rose slowly to his feet, straightened his clothing, and held a hand out to Harry. "I guess we're good for today, Chief." He assisted Harry to his feet and then, with a regal shake of his head, fully regained his usual demeanor. "Now straighten yourself up. We're going."

"Home?" Harry asked as he zipped his pants.

"No," Perry replied, the smile that curved his lips causing a shiver down Harry's back and a renewed twitch in his groin. "We're checking in."

Well, even if KKBB fans are not glad to have me back, I'm glad to be back.