Pairing: Sean Bean/Harry Sinclair
Rating: R for cookie-porn ;)
Request: "Harry Sinclair and anyone at all would be fantastic (especially Harry/Sean Bean). So would Andy Serkis and anyone at all. Or Marton/Viggo. Or Dom/Viggo. Really, take your pick from those. I prefer no extreme angst or schmoop. I really like kink and I like AU."
Summary: Harry has a mysterious spice mix he wants to try in the gingerbread men he and Sean are baking for the Ringers' New Year's party. It turns out it does everything the vendor said it would, and then some.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize. I know nothing about their social lives or sexual activities, more's the pity. This is fiction, period. It is done as a labor of love and I make no money from it.
Notes: A cracky little piece of weirdness. :) Written for v_angelique for the 2007 slashababy fest.
"Whose idea was this again?" Sean grumbled. He was leaning back against the island counter in the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Harry dump ingredients into a bowl for gingerbread.
"Hey, I wanted to do a take-out pot-luck, with everyone bringing their favorite not-cooked-at-home food. I didn't hear you jumping up to support me when Craig started to natter on about everyone making cookies." Harry's reminder came over his shoulder, since he was busy measuring and dumping, although rather more dumping than measuring. Harry had one of Sean's cookbooks open to a recipe, but didn't seem to be consulting it very often from what Sean could tell, nor was he making much use of the measuring cups and spoons.
"Are you sure that's going to work out?" Sean asked, ignoring Harry's accusation. Sean had been distracted during the conference call where they'd arranged everything, watching Harry sit on the opposite couch and slowly rub himself through his jeans. That wicked smile and the sexy glint in his eyes while he'd argued on his mobile about the nature of the Ringers' New Year get-together at Sean's house had drawn every scrap of Sean's attention away from the conversation chattering away over his own phone in his own ear. If Sean hadn't been paying attention or supporting him, it'd been Harry's own damn fault.
At least Harry'd volunteered to get the cookies put together on a flour-and-sugar level. Sean was a good enough hand in the kitchen but he'd never gotten much into baking. Harry'd insisted he help, though, so there he was, on the sidelines in his own kitchen, waiting for an opportunity to "help."
Harry capped the vanilla, then picked up an unmarked plastic zip bag full of a brown powder. Sean watched him dip into it with a tablespoon twice, and asked, "What's that, then? You're not pranking the party, are you? We get enough of that from the Hobbits."
"Nah, nothing like that." Harry tossed him a grin, then grabbed a thick wooden spoon and started mixing. Sean admired the flexing of his lover's arm while Harry rambled on, saying, "The guy at the spice booth at the flea market had a big jar of this and said I should try it. He promised it'd add some life to anything I used it with. It's just a spice blend -- give it a sniff." He nudged the bag with his elbow and Sean reached over for it.
Sean took a cautious sniff, then a more enthusiastic one. "Smells good," he admitted. "Cinnamon, ginger, some allspice... what else?"
"Hell if I know," Harry said cheerfully. "He told me what it was, but it was something I'd never heard before, in a language I didn't recognize. Probably something Caribbean or southeast Asian, where all the good spices are from. Whatever it is, it smells great. And I tasted a bit and I'm not dead, so we know it's safe."
Sean rolled his eyes and zipped the bag up. "Well, you're making a couple of batches, right? How about if we use this stuff in the first batch, but not the next? That way if it turns into muck in the oven, we won't have ruined everything."
"If you want." Harry shrugged and kept mixing.
"Well, one of us has to be the prudent one." Sean took a step forward and put Harry into a headlock and gave him a smacking kiss on the nose.
Harry came up sputtering and laughing, then shook him off and said, "Cut it out! Later! Go get out the pans and line them with parchment while I roll this out."
"Yes, Master," Sean snarked back. He scooted out of swatting range, then went to get the pans ready.
Sean liked to cook and his kitchen was large and comfortable, with plenty of storage and counter space, a six-burner stove, two ovens, and an island with a second sink and a wine rack. The counters were a sleek grey-and-black granite and the appliances were all brushed steel, but it was saved from being too stark or cold by the personal bits and bobs spotted around the place. He had a clay cat Lorna'd made for him in school when she was small sitting up on a shelf, and three plants in macrame hangers with long, beaded tassels Molly'd knotted for him at camp one year. Evie had contributed a set of drawings of horses, her favorite animal, from a tattered purple one with a pink mane and tale she'd colored when she was five, to a beautiful pencil sketch of a galloping pinto she'd given him only a month earlier and which Sean planned to find a frame for.
He didn't bake very often, but he had cookie sheets that got used when the girls visited, and even parchment paper to line them with.
Ten minutes later they were cutting out cookies. Sean had roared with laughter when Harry'd pulled the cutters out of their plastic box.
"Do you always travel with a collection of obscene cookie cutters?" Sean asked, when he could manage to speak coherently.
Harry gave him a wink. "Only when I'm coming to stay with you, love. I was going to make you a batch of these anyway -- the party was just an excuse to make several batches." He grabbed one and tossed it to Sean. It was a mostly traditional gingerbread man cutter. Only mostly, though, because that particular one was plastic and had detailing lines which made it very clear that it was for making gingerbread men, and not, for example, gingerbread women, much less the more usual neutral models. Each little man had an outlined set of rampant tackle to go with his perky bow tie and huge grin. "You cut while I make up the next batch. I think the boys deserve the zinger dough, don't you?"
Sean snorted and started cutting out horny little gingerbread men. "At least we'll know what to warn folks off of, if that spice mix doesn't work out."
"Maybe it's an aphrodesiac?" Harry pondered, his voice dripping innocence. "In that case we'll just keep them all for ourselves."
"'Snot like the Hobbits need any such thing," Sean said with a grin. "Nor Vig and Orlando, nor Karl and Craig and Hugo."
"Are you saying we do? I think I'm offended." Harry turned around and planted flour-covered fists on his hips, with what Sean could tell was a patently fake glare on his face.
"Nah, not at all. You're a sexy beast and you know it." Sean winked at Harry, then cut out another cookie. "But a little more wouldn't go amiss, yeah? Just for fun?"
"Oh, I'm all for fun, sure." Harry went back to his mixing. "Just watch how you phrase things or you'll hurt my feelings."
Sean rolled his eyes and said, "Yes, dear." He slid the full pan of cookies into the oven and started on filling the next.
After the batch of gingerbread men rampant was done, Sean took the second batch of dough -- the one minus the unnamed spice mix -- and pulled out Harry's other cutters. There was one of a well-endowed gingerbread woman, and others of various shapes -- tubes and bottles of lube, dildos, cocks (both rampant and flacid), tits (both in pairs and singly), pairs of handcuffs (which were mainly round with a bit of edge detail and enough pressed-in lines to look like both cuffs were stacked together) and a splayed flogger.
The cutting and baking and stacking took all day, allowing for the occasional snogging break whenever there was a pan in the oven and the other two pans were full. At one point, Harry's hand had been groping around in Sean's trouser pocket, and when he pulled it out to make more direct contact with Sean's cock through his finally-opened fly, half a dozen small items had gone flying. The noise of them hitting the slate floor startled Sean and he took a step back, crunching something under his boot heel. He started to look for it, but Harry dragged him back up by his hair and kissed him hard, and whatever'd broken vanished from Sean's mind.
It was frustrating to have to break apart and grab for the mitts whenever the timer went off, but as soon as the last pan was out of the oven they dragged each other up the stairs to Sean's bed and fucked each other into happily buzzed and panting exhaustion.
After dinner, Harry brought out a plastic bag with a kitchen store logo on it. It was full of decorating gear and they got to it. That part was fun and they both made creative use of the tubes of colored icing. The colored sprinkles and cinnamon candies and tiny silver and gold candy balls made excellent accents when used with care; Harry used nearly half the chocolate-brown sprinkles to turn one of the men into a "bear," with a thick coating of chocolate "hair" on both front and back. Sean used the little silver balls to draw artfully placed "chains" on several of the gingerbread people.
At one point, something glittery that was larger than a candy ball caught Sean's eye. He squinted across the table at Harry and asked, "What's that?"
Harry, who was obviously stifling a snicker, finished sticking the thing onto his current cookie with a blob of frosting, then held it up and showed Sean.
"What the--?" Sean blinked, then cracked up.
Harry'd turned the gingerbread man into a mad slasher, with a white frosting hockey mask detailed in fine black frosting lines, and splashes of red "blood" all over him. What made it really perverted, though, was the tiny but real blade stuck to the end of one gingerbread arm.
Sean shook his head. "You're mental is what you are. What the fuck is that, and where'd you get it?"
"I'll take that as a compliment." Harry winked and set the little slasher-man carefully down on the platter with the other finished cookies. "I'm afraid that's the smaller blade from your pocket knife. That's what you stepped on earlier. It cracked and all its parts fell apart. Sorry 'bout that, but at least one bit of it's going for a good cause."
"Oh, aye, a wonderful cause. Very Christmasy. Or even New Yearsy" Sean smirked and shook his head. "Don't worry 'bout the knife. It was a promotional thing from a studio flack -- useless thing was shorter than my little finger. I didn't know they made Swiss army knives that small, and I certainly never used it for anything. It was in with all my pocket rubbish and I never fished it out. No loss."
"Well, see, it was serendipity that you had it and broke it, then," Harry said in a cheery voice. "The smaller blade was perfect."
"You only think that 'cause you're a disgusting perv."
"And that's why you love me, all those disgusting perversions that make you moan and beg."
Sean rolled his eyes again, but he could feel his cheeks heating while he did it. "It wasn't that sort of moan, when I saw your crispy little murderer."
"The Hobbit brigade'll love him and you know it."
"True. That's not precisely a sterling recommendation, though."
"True," Harry echoed. "Maybe we should save it for Orlando, then? Remind him of Vig?"
Sean laughed and threw the broken-off tip of a gingerbread penis across the table at Harry. "That was a chainsaw, not a knife!"
Harry threw one of the floggers back at Sean, and at that point they lost a few cookies in a gingerbread food-fight.
Eventually, though, they got back to decorating and managed to get through all the cookies, although it took until nearly eleven, at which point they were more than ready to get to bed for the night. They just left all the decorating supplies where they were to be cleared up in the morning, and headed back upstairs for a quick sixty-nine and then sleep.
When Sean plodded downstairs the next morning, running all the things still to be done before the party through his sleep-fogged mind, he didn't notice anything amiss at first. It wasn't until he was taking his first sip of strong tea that he turned and his gaze fell upon the kitchen table where the cookies were.
He coughed and sputtered and came as close to drowning as a man can come on a single mouthful of tea, then managed to swallow before yelling, "Harry!"
He heard Harry yell back something incomprehensible, then the sound of the toilet flushing. Footsteps, then another holler.
"What the fuck? It's too early to be shouting unless something's on fire!"
Harry's words only slowly penetrated Sean's consciousness, however. He was staring at the cookies with his mouth slightly open, trying to figure out whether he was still asleep or not.
At first he'd just thought Harry'd snuck downstairs in the middle of the night and done some even-pervier decorating. He wouldn't put it past him -- Harry had a wicked sense of humor which only rarely ran along the well-trodden paths taken by that of other, more normal folks. And Sean generally appreciated it, although admitting it wasn't any fun.
But the cookies -- not all of them but the pervy little men -- had definitely been enhanced, and that was what'd caught his eye right at first. They'd spread off the platters and across the table in little tableaus, which included various decorating tools and ingredients.
One gingerbread man was whacking another -- which was lying face-down over one of the larger tubes of icing -- with one of the cookie floggers. Four of the little men had been glued down to the tabletop with "rope" bonds of chocolate icing, in a variety of configurations, and seven other little men were, well, working on them. Two of the bound cookies were getting fucked, another was getting a blowjob, and one was glued upright to the side of one of the cooling racks and was getting fucked and blown. The fourth was being fed a little gingerbread cock by the little man it was attached to, while another little man was smacking the bound man's -- cookie's? -- cock, which had been encircled by a little icing cockring.
Actually, Sean couldn't remember whether or not the cockring had been there when he and Harry'd gone to bed.
But what'd struck him dumb was finally and blearily noticing that the cookies weren't just tableaus -- they were moving.
Harry came staggering into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his face with both hands, and stopped next to Sean. He was silent for a few seconds, then Sean heard him say, "Holy fuck."
Sean nodded hard enough to send a lock of hair falling over his eyes. He brushed it to one side and looked again, but the little men were still moving. It was a kinky little gingerbread orgy all over their kitchen table.
"Oh, now that's just wrong."
Sean looked to where Harry was pointing and saw that the little man who'd been giving another one a blowjob had finished. There was a splortch of white icing on the stomach of the bound-down little man that Sean would swear hadn't been there a minute ago, but then he noticed what the first little man was doing. He'd taken one of the cookies shaped like a rampant cock, which was half as big as he was, and had placed it next to his... partner? Pointing up between his legs. He bent over and started running, pushing the cock-cookie ahead of him so it rammed up into the bound cookie's crotch. Sean saw a crack appear, and the bound little man's icing-covered mouth shifted from a grimace to an O, which Sean was more than willing to interpret as pain. The second little man hauled the cock-cookie back and started again.
There was a pile of crumbs between the bound cookie-man's legs. The crack in his body was larger, and the head of the cookie-cock had worn down some. Sean wasn't sure which would disintegrate first, but Sean could only agree with Harry that there was something deeply wrong with the whole scenario.
Aside from the fact that the fucking cookies were moving, that was.
Fucking cookies. Yeah. Sean winced but couldn't make himself look away.
"Harry, tell me you slipped something into my tea."
"Sorry, can't do that. Besides, I haven't had any tea yet and I see it too."
"Yeah, lotta that going on."
There was a crunching sound and the little man getting fucked with the cock-cookie split into two larger pieces and a lot of crumbs.
Harry and Sean both winced.
"All right, that's enough of that." Harry grabbed the little guy who'd been pushing the cock-cookie and bit his head off.
"Harry!" Sean grabbed the wrist with the little cookie rapist-murderer's body in it in one hand and Harry's jaw with the other. "Fuck! Spit it out!"
"What? How come?" Harry mumbled around his mouthful of cookie.
"Harry!" Sean felt panic rising and dragged Harry over to the sink. "Spit it out! It's a fucking live gingerbread man! What the hell will it do to your insides if you eat it?!"
"All right, all right," Harry leaned over the sink and spat, then turned on the water and washed the cookie-blob down the drain. "But I already swallowed some so we'll just have to see."
"Cut it out! I'm all right, cripes! Look, it's got to be that spice mix, right? 'Add some life to whatever you use it with?' I'm gonna smack that old guy next time I'm at the flea market, but it had to be that. And I already tasted some when I first got it. I'm still alive so it didn't do anything to me, or just made me more alive or something so I didn't notice. I'll be fine."
Sean wasn't fully convinced. It sounded logical to his brain, except that nothing about this whole whacked-out situation was logical at all, and his gut was screaming at him to get Harry to hospital and have his stomach pumped or something.
On the other hand, if they tried to explain what'd happened, they'd both of them end up locked in the mental ward and wouldn't that look lovely in the tabs?
Of course, if they really were gone loony then they really should...?
All right, that was just... well, Sean didn't want to think about it. So set that one aside and move on.
"So, what do we do? Just let 'em all carry on, right there on the table?"
Harry watched the carrying on for a few moments, then gave Sean a sideways glance. "Well, at least if everyone else can see them, we know we're not nuts."
Sean sighed. "Be serious. This is... I don't know what it is, but we need to do something about it."
"Like what? You don't want to eat them. Garbage disposal?"
For some reason, that made Sean wince. They were just cookies, and they were damned unnatural cookies, but the thought of taking something that could move on its own and... well. Have sex. And all. And put them down the disposal just... struck him as cruel. Inhumane, even. After all, they weren't... well, all right, the one Harry'd beheaded might've been evil, assuming they were aware enough to know what they were doing and make a decision to do wrong....
Sean groaned and fell into a chair. "Why am I debating morality and free will in my head while watching a bunch of fuckin' cookies... fuckin' each other?"
Harry leaned over with his arms around Sean's shoulders and smacked a kiss onto the side of his neck. "Lighten up," he said. "Come on, they're cookies! You know, those things we eat without worrying about it? You'll eat the gingerbread women, right? You don't want to be sexist about it." Sean could feel Harry grinning against his throat.
"Wanker," Sean muttered. "The women aren't fucking anyone."
"Of course not -- they're proper ladies."
Sean eyerolled. "So what, you want to just leave them? Should we hand everyone drinks at the door and get 'em drunk before we let 'em into the kitchen?"
"Hey, whatever you want." Harry gave him another enthusiastic kiss, then straightened up and went to make his own tea. "The way I see it, they're not hurting anything but themselves, and they're kinda fun to watch. It's not like anyone's going to blab about them -- who'd believe it?"
"Ummm." Sean knew there was something deeply wrong with Harry's reasoning, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He obviously needed more caffeine.
They did some quick rearranging of plans, since they'd intended to stage food on the kitchen table, but they made room on the island and shifted bottles to the sideboard in the living room. By mid-afternoon, they were almost ready and had become more or less accustomed to working around the cookie-orgy in the kitchen, which hadn't lost either energy or enthusiasm.
Harry headed up to take a shower while Sean minded the pizzas in the oven. His attention kept drifting over to the table where the gingerbread men were still at it. Or rather, most of them were still at it -- two more had broken during the morning and the dismembered pieces had twitched pitifully until Sean had crushed them with the bottom of his empty tea mug while muttering something about putting them out of their misery. There were eleven left, though, and....
Wait, eleven? Sean counted the pairs (one) and trios (three) that'd drifted together around the table, and came up with eleven men. Plus the three of them that were "dead" and that was fourteen. But they'd gotten fifteen gingerbread men out of that first batch of dough, Sean was sure. So one was missing.
Sean caught a glint over by the cannisters and remembered that stupid little gingerbread slasher Harry had made. He felt a hollow shiver in the pit of his belly and strode across the room. He started shuffling the cannisters about, hunting for whatever it'd been that'd caught the light. There was nothing.
He went shuffling through the appliances and other clutter on the counter, then hunted around the platters and bowls on the island. Nothing. Where was the little bugger, then?
Harry came clumping down the stairs a few minutes later, bare-chested and just in his trousers, with his hair still damp from his shower. He asked, "What're you doing? Lose something?"
Sean glared at him and said, "Yes, as a matter of fact. Remember that little psycho slasher you made and even provided with a sharp weapon? He's missing, and I don't mind admitting I'm uncomfortable not knowing where the little wanker is."
Harry blinked, then said, "Crap, I forgot about little Viggo!"
"That sucker ain't Viggo. Figure, if that one little bugger murdered his mate with the cookie shaped like a prick, what's that other one going to do with a fuckin' knife?"
"Huh. Yeah." Harry scowled and started looking around.
He and Sean hunted together. The slasher-man was nowhere to be found, until finally Sean was crouched down checking under the table, in case the little sucker had fallen or jumped off and broken, when Harry suddenly hollered, "Sean, fuck!"
There was a sharp snap and Sean looked up just as the potted fern hanging over his head came crashing down, hanger and all. It grazed his temple and smashed onto his shoulder. He went thudding to the floor, more out of surprise than any actual injury.
Harry lunged forward and grabbed Sean under the arms and hauled him across the room, sliding on his arse across the slate floor. Sean was still blinking stars out of his eyes, but a glance up gave him a glimpse of a small brown shape which swung from the ceiling hook where the plant had hung, to the hanging lamp in the center of the room, then took a running jump off one of the lighted arms and flew over to the next plant hanger and vanished into the foliage.
Sean tried to point, but it was hard to aim his finger properly when being dragged along by his upper arms. "Harry! The fucker's hiding in the ivy! He cut down the fucking plant! A fucking cookie tried to kill me!"
"What? Where?!" Harry dropped him and dashed over to the hanging ivy and started hunting through the lush foliage with his hands.
"Watch yourself!" Sean called. He hauled himself to his feet and went to the counter near the stove for a pair of oven mitts. "It's armed, remember?"
"Oh, come on! How strong could it be?"
"Strong enough to cut through a bundle of cords as thick as your thumb. It's fuckin' magic, Harry -- who knows how strong it could be?"
"Yeah, but it's still-- Oww! Sonofabitch!" Harry yanked his hands back and twisted one hand to get the base of his pinky into his mouth. Sean could see the thin trickle of blood from across the kitchen.
"He's still in there!" Sean lunged in with both mitted hands, waving and swatting and ignoring any damage done to his ivy. Whatever broke off would grow back; he didn't want that psychotic little maniac running around his kitchen any longer than he could help.
The gingerbread man jumped onto one of Sean's oven mitts, then ran up his arm and leaped onto the counter. He stood there and waved his little knife while wagging his tiny cock at them with his free hand.
Sean cursed and tried to swat him, but he jumped out of the way. He was quick and could hop like a rabbit. Sean smacked and swatted and stomped, jumping and lunging after him, and Harry grabbed a tea towel and dove back into the fray, but neither of them could connect and half the time they bumped into one another or tripped over each other's feet.
"Wait, hang on," Sean called. He was winded and panting and frustrated, but brute force obviously wasn't working. "He's too quick, we're not going to be able to swat him. We have to out-think him."
"Any ideas?" Harry asked. "'Cause I can't think of anything a gingerbread man would want enough to use as bait for a trap, if that's the sort of thing you were thinking of."
"I wouldn't know how to build a trap anyway, unless you mean the shoebox-and-stick things they always come up with in cartoons."
"I doubt those things actually work anyway."
"I think the cartoon artists made 'em up," Sean agreed. "Nah, hang on, think. We could crush it or break it if we could connect, but he's too quick for us. He's got to have some other weakness, though."
"He's a cookie. What kinds of weaknesses does a cookie have?"
Sean let his gaze move around the room, jumping from item to item, looking for inspiration. Salt? That was for slugs. Hand mixer? Still had to catch him with it. Wait--!
"Hah!" Sean crossed over to the sink and grabbed up the spray bottle of water he used to mist the fern. When they'd gone shopping for plants to put into his new plant hangers, however many years past it'd been, Molly'd explained that ferns liked humidity and needed to be misted even more often than they needed to be watered. Sean had nodded and bought a spray bottle and kept it full of water, although he'd never mentioned to Molly that he only remembered to mist the fern once a week or so.
Cookies didn't like to get wet, though, or at least Sean had never known a cookie to come up better for having been splashed or spilled on or left out in the rain. He waved the bottle at Harry with a grin, then twisted the nozzle to the "Stream" setting and stalked after their gingerbread slasher.
After that it was all over but the cleaning up. The little man dashed and dodged, but once Sean found his range, he hit more than he missed, and the gingerbread man slowed down as he got soggier. Finally he waved his little knife one last time and collapsed into a vaguely man-shaped pile of mush. Sean gave it four more squirts for good measure.
Harry stood to one side and watched, cheering him on during the chase, then whooped and clapped when the gingerbread menace was finally defeated.
Sean looked up over the corpse of his nemesis and said, "I should've made you do that, you know. That was all your fault, you and your buggerin' magic spice mixes."
"Me? Hey, it's not my fault the spice guy slipped me something weird." Harry held up both hands in protest. "You can come with me to go tell him off, but I'm not taking the blame for any of this."
"Well, maybe you didn't know what the magic mix would do, but you're the one who armed the little sucker. Who the hell gives a knife blade to a cookie?"
"Oh, come on, that was cool until it started moving around."
"And stalking me and trying to brain me with my own damn plant."
"That's right -- we need to get that potted up in something else before the root ball dries out." Harry ignored Sean and went hunting through his cupboards, finally coming up with an old plastic bowl. "This'll do," he said. He got a steak knife and started punching holes in the bottom of the bowl.
Sean just rolled his eyes and went to check on the rest of the cookies on the kitchen table. They'd ignored the drama playing out around them, and were still happily fucking in as many positions and arrangements as Sean had ever seen or heard of. He thought for a moment of crunching them all just as a precaution, but finally shrugged and decided to let them be. Apparently only that one had been malicious -- toward humans, at least -- doubtless the result of Harry putting whatever magical mojo or intention or whatever into it by decorating it as a psycho-slasher. The others just wanted sex and they were welcome to it, so long as they kept it among themselves.
And it'd be something for the group to talk about during the party.
Sean snorted and headed for the stairs. He needed to get his own shower before people started arriving. He called, "Get the pizzas out of the oven when the timer goes off!" over his shoulder before heading up, already unbuttoning his shirt.
He heard Harry call, "Got it!" and nodded to himself, secure that everything was handled. Harry'd get the pizzas, and make sure the dirt and pot shards were cleaned up. Everything else was ready except Sean himself, and that'd only take twenty minutes or so.
But because he left the room, he didn't see one of the pervy little gingerbread men standing at the edge of the table, looking down at Harry, who was on his knees cleaning up broken pieces of ivy pot. The little man was watching Harry's wonderfully curved arse and rubbing his little gingerbread cock.