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marlo lane is the worst erogamer
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"Yeah. I'll text you when I get home." 

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Then he'll smile at them both one more time and then leave for Octopus House. 

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The party at Octopus House resembles a wild college party, as designed by someone who has never actually been to a party but has watched a lot of eighties teen movies. People are drinking beer in a variety of fashions unlike how one normally drinks beer. Girls in very little clothing gyrate to music about gyrating while wearing very little clothing. Some people are yelling "TOGA! TOGA! TOGA!" and occasionally, out of confusion, "FREEBIRD!"

 

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It's loud and crowded and smells like alcohol and he is very strongly reminded of why he doesn't go to parties or bars. 

Now. Where does one find a mediocre guitar player and serial rapist around here. 

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Well, at a guess, the guy in eyeliner getting uncomfortably close to a scared-looking girl who looks way too young to be at this party.

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Yep, that's probably the one. 

He watches for a moment, two, and then heads over to the two of them and smiles and says "Hey." 

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He pauses, looks Marlo up and down in a predatory fashion, and smiles. His smile has too many teeth. It's not that it's not happy. It's that the subject of its happiness is how easy it would be to devour you.

"Well, hello. I'm Harry. Don't tell me your name, I find it ruins things."

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"I won't, then." 

Keep his attention off the girl — this would be easier if there were cameras around —

— wait, everyone here is carrying a phone with a camera, probably someone in the room is taking a picture, he doesn't know that he isn't in the frame — 

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+1 ERO for munchkining.

Marlo feels the impulses telling him how to shift his weight, tilt his head, bare his neck.

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Harry looks hungry.

"You don't look drunk enough."

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He shifts his weight and tilts his head and bares his neck and smiles, lets himself look a little nervous. 

"I'm not." 

This is a lie. He is the perfect amount of drunk, which is zero. 

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"I find everything in life is better if you do it completely fucking wasted." He savors the words. "Whaddya say, two for you, one for me?"

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Exactly zero things are better if you do them totally wasted. 

He smiles and says "Sounds good!" and keeps remembering how many people are carrying cameras, keeps his neck bared and his head tilted and his body angled towards Harry. 

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He grabs Marlo's wrist and pulls it hard. "Well, then, come over here and we'll get this party started." He flashes the hungry smile. "Your party started. My party is eeeeternal."

(The girl flees in gratitude and confusion.)

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Okay, good, she's gone. Now he just has to keep Harry's attention on him. 

He follows where he's pulled, keeps the shy vulnerable nervous smile. 

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Harry pulls him through the crowd to a place with shots, downs one, and hands Marlo two expectantly.

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He takes two shots, is acutely conscious of how his throat moves. College party alcohol tastes even worse than normal alcohol but it's fine, it's fine, this is all fine — 

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A skill has been created by a special action! Taking two shots from Harry has created the skill But Had He Been Drinking?
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He is not a fan of the sound of that skill but it's fine, he can look at it later when there are fewer things happening — 

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Harry grins, pulls Marlo close to him, and whispers in his ear, "Let's dance."

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"Okay," he whispers, and lets himself be pulled close to Harry, and doesn't have to fake the fear — Harry can probably feel his heartbeat — 

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He can, and he likes it.

Harry's form of dancing is perhaps better described as unusually rhythmic frottage.

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That's not a surprise. It is kind of a lot but it isn't a surprise. 

Marlo doesn't know how to do this; he does his best to just — relax and let Harry lead. 

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Mm. Maybe it should be kissing and unusually rhythmic frottage.

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He tenses up when Harry kisses him — does his best to relax; his best isn't great — his heart is still pounding. Harry can feel it better now, pressed together like this. 

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