"four five and seventeen, still struggle with the meaning"
Title: You'll Never Die in This Town Again. Chapter 2.
Author: mothergoddamn
Pairing/characters: Harry/OMC Harry/Perry
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Do not own, so do not sue.
Summary: Harry is tired of Perry not trusting him on cases, so he sets out to prove his own worth. Naturally it goes very, very wrong.
Author Note: Massive thanks to rat_chan for all her help.
Previous: Chapter 1.
You'll Never Die in This Town Again-Chapter 2.
Perry groaned as the hot water chased away the dregs of the day. Thank God! He thought he was going to die on that damn freeway. His hand travelled down, almost of its own accord to his groin. He paused, did he actually have the energy for this? Oh, fuck it. He’d had the day from hell. He thought of the twink from last week with the ridiculously tight ass but the face was hazy, no. He needed someone else. Ah! He thought of John Holmes and his fourteen inches of bliss but that only lead to thinking about whether the guy was guilty of murder or not...well, it wasn’t happening. You couldn't masturbate while having a mass debate. Then the client from earlier crept into his mind. What was it? Richard Silverman? Not his usual type, no, but that mouth was blessed with thick, full lips. Beyond hot. What would those lips feel like enveloped around him? Richard on his knees, Perry's fingers in that blonde hair, the boy laughing around Perry's cock, liking it a little rough, looking up at Perry, eyes gleaming in lust and amusement. Kind of how he had looked at Harry before dropping that Bacall line on him. Yeah, what had that been about? Sure, Harry was cute in an under fed puppy type of way but Perry had been standing right there. Well, there was no accounting for taste, he supposed. Okay, back to Richard. Richard on his knees, sweat gathering in beads at his brow, muffled groans and cheeks hollowed in concentration as he bobbed up and down on Harry's cock. Harry's gentle sighs of pleasure as Richard worked, his biceps flexing as he gripped the arms of the chair he was sitting in, his head falling back and teeth biting his lower lip to hold in the moan of Perry's name...
Fuck! He was doing it again. He promised himself he'd get out of this damn habit. When Harry had first moved in it hadn't seemed too harmful to cast him in one or two of his jerk off fantasies. Dumb and hot, like a Jason Statham movie. But he was all too soon the main leading man. And that wouldn't lead to anything good for anyone. Get out, fuckhead. Vanish. Right, he could do this. All he had to do was imagine Hugh Jackman. Brad Pitt. Matt Damon. The Jolly Green Giant. Anyone other than Harry Lockhart.
But Perry's imagination failed him and Fantasy Harry sneaked in again, all brown eyes, wide smiles and in jeans so tight they outlined every fuck-me-now curve of that ass. Perry groaned as he felt his abodomen contract in lust at the images filling his head. Harry on his knees. Giving Perry a tentative first blowjob, smiling up at him, nervous but trying so hard and his eyes clouded with touches of pain and desire as he took more of Perry into his mouth, Perry's foot teasing Harry's growing erection as he sucked and God the sound Harry would make at that, the way it would vibrate all along Perry's length. Using a soapy hand in place of Harry's mouth and a finger in place of Harry's tongue, Perry could feel his orgasm building and, Christ on a pogo stick, now Fantasy Harry's decided to deep throat him and... "Shit!" Perry cried as cold water hit him square the face. "Fuck! Fuck!" He darted backwards away from the stream, his back hitting the tiled walls with a loud smack. Reaching a hand out he tested the spray with his fingers. Ice fucking cold. Harry! He was going to kill him. How many times had he told him not to use the washing machine when he was in the shower?
Angrily, he jumped out of the cubicle and grabbed the nearest towel, wrapping it around his waist, his teeth already chattering. Swearing under his breath he paced up and down the bathroom waiting until his erection caught onto his mood and vacated. The minute it did he was running downstairs to strangle Harry with the nearest electrical cord. The kettle's maybe. Perry would take Fantasy Harry over Reality Harry any day. At least Fantasy Harry had some talents.
Success! Flaccid! Swinging open the bathroom door, Perry wasted no time in taking to the stairs to the confront the idiot. "Harry!" Perry yelled as his bare feet met the chill of the kitchen floor. Harry spun on his heel, eyebrows raised in shock and followed by an expression Perry couldn't read.
"What...oh! The washing! Oh, shit! I'm sorry! I was just doing some laundry for you! Cold water, again?"
"Yes, Harry. Again. Wait...what do you mean you're washing for me?"
"The silk throws? They had a bit of whi..."
"The throws? From the living room? Please tell me you’re joking! That you're practising for open mic night?"
"As much of a storm laundry humour would be, no, I'm not joking." Harry's ears slowly turned pink as he sensed another colossal error. "Why?"
"You put Ferracini throws in the washing machine? The washing machine, Harry? Jesus Christ! That's murder!"
"Okay, okay! Don't get your towel in a twist. I''ll switch it off..."
"Don't bother. They're already dead." Perry snapped, fingers curling into the fabric of the towel, agitatedly . "Can't you do anything fucking right?"
"Look, I'm sorry. I'll get you replacements."
"On what I pay you? I don't think so."
"Ah, I'm glad you brought that up. Maybe now is a good time to mention a, you know, raise?"
"Now? After you've tried to freeze me for science and are standing over the massacred remains of my throws? Now is a good time? Really?"
"Well, I did get us that client..." Harry began, arms spread wide.
"They hired you for a lack of an alternative! They'd have hired the bonsai tree if they'd been left in the room long enough!" A flash of what suspiciously looked guilt seemed to cross Harry's face in a flicker and then was gone.
"Oh, shut up. You know that's not true. Richard clearly thought..."
"That you had a great ass? Face it! He was cruising you, dipshit!"
"What? For fucks sake...that isn't even...I don't..." Harry stopped ellipsising and ran his hands through his, styled for once, hair. "You know what? He wants to talk to me. About the case. Yeah, that's right. Me. And you can't stand that, can you? That someone could actually notice me in your gigantic fucking shadow!" He went to move through the door but Perry blocked his path. "Really? What you going to do? Flick me on the butt with your towel?"
Perry opened his mouth to protest but the tensing of Harry's jaw stopped him. He suddenly seemed to see himself from a bird's eye. An idiot crushing on his straight colleague while clad in a bath towel. He didn't much like the view. He stepped aside and let Harry by. "Harry, I'm..."
"I'm sorry about the shower, and the throws. Look, take it out of my paycheck, okay?" Harry looked apologetic enough and Perry felt his anger subside as he looked at the smaller man. "I'm going out."
"Out? Out where?" Perry demanded as Harry took the car keys from the sideboard.
"To see Richard Silverman? He wants to discuss the case away from his father. You know. Detecting stuff." Harry shrugged and tried to look nonchalant and but Perry caught the sneaked glance from the corner of his eye.
"What? By yourself? No fucking way. I'll go get dressed. We'll both go, okay?" Perry tried to follow, shuffling ridiculously, as Harry walked backwards towards the front door.
"Ah, sorry, Perry. He just wants to see me! You stay here and dry off!" Harry waved his maimed hand at him and turned his back. "I'll see you later, yeah?"
"Harry! Wait, damnit!" He was answered by the slam of the front door.
A strange crushing feeling of loneliness came over him as he stared at the closed wood. A fleeting memory of another fight, another door in his face came to him and he shoved it away. Sighing, he turned away and sat down on the couch, ignoring the liquid running from his thighs onto the material beneath him. Perry was aware that their usual banter was taking a crueller, nastier turn. Especially from him. And he didn't like it. Since Harry had entered stage right, Perry's life had been filled with stupidity, naivety and, yeah, a friendship. Fuck, he loved the little moron. And he couldn't stand that he seemed to be pushing him away. Yet he didn't know how to stop. Or why. Was Perry doomed to repeat the same fucking pattern with anyone stupid enough to stick around for more than five minutes? Like he had with...no, that didn't matter, best to leave that in the past. Where it belonged. But what about the present? How long before Harry eventually got tired of the shove? How long before he left? Like the others?
Left him for someone like Richard Silverman...
Where the fuck had that thought come from? Sure Perry wondered what the hell he wanted with Harry, but that didn't explain the sense of unease he got just thinking about the man.
Perry leant forward, elbows on knees and cupped his chin in thought. "Show me a guy who has feelings, and I'll show you a sucker," he muttered, the old movie line running through his head. Suddenly, he felt more tired than he could credit. Fuck this, it wasn't getting him anywhere. He needed to sleep off the day and wake up to a better one. Maybe he could get his head together on all this tomorrow.
Gripping the towel tight round him, he stood up, shooting one more look towards the door. Tomorrow.
Chapter 3
Author: mothergoddamn
Pairing/characters: Harry/OMC Harry/Perry
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Do not own, so do not sue.
Summary: Harry is tired of Perry not trusting him on cases, so he sets out to prove his own worth. Naturally it goes very, very wrong.
Author Note: Massive thanks to rat_chan for all her help.
Previous: Chapter 1.
You'll Never Die in This Town Again-Chapter 2.
Perry groaned as the hot water chased away the dregs of the day. Thank God! He thought he was going to die on that damn freeway. His hand travelled down, almost of its own accord to his groin. He paused, did he actually have the energy for this? Oh, fuck it. He’d had the day from hell. He thought of the twink from last week with the ridiculously tight ass but the face was hazy, no. He needed someone else. Ah! He thought of John Holmes and his fourteen inches of bliss but that only lead to thinking about whether the guy was guilty of murder or not...well, it wasn’t happening. You couldn't masturbate while having a mass debate. Then the client from earlier crept into his mind. What was it? Richard Silverman? Not his usual type, no, but that mouth was blessed with thick, full lips. Beyond hot. What would those lips feel like enveloped around him? Richard on his knees, Perry's fingers in that blonde hair, the boy laughing around Perry's cock, liking it a little rough, looking up at Perry, eyes gleaming in lust and amusement. Kind of how he had looked at Harry before dropping that Bacall line on him. Yeah, what had that been about? Sure, Harry was cute in an under fed puppy type of way but Perry had been standing right there. Well, there was no accounting for taste, he supposed. Okay, back to Richard. Richard on his knees, sweat gathering in beads at his brow, muffled groans and cheeks hollowed in concentration as he bobbed up and down on Harry's cock. Harry's gentle sighs of pleasure as Richard worked, his biceps flexing as he gripped the arms of the chair he was sitting in, his head falling back and teeth biting his lower lip to hold in the moan of Perry's name...
Fuck! He was doing it again. He promised himself he'd get out of this damn habit. When Harry had first moved in it hadn't seemed too harmful to cast him in one or two of his jerk off fantasies. Dumb and hot, like a Jason Statham movie. But he was all too soon the main leading man. And that wouldn't lead to anything good for anyone. Get out, fuckhead. Vanish. Right, he could do this. All he had to do was imagine Hugh Jackman. Brad Pitt. Matt Damon. The Jolly Green Giant. Anyone other than Harry Lockhart.
But Perry's imagination failed him and Fantasy Harry sneaked in again, all brown eyes, wide smiles and in jeans so tight they outlined every fuck-me-now curve of that ass. Perry groaned as he felt his abodomen contract in lust at the images filling his head. Harry on his knees. Giving Perry a tentative first blowjob, smiling up at him, nervous but trying so hard and his eyes clouded with touches of pain and desire as he took more of Perry into his mouth, Perry's foot teasing Harry's growing erection as he sucked and God the sound Harry would make at that, the way it would vibrate all along Perry's length. Using a soapy hand in place of Harry's mouth and a finger in place of Harry's tongue, Perry could feel his orgasm building and, Christ on a pogo stick, now Fantasy Harry's decided to deep throat him and... "Shit!" Perry cried as cold water hit him square the face. "Fuck! Fuck!" He darted backwards away from the stream, his back hitting the tiled walls with a loud smack. Reaching a hand out he tested the spray with his fingers. Ice fucking cold. Harry! He was going to kill him. How many times had he told him not to use the washing machine when he was in the shower?
Angrily, he jumped out of the cubicle and grabbed the nearest towel, wrapping it around his waist, his teeth already chattering. Swearing under his breath he paced up and down the bathroom waiting until his erection caught onto his mood and vacated. The minute it did he was running downstairs to strangle Harry with the nearest electrical cord. The kettle's maybe. Perry would take Fantasy Harry over Reality Harry any day. At least Fantasy Harry had some talents.
Success! Flaccid! Swinging open the bathroom door, Perry wasted no time in taking to the stairs to the confront the idiot. "Harry!" Perry yelled as his bare feet met the chill of the kitchen floor. Harry spun on his heel, eyebrows raised in shock and followed by an expression Perry couldn't read.
"What...oh! The washing! Oh, shit! I'm sorry! I was just doing some laundry for you! Cold water, again?"
"Yes, Harry. Again. Wait...what do you mean you're washing for me?"
"The silk throws? They had a bit of whi..."
"The throws? From the living room? Please tell me you’re joking! That you're practising for open mic night?"
"As much of a storm laundry humour would be, no, I'm not joking." Harry's ears slowly turned pink as he sensed another colossal error. "Why?"
"You put Ferracini throws in the washing machine? The washing machine, Harry? Jesus Christ! That's murder!"
"Okay, okay! Don't get your towel in a twist. I''ll switch it off..."
"Don't bother. They're already dead." Perry snapped, fingers curling into the fabric of the towel, agitatedly . "Can't you do anything fucking right?"
"Look, I'm sorry. I'll get you replacements."
"On what I pay you? I don't think so."
"Ah, I'm glad you brought that up. Maybe now is a good time to mention a, you know, raise?"
"Now? After you've tried to freeze me for science and are standing over the massacred remains of my throws? Now is a good time? Really?"
"Well, I did get us that client..." Harry began, arms spread wide.
"They hired you for a lack of an alternative! They'd have hired the bonsai tree if they'd been left in the room long enough!" A flash of what suspiciously looked guilt seemed to cross Harry's face in a flicker and then was gone.
"Oh, shut up. You know that's not true. Richard clearly thought..."
"That you had a great ass? Face it! He was cruising you, dipshit!"
"What? For fucks sake...that isn't even...I don't..." Harry stopped ellipsising and ran his hands through his, styled for once, hair. "You know what? He wants to talk to me. About the case. Yeah, that's right. Me. And you can't stand that, can you? That someone could actually notice me in your gigantic fucking shadow!" He went to move through the door but Perry blocked his path. "Really? What you going to do? Flick me on the butt with your towel?"
Perry opened his mouth to protest but the tensing of Harry's jaw stopped him. He suddenly seemed to see himself from a bird's eye. An idiot crushing on his straight colleague while clad in a bath towel. He didn't much like the view. He stepped aside and let Harry by. "Harry, I'm..."
"I'm sorry about the shower, and the throws. Look, take it out of my paycheck, okay?" Harry looked apologetic enough and Perry felt his anger subside as he looked at the smaller man. "I'm going out."
"Out? Out where?" Perry demanded as Harry took the car keys from the sideboard.
"To see Richard Silverman? He wants to discuss the case away from his father. You know. Detecting stuff." Harry shrugged and tried to look nonchalant and but Perry caught the sneaked glance from the corner of his eye.
"What? By yourself? No fucking way. I'll go get dressed. We'll both go, okay?" Perry tried to follow, shuffling ridiculously, as Harry walked backwards towards the front door.
"Ah, sorry, Perry. He just wants to see me! You stay here and dry off!" Harry waved his maimed hand at him and turned his back. "I'll see you later, yeah?"
"Harry! Wait, damnit!" He was answered by the slam of the front door.
A strange crushing feeling of loneliness came over him as he stared at the closed wood. A fleeting memory of another fight, another door in his face came to him and he shoved it away. Sighing, he turned away and sat down on the couch, ignoring the liquid running from his thighs onto the material beneath him. Perry was aware that their usual banter was taking a crueller, nastier turn. Especially from him. And he didn't like it. Since Harry had entered stage right, Perry's life had been filled with stupidity, naivety and, yeah, a friendship. Fuck, he loved the little moron. And he couldn't stand that he seemed to be pushing him away. Yet he didn't know how to stop. Or why. Was Perry doomed to repeat the same fucking pattern with anyone stupid enough to stick around for more than five minutes? Like he had with...no, that didn't matter, best to leave that in the past. Where it belonged. But what about the present? How long before Harry eventually got tired of the shove? How long before he left? Like the others?
Left him for someone like Richard Silverman...
Where the fuck had that thought come from? Sure Perry wondered what the hell he wanted with Harry, but that didn't explain the sense of unease he got just thinking about the man.
Perry leant forward, elbows on knees and cupped his chin in thought. "Show me a guy who has feelings, and I'll show you a sucker," he muttered, the old movie line running through his head. Suddenly, he felt more tired than he could credit. Fuck this, it wasn't getting him anywhere. He needed to sleep off the day and wake up to a better one. Maybe he could get his head together on all this tomorrow.
Gripping the towel tight round him, he stood up, shooting one more look towards the door. Tomorrow.
Chapter 3