Distance, Part Nine
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Title: Distance, Part Nine
Author: pinkdoom
Summary: Sometimes it takes a little distance to understand how precious what you have truly is; aw, look...more sexual tension
Rating R for Nine
Word Count: 2,300
Disclaimer: Not mine!! All is property of Jim Butcher, this is for entertainment purposes only.
Warnings: serious h/c (and will be for a while!); pre-slash flirting; sexual suggestions and serious sexual tension; language; a heaping of frustrated!Harry; corporeal Bob, no explanation.
Beta'd by: edana_ni_emer and moonchildetoo
Previous parts: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Three and a Half by weslyn, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight
"Stupid pants, stupid shirt," I muttered as I threw an armful of clothes across the room. I really wanted to wear some halfway normal clothes, which meant getting out of my flannel pants and t-shirt and putting on some khakis and a button-down shirt, maybe my jacket. And so, like a jackass, I valiantly (but stupidly) turned down Bob's offer to help get me dressed. I want to say that I did that because I have my pride, which is true, and because I really wanted to be able to do something on my own besides walk down the stairs and pour coffee...because then, that would mean that I was getting better, and that Bob and I were getting better.
But the real problem was that I knew that if I let Bob help me get dressed, his hands would be on my skin again, and I highly doubted that I would be able to handle that without making a real jackass of myself, or worse, scare Bob off and lose any and all hope of some kind of actual relationship with him. Sure, we had a relationship now, but the kind I wanted included rolling over in the morning, skin to skin with him, and running my hands over his body. And other far more devious, but way sexier things. We were a hell of a far cry from that now.
I sighed and rubbed my good hand over my jaw. I was well on my way to growing a mountain man beard, and I really, really needed to shave but, damn...something else I really couldn't do on my own. Proof enough was that my arm was throbbing from throwing those clothes across the room, and I'd used my good arm.
Fuck. I sighed again, making it as loud as I could because I was digging deep here, and called out, "Bob! Could you...help me? Please?"
I heard footsteps, then listened as those footsteps advanced up the stairs, and then Bob hit the landing and looked at me with just a hint of a smirk on his face. "Something the matter, Harry?"
Bastard. I bit my lip and tried my best to look indignant; I was covering up my bruised ego and how the sudden, but welcome, sight of him, dressed as usual, but his sleeves were rolled up from washing the breakfast dishes and he'd unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt, was affecting me. Damn. My shoulders slumped and I said wearily, "Can't get my fucking clothes on myself."
Bob stared at me for a moment before bursting out into a full-blown laugh. His eyes glowed green and his smile practically lit up his face, making the dark circles under his eyes and the worry lines all but disappear. And it felt incredible to know that I was the source of, even if momentary, joy that was letting him forget his pain. He took a few deep breaths and got himself under control before saying, with no small amount of amusement mind you, "And what was that tantrum downstairs you had just a few minutes ago? I remember you saying something about being able to do things on your own and that you wanted to wear normal clothes, and put them on without my help."
I grumbled under my breath and when he cocked his head at me, I spoke up. "Okay, okay, I was wrong. Excuse me for trying to have some kind of dignity."
Bob walked over to me, still smiling. "Harry, your body is far more wounded than your pride. If I were you, I'd worry first about my physical health before anything else. I can't run this business on my own, you know."
"Ha-ha, real funny." I gestured at the discarded clothes. "Some help, if you're done philosophizing, oh master?"
He snorted and picked up the clothes I'd tossed. "I'm a master of many things, Harry...I daresay you don't know the half of it."
I gaped. I couldn't help it. Was he flirting with me? Hell's bells. And here I was, no witty comeback or flirty little remark to make. Damn. "Just, help...please," I muttered.
Bob chuckled again, turning to me with clothes in hand. He put those on my bed and said, "I seem to recall asking this last night, but I'll ask again, just as a reminder to myself." He placed himself in front of me, hands going for my shirt, and said softly, "Standing up or sitting down?"
I licked dry lips and watched his eyes instantly track that movement, and had the sudden suspicion that if we really were going to play this game, I knew who was coming out on the top. And it wasn't going to be me. "Standing up," I sputtered, trying to make a show with my cast as a means of distracting Bob. "I'm not dizzy like last night."
"Fine by me," he replied smoothly, his hands grasping the hem of my shirt. He wrangled me out of that, then out of my pants, leaving me in the cool apartment in just my underwear. And as embarrassed and turned on as I had been last night, this was ten times worse because there was more light this time around, and I could clearly see his green eyes darken when he saw me standing there nearly naked.
Christ on a crutch. I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from jumping him right fucking now. "Hey, Bob," I said, wincing at how forced my own voice sounded, "you think we could get some clothes on me before I contract hypothermia?"
"Impatient as usual," he said in that same even tone. "Let me double check your bandages and then we'll get you dressed." He did a quick inventory of my bandages, and then of my bruises, and by the little "hmm" sounds he was making, I assumed he was pleased at how I was healing.
"Do I pass?" I joked, running my hand through my hair--which had to be sticking straight up, like always.
"Absolutely," he responded in a deep drawl that nearly sent me to my knees. His face was inches from mine, and then a dark green fabric wall came between our eyes. "Now, let's see if we can get you into this."
Bob pulled the button-down shirt from between our faces and helped me into it, deft fingers doing up all the buttons but the top two. His hands, warm and soft on my bare back and shoulders, made me weak, and I had to put my head on his shoulder in order to give myself a moment's composure. Gods, I was in trouble. But, of course, that movement made Bob fly into protective nursemaid mode, and he asked worriedly, "Harry, are you all right? Do you need to sit?"
I shook my head, wanting really badly to give into the arms he wrapped around me, to tuck my face into his neck and never come out again. This close, I could smell him, and it made my mouth water. "I'm fine," I murmured against the fabric of his shirt. "I feel like an idiot, but other than that, I'm fine."
Bob pulled away from me a bit and brought my eyes up to his with a hand under my chin. "You're not just saying that, right? Not just telling me some little half-lies in order to appease me?"
Those beautiful, clever green eyes practically sparkled as he looked right through me. I think that he knew I was lying to him, I also think that he knew that I knew about his feelings....but he's never confessed anything like that to me. I just stared back at him, swallowed hard, and said, "I might be...exaggerating how much pain I'm not in, if that helps."
That got me a smile, and he finished tugging my shirt onto my body. Pants, then socks and shoes, and then we both sat down on my bed. I was looking for purchase on some kind of solid ground, since my body was quickly heating up, and after a few minutes of silence, Bob turned to me, a half smile lighting up his face.
"Harry, I think you might want to shave...unless you've decided to grow a beard, that is."
I narrowed my eyes at him, grinning while I did so. "So, what are you trying to tell me, Bob? The scruffy look not in this fall?"
He reached up and ran his hand over my jaw. It was the most intimate touch he'd ever given me. His eyes locked with mine as he said, "I don't think I've ever seen you with more than just a dense five o'clock shadow."
Gentle fingers followed a path over my jaw and down to my chin. I couldn't speak, and his eyes held me in place. Say it, Bob, just fucking say it and get this over with so I can kiss you.
Please, Bob, so I don't have to think that what I heard and felt last night when you came to me, in my bed, was just my imagination or some fevered, erotic dream. Or, even worse, just an unfulfilled wish that will never become a reality.
Please, just tell me what you told me last night.
I don't know what he saw, either in my eyes or on my face as he touched me, but suddenly he jerked away and said hurriedly, "Let's get you into the bathroom and see about getting that facial hair taken care of, hmm?"
The change had come over him so fast it had been like he'd flipped a switch, and all the intimacy that had been there was gone. Poof. Just fucking disappeared. Strong hands grabbed my arms and helped me to my feet, and while I was still processing what had just happened, and subsequently reliving every millisecond of that touch, we'd reached the bathroom and Bob was telling me to sit down on the closed toilet lid.
I sat, but not without protest. It wouldn't work, and really, I didn't want it to, but it didn't hurt to try. "Do you want me to say it or do you?"
Bob turned around and cleared his throat. And in a near perfect imitation of my voice, he said, "Don't, Bob, I can do that myself."
I pulled back from him a bit. "Okay, that is just creepy."
"I can do that myself, Bob, I'm a grown man. I can shave my own jaw, make my own breakfast, dress myself, and fuck myself up in a motorcycle accident."
Payback's a bitch, Bob. "Fine." I coughed, raised my eyebrows, and said in a stuffy British accent, "Look at me, Hrothbert of Bainbridge. Civilized man forced to live in a dingy apartment with a man who can't find his own ass most days. I'm stuck-up, I think I know it all, and I'm a pervert to boot."
Bob paused mid-step for a moment, put his hands on his hips, and said, "I do not sound like that, Harry Dresden. You make me sound like those fellows they mock in Monty Python."
I gave him a haughty look. "And I don't sound like a Midwestern hick."
"Fine."
"Fine."
We stared each other down for a moment before I couldn't suppress my smile any longer. "You gonna let me shave or what?"
He waved a hand behind him. "It's all yours."
I got up and went over to the counter. "Thank you, kind sir."
Bob huffed at that. "It's not polite to mock me, Harry."
I wet the razor and without turning around said, "I'm not mocking you. I'm being facetious."
"Oh, facetious. Rather large word, Harry. And you used it properly."
That made me turn around. "Okay, have we crossed that line between joking and being nasty yet, cause I'm having trouble discerning whether we have or not." I grinned at him. "I know more big words than you realize."
Bob crossed his arms, but he did it with a smile. "I believe we're still joking." He stood and came up behind me. "We are, right?"
I chuckled at that. "I asked you first."
I caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, and the sight of him behind me, watching me shave with increasingly shaky hands, made me weak in the knees. Again. Damn.
"Harry, I hate to ask again, but are you all right? Your hand is shaking."
I stopped mid-stroke and managed to nick myself. "Shit." I reached for a tissue but Bob beat me to it. He handed it to me and I dabbed at my jaw. "See what you made me do?"
"Being facetious again, Harry?" I quickly looked at him and saw him lick his lips and lean in before he whispered, "Well, allow me to be a bit melodramatic when I say that I think my presence isn't what's messing you up."
I coughed, trying to cover up my surprise at his voice so close to my ear, and said, "Then what is?"
His response was to look down at my waistline...well, maybe a little bit below, and back away with a quiet, "I can't imagine."
Bob strolled out of the bathroom, hands behind his back, before I could find my voice again.
I finished shaving, I put everything away, and I went back into the empty bedroom and sat down on my bed. Holy shit.
Bob was flirting with me, and doing it with that fluid ease he does everything else with. He started it. I didn't do anything to push him into doing it, I didn't say anything, I didn't even reciprocate.
So now that he was doing exactly what I wanted him to do, what the hell was I supposed to do?
Title: Distance, Part Nine
Author: pinkdoom
Summary: Sometimes it takes a little distance to understand how precious what you have truly is; aw, look...more sexual tension
Rating R for Nine
Word Count: 2,300
Disclaimer: Not mine!! All is property of Jim Butcher, this is for entertainment purposes only.
Warnings: serious h/c (and will be for a while!); pre-slash flirting; sexual suggestions and serious sexual tension; language; a heaping of frustrated!Harry; corporeal Bob, no explanation.
Beta'd by: edana_ni_emer and moonchildetoo
Previous parts: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Three and a Half by weslyn, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight
"Stupid pants, stupid shirt," I muttered as I threw an armful of clothes across the room. I really wanted to wear some halfway normal clothes, which meant getting out of my flannel pants and t-shirt and putting on some khakis and a button-down shirt, maybe my jacket. And so, like a jackass, I valiantly (but stupidly) turned down Bob's offer to help get me dressed. I want to say that I did that because I have my pride, which is true, and because I really wanted to be able to do something on my own besides walk down the stairs and pour coffee...because then, that would mean that I was getting better, and that Bob and I were getting better.
But the real problem was that I knew that if I let Bob help me get dressed, his hands would be on my skin again, and I highly doubted that I would be able to handle that without making a real jackass of myself, or worse, scare Bob off and lose any and all hope of some kind of actual relationship with him. Sure, we had a relationship now, but the kind I wanted included rolling over in the morning, skin to skin with him, and running my hands over his body. And other far more devious, but way sexier things. We were a hell of a far cry from that now.
I sighed and rubbed my good hand over my jaw. I was well on my way to growing a mountain man beard, and I really, really needed to shave but, damn...something else I really couldn't do on my own. Proof enough was that my arm was throbbing from throwing those clothes across the room, and I'd used my good arm.
Fuck. I sighed again, making it as loud as I could because I was digging deep here, and called out, "Bob! Could you...help me? Please?"
I heard footsteps, then listened as those footsteps advanced up the stairs, and then Bob hit the landing and looked at me with just a hint of a smirk on his face. "Something the matter, Harry?"
Bastard. I bit my lip and tried my best to look indignant; I was covering up my bruised ego and how the sudden, but welcome, sight of him, dressed as usual, but his sleeves were rolled up from washing the breakfast dishes and he'd unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt, was affecting me. Damn. My shoulders slumped and I said wearily, "Can't get my fucking clothes on myself."
Bob stared at me for a moment before bursting out into a full-blown laugh. His eyes glowed green and his smile practically lit up his face, making the dark circles under his eyes and the worry lines all but disappear. And it felt incredible to know that I was the source of, even if momentary, joy that was letting him forget his pain. He took a few deep breaths and got himself under control before saying, with no small amount of amusement mind you, "And what was that tantrum downstairs you had just a few minutes ago? I remember you saying something about being able to do things on your own and that you wanted to wear normal clothes, and put them on without my help."
I grumbled under my breath and when he cocked his head at me, I spoke up. "Okay, okay, I was wrong. Excuse me for trying to have some kind of dignity."
Bob walked over to me, still smiling. "Harry, your body is far more wounded than your pride. If I were you, I'd worry first about my physical health before anything else. I can't run this business on my own, you know."
"Ha-ha, real funny." I gestured at the discarded clothes. "Some help, if you're done philosophizing, oh master?"
He snorted and picked up the clothes I'd tossed. "I'm a master of many things, Harry...I daresay you don't know the half of it."
I gaped. I couldn't help it. Was he flirting with me? Hell's bells. And here I was, no witty comeback or flirty little remark to make. Damn. "Just, help...please," I muttered.
Bob chuckled again, turning to me with clothes in hand. He put those on my bed and said, "I seem to recall asking this last night, but I'll ask again, just as a reminder to myself." He placed himself in front of me, hands going for my shirt, and said softly, "Standing up or sitting down?"
I licked dry lips and watched his eyes instantly track that movement, and had the sudden suspicion that if we really were going to play this game, I knew who was coming out on the top. And it wasn't going to be me. "Standing up," I sputtered, trying to make a show with my cast as a means of distracting Bob. "I'm not dizzy like last night."
"Fine by me," he replied smoothly, his hands grasping the hem of my shirt. He wrangled me out of that, then out of my pants, leaving me in the cool apartment in just my underwear. And as embarrassed and turned on as I had been last night, this was ten times worse because there was more light this time around, and I could clearly see his green eyes darken when he saw me standing there nearly naked.
Christ on a crutch. I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from jumping him right fucking now. "Hey, Bob," I said, wincing at how forced my own voice sounded, "you think we could get some clothes on me before I contract hypothermia?"
"Impatient as usual," he said in that same even tone. "Let me double check your bandages and then we'll get you dressed." He did a quick inventory of my bandages, and then of my bruises, and by the little "hmm" sounds he was making, I assumed he was pleased at how I was healing.
"Do I pass?" I joked, running my hand through my hair--which had to be sticking straight up, like always.
"Absolutely," he responded in a deep drawl that nearly sent me to my knees. His face was inches from mine, and then a dark green fabric wall came between our eyes. "Now, let's see if we can get you into this."
Bob pulled the button-down shirt from between our faces and helped me into it, deft fingers doing up all the buttons but the top two. His hands, warm and soft on my bare back and shoulders, made me weak, and I had to put my head on his shoulder in order to give myself a moment's composure. Gods, I was in trouble. But, of course, that movement made Bob fly into protective nursemaid mode, and he asked worriedly, "Harry, are you all right? Do you need to sit?"
I shook my head, wanting really badly to give into the arms he wrapped around me, to tuck my face into his neck and never come out again. This close, I could smell him, and it made my mouth water. "I'm fine," I murmured against the fabric of his shirt. "I feel like an idiot, but other than that, I'm fine."
Bob pulled away from me a bit and brought my eyes up to his with a hand under my chin. "You're not just saying that, right? Not just telling me some little half-lies in order to appease me?"
Those beautiful, clever green eyes practically sparkled as he looked right through me. I think that he knew I was lying to him, I also think that he knew that I knew about his feelings....but he's never confessed anything like that to me. I just stared back at him, swallowed hard, and said, "I might be...exaggerating how much pain I'm not in, if that helps."
That got me a smile, and he finished tugging my shirt onto my body. Pants, then socks and shoes, and then we both sat down on my bed. I was looking for purchase on some kind of solid ground, since my body was quickly heating up, and after a few minutes of silence, Bob turned to me, a half smile lighting up his face.
"Harry, I think you might want to shave...unless you've decided to grow a beard, that is."
I narrowed my eyes at him, grinning while I did so. "So, what are you trying to tell me, Bob? The scruffy look not in this fall?"
He reached up and ran his hand over my jaw. It was the most intimate touch he'd ever given me. His eyes locked with mine as he said, "I don't think I've ever seen you with more than just a dense five o'clock shadow."
Gentle fingers followed a path over my jaw and down to my chin. I couldn't speak, and his eyes held me in place. Say it, Bob, just fucking say it and get this over with so I can kiss you.
Please, Bob, so I don't have to think that what I heard and felt last night when you came to me, in my bed, was just my imagination or some fevered, erotic dream. Or, even worse, just an unfulfilled wish that will never become a reality.
Please, just tell me what you told me last night.
I don't know what he saw, either in my eyes or on my face as he touched me, but suddenly he jerked away and said hurriedly, "Let's get you into the bathroom and see about getting that facial hair taken care of, hmm?"
The change had come over him so fast it had been like he'd flipped a switch, and all the intimacy that had been there was gone. Poof. Just fucking disappeared. Strong hands grabbed my arms and helped me to my feet, and while I was still processing what had just happened, and subsequently reliving every millisecond of that touch, we'd reached the bathroom and Bob was telling me to sit down on the closed toilet lid.
I sat, but not without protest. It wouldn't work, and really, I didn't want it to, but it didn't hurt to try. "Do you want me to say it or do you?"
Bob turned around and cleared his throat. And in a near perfect imitation of my voice, he said, "Don't, Bob, I can do that myself."
I pulled back from him a bit. "Okay, that is just creepy."
"I can do that myself, Bob, I'm a grown man. I can shave my own jaw, make my own breakfast, dress myself, and fuck myself up in a motorcycle accident."
Payback's a bitch, Bob. "Fine." I coughed, raised my eyebrows, and said in a stuffy British accent, "Look at me, Hrothbert of Bainbridge. Civilized man forced to live in a dingy apartment with a man who can't find his own ass most days. I'm stuck-up, I think I know it all, and I'm a pervert to boot."
Bob paused mid-step for a moment, put his hands on his hips, and said, "I do not sound like that, Harry Dresden. You make me sound like those fellows they mock in Monty Python."
I gave him a haughty look. "And I don't sound like a Midwestern hick."
"Fine."
"Fine."
We stared each other down for a moment before I couldn't suppress my smile any longer. "You gonna let me shave or what?"
He waved a hand behind him. "It's all yours."
I got up and went over to the counter. "Thank you, kind sir."
Bob huffed at that. "It's not polite to mock me, Harry."
I wet the razor and without turning around said, "I'm not mocking you. I'm being facetious."
"Oh, facetious. Rather large word, Harry. And you used it properly."
That made me turn around. "Okay, have we crossed that line between joking and being nasty yet, cause I'm having trouble discerning whether we have or not." I grinned at him. "I know more big words than you realize."
Bob crossed his arms, but he did it with a smile. "I believe we're still joking." He stood and came up behind me. "We are, right?"
I chuckled at that. "I asked you first."
I caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, and the sight of him behind me, watching me shave with increasingly shaky hands, made me weak in the knees. Again. Damn.
"Harry, I hate to ask again, but are you all right? Your hand is shaking."
I stopped mid-stroke and managed to nick myself. "Shit." I reached for a tissue but Bob beat me to it. He handed it to me and I dabbed at my jaw. "See what you made me do?"
"Being facetious again, Harry?" I quickly looked at him and saw him lick his lips and lean in before he whispered, "Well, allow me to be a bit melodramatic when I say that I think my presence isn't what's messing you up."
I coughed, trying to cover up my surprise at his voice so close to my ear, and said, "Then what is?"
His response was to look down at my waistline...well, maybe a little bit below, and back away with a quiet, "I can't imagine."
Bob strolled out of the bathroom, hands behind his back, before I could find my voice again.
I finished shaving, I put everything away, and I went back into the empty bedroom and sat down on my bed. Holy shit.
Bob was flirting with me, and doing it with that fluid ease he does everything else with. He started it. I didn't do anything to push him into doing it, I didn't say anything, I didn't even reciprocate.
So now that he was doing exactly what I wanted him to do, what the hell was I supposed to do?