Trade in Kind for qualpec
Author: templemarker
Recipient: qualapec
Title: Trade in Kind
Rating: R
Word Count: 1100
Pairing/Character(s): Thomas Raith, Harry Dresden
Notes/Warnings: Happy holidays! For the prompt "Thomas is just as bisexual as Lara is, he just hides it from Harry."
Summary: Then again, he still hadn't grown used to how dulled his senses were without, well. Without a regular diet of Justine.
"No, Harry. No, you don't need to stop by. No, I'm fine. No. Yes, I'll call you tomorrow. When I get off my shift, like I said. Little brother, I swear I will reach through this phone--okay. Yes. Goodbye."
Thomas hung the phone up with a muted sigh and rubbed his hand over his face. Harry was very well-meaning--of course he was, that was practically his middle name. No, Harry was a mothering prick who never quite realized the extent to which he did mother people.
Not that his concern wasn't entirely justified--Thomas hadn't meant to get hit by that car. He should have been paying more attention regardless of how engrossed he was listening to his iPod. Then again, he still hadn't grown used to how dulled his senses were without, well. Without a regular diet of Justine.
Justine. Her name was like an ache beneath his breast, a bruise that never disappeared.
His actual bruises, relics of the day's experiment in poor attention, ached faintly as he moved around his apartment, collecting the few things that he'd strewn across various flat surfaces. He winced when he bent to pick up a few of his books. Harry had come to get him at the hospital when it was clear that the panicked suburbanite who'd hit him with her SUV wouldn't let him out of her sight until he'd been ferried to Northwestern Memorial. Luckily she'd been willing to leave him in the waiting room after pressing her insurance information into his hands, apologizing for the hundredth time.
It had been easy enough to slip into Harry's awful car and finally, finally close his eyes from the combined force of all the wounded kine in close proximity.
Harry had fussed almost as much as the woman who hit him had, and was significantly worse at it. But after a long argument that ended with "because I'm your older brother and I said so"--bizarre words to hear coming out of his own mouth, but it was their uniqueness that did the trick--Harry dropped him off at his apartment and had only called him three times in the last few hours to check up on him. Harry would have tripled the calls if Thomas hadn't said he was taking a painkiller and going to bed.
It was a good thing Harry hadn't questioned that one too closely.
Hesitating for only a moment, Thomas sighed and pulled off his clothes, digging new ones out of his closet. He collected his keys, left his phone on the kitchen counter, and slid into a black leather jacket. The door shut behind him with a low click.
Donnato's was a North Loop gay bar, one that tailored itself towards more sophisticated clientele. Or at least men who wanted to believe they were sophisticated, which was just as good. Thomas went there rarely--he went anywhere rarely, these days, getting by well enough on the women at the salon, the occasional night out with the girls. He'd become very, very fond of Amazon's two day shipping as he read every book he could find that looked remotely interesting. And he could beg off for "Harry, my boyfriend, oui?" often enough that he didn't need to find ways to curb his temptations.
Tonight, however, there was nothing for it. If he didn't feed, if he didn't get something, tomorrow would be another round of explanations that he just didn't feel up to delivering. He wasn't going to do anything desperate--a week of back-to-back appointments and he'd be fine--but he needed something to get him through.
A fix, he thought disgustedly. I need a fix.
The kine--the men in this bar were all on the knife's edge between desperation and desire. Desperation to be noticed, to be approved of, to be admired and most of all to be chosen. Desire--well, that explained itself. Thomas schooled his face into the cool mask of pride and predation that lent itself so well to this particular social scene. He'd been to the bar only once before this year, but the bartender remembered him; there was a drink awaiting him at the bar even before he'd made it through the crowd near the door.
He unzipped his jacket to let the lean lines of his torso become visible, encased in a pristine white t-shirt just for this purpose. Resting elbows against the bar, and kicking his legs out, he let none of the bothersome pain he was feeling show, only subdued interest. He might, or he might not, be taking someone home tonight, his face said.
He would, but they didn't need to know that. And neither did Harry, who seemed content to believe that Thomas' daytime persona was a particularly involved joke. Thomas found very little to joke about these days. Who he liked to fuck, on the occasions when he was either trying to forget or trying to remember Justine, was none of Harry's goddamned business.
Eight minutes into his survey of the room, a brave little kine sauntered up to him with determination set into the line of his jaw. Thomas let his gaze settle on the man and tried not to smile. It wouldn't be a particularly nice one.
"Hi," the man said, voice steady but heart beating like a thready drum. "I'm Alex. Can I buy you another drink?"
Thomas flowed into a standing position, knowing the fall of the jacket revealed things from the way Alex's eyes dipped down and then back up to his face. He considered for a moment; he'd planned to play this game out a little longer, but his back hurt and his joints ached in a way that was noticeable and distinctly unpleasant. He raised his hand and dropped it to Alex's shoulder, relishing the slight tremor of the skin there. "Why, yes, Alex," he said, letting the low rumble of his seduction do its business. "I'd like that very much. Why don't we get a booth in the back and order from there?"
"There's not any free," Alex blurted, clearly surprised his invitation was accepted.
Thomas did let himself smile, relishing the sharp spike of arousal it drew from his new friend. "Oh, there will be. Don't you worry."
It wasn't breaking the rules if no one ended up dead or insane, Thomas told himself as he guided Alex through the crowd. No one would have to know.
Recipient: qualapec
Title: Trade in Kind
Rating: R
Word Count: 1100
Pairing/Character(s): Thomas Raith, Harry Dresden
Notes/Warnings: Happy holidays! For the prompt "Thomas is just as bisexual as Lara is, he just hides it from Harry."
Summary: Then again, he still hadn't grown used to how dulled his senses were without, well. Without a regular diet of Justine.
"No, Harry. No, you don't need to stop by. No, I'm fine. No. Yes, I'll call you tomorrow. When I get off my shift, like I said. Little brother, I swear I will reach through this phone--okay. Yes. Goodbye."
Thomas hung the phone up with a muted sigh and rubbed his hand over his face. Harry was very well-meaning--of course he was, that was practically his middle name. No, Harry was a mothering prick who never quite realized the extent to which he did mother people.
Not that his concern wasn't entirely justified--Thomas hadn't meant to get hit by that car. He should have been paying more attention regardless of how engrossed he was listening to his iPod. Then again, he still hadn't grown used to how dulled his senses were without, well. Without a regular diet of Justine.
Justine. Her name was like an ache beneath his breast, a bruise that never disappeared.
His actual bruises, relics of the day's experiment in poor attention, ached faintly as he moved around his apartment, collecting the few things that he'd strewn across various flat surfaces. He winced when he bent to pick up a few of his books. Harry had come to get him at the hospital when it was clear that the panicked suburbanite who'd hit him with her SUV wouldn't let him out of her sight until he'd been ferried to Northwestern Memorial. Luckily she'd been willing to leave him in the waiting room after pressing her insurance information into his hands, apologizing for the hundredth time.
It had been easy enough to slip into Harry's awful car and finally, finally close his eyes from the combined force of all the wounded kine in close proximity.
Harry had fussed almost as much as the woman who hit him had, and was significantly worse at it. But after a long argument that ended with "because I'm your older brother and I said so"--bizarre words to hear coming out of his own mouth, but it was their uniqueness that did the trick--Harry dropped him off at his apartment and had only called him three times in the last few hours to check up on him. Harry would have tripled the calls if Thomas hadn't said he was taking a painkiller and going to bed.
It was a good thing Harry hadn't questioned that one too closely.
Hesitating for only a moment, Thomas sighed and pulled off his clothes, digging new ones out of his closet. He collected his keys, left his phone on the kitchen counter, and slid into a black leather jacket. The door shut behind him with a low click.
Donnato's was a North Loop gay bar, one that tailored itself towards more sophisticated clientele. Or at least men who wanted to believe they were sophisticated, which was just as good. Thomas went there rarely--he went anywhere rarely, these days, getting by well enough on the women at the salon, the occasional night out with the girls. He'd become very, very fond of Amazon's two day shipping as he read every book he could find that looked remotely interesting. And he could beg off for "Harry, my boyfriend, oui?" often enough that he didn't need to find ways to curb his temptations.
Tonight, however, there was nothing for it. If he didn't feed, if he didn't get something, tomorrow would be another round of explanations that he just didn't feel up to delivering. He wasn't going to do anything desperate--a week of back-to-back appointments and he'd be fine--but he needed something to get him through.
A fix, he thought disgustedly. I need a fix.
The kine--the men in this bar were all on the knife's edge between desperation and desire. Desperation to be noticed, to be approved of, to be admired and most of all to be chosen. Desire--well, that explained itself. Thomas schooled his face into the cool mask of pride and predation that lent itself so well to this particular social scene. He'd been to the bar only once before this year, but the bartender remembered him; there was a drink awaiting him at the bar even before he'd made it through the crowd near the door.
He unzipped his jacket to let the lean lines of his torso become visible, encased in a pristine white t-shirt just for this purpose. Resting elbows against the bar, and kicking his legs out, he let none of the bothersome pain he was feeling show, only subdued interest. He might, or he might not, be taking someone home tonight, his face said.
He would, but they didn't need to know that. And neither did Harry, who seemed content to believe that Thomas' daytime persona was a particularly involved joke. Thomas found very little to joke about these days. Who he liked to fuck, on the occasions when he was either trying to forget or trying to remember Justine, was none of Harry's goddamned business.
Eight minutes into his survey of the room, a brave little kine sauntered up to him with determination set into the line of his jaw. Thomas let his gaze settle on the man and tried not to smile. It wouldn't be a particularly nice one.
"Hi," the man said, voice steady but heart beating like a thready drum. "I'm Alex. Can I buy you another drink?"
Thomas flowed into a standing position, knowing the fall of the jacket revealed things from the way Alex's eyes dipped down and then back up to his face. He considered for a moment; he'd planned to play this game out a little longer, but his back hurt and his joints ached in a way that was noticeable and distinctly unpleasant. He raised his hand and dropped it to Alex's shoulder, relishing the slight tremor of the skin there. "Why, yes, Alex," he said, letting the low rumble of his seduction do its business. "I'd like that very much. Why don't we get a booth in the back and order from there?"
"There's not any free," Alex blurted, clearly surprised his invitation was accepted.
Thomas did let himself smile, relishing the sharp spike of arousal it drew from his new friend. "Oh, there will be. Don't you worry."
It wasn't breaking the rules if no one ended up dead or insane, Thomas told himself as he guided Alex through the crowd. No one would have to know.