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Yes, I am purging something again. It's short.
Title: Downpour
Author: me
Pairing: H/D, H/male OC
Rating: R
Summary: Harry contemplates just... letting go of it all for the night. (About 1600 words)
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. Well, the OC does.
ETA: mobi and epub versions of this series available for download here
...
Harry’s third glass of gin sat half full between his fingers. He hated gin. The taste was as metallic and dirty as the night outside. The dampness of his hair from walking through the downpour still itched his neck.
“Can I get you something else, love?”
Harry smiled weakly at the young man seated next to him. Sandy colored hair, hazel eyes. He was facing Harry, knees splayed slightly to bracket Harry’s body. “Scotch?”
The man cocked a half smile at him and signaled the bartender. He laid his hand down on the bar, fingers resting against the stained wood a scant centimeter from Harry's arm.
“Rough day, then?”
“You could say that.” Harry met the man’s eyes briefly and looked back at his gin. The bartender came silently with the scotch and went away just as silently. The man shifted. Their eyes met again, and this time they held.
“Well, it’s certainly a rough night.” The man’s voice was low, energetic. Harry listened after it wistfully. It had been a long time since he’d been addressed in such a manner. At least, it felt like a long time.
“It’s England, isn’t it,” Harry muttered. The man laughed and once again, Harry had to quell the soft flutter in his chest.
And where had that sensation been anyway? Taking a bloody holiday. Draco had managed to drive it out of their home once again. Or maybe Harry had; he didn’t make the distinction anymore. The ends were always the same anyway.
It was a fight. Another fight. Harry caught himself wondering if maybe it was their last one.
“So.” The man’s voice brought Harry back. “What brings you to this dreary establishment?”
Harry took a drink of scotch. Much better than gin. Sometimes change was necessary, and Harry just… forgot. “Nowhere else to go, really.”
The man’s dark brows rose. Harry smiled again. “Had a row with my lover.”
He could see the flare in those hazel eyes. Taking in that word, and storing it away in useful places. The man scooted closer, moving his left arm to brush against Harry’s. “Bad luck, mate.”
Well. Then Harry’d had a month of bad luck, hadn’t he? Everything that came out of his mouth seemed to call to it, to come and rain down on their bedroom and living room and kitchen, and even on his office because damn it if Draco didn’t occupy his thoughts there too.
“He’s an arse, this lover of yours?”
Harry shook his head. “No more so than me, I guess. But it’s… well.” He straightened.
The man’s fingers brushed his own. “Old hat.”
“Getting there.”
The man looked at him intently. Fierce eyes. Harry liked fierce eyes. He could already see that his companion was slender, dressed in an untucked white shirt and black trousers. It suited him. Harry thought of touching the fabric of that shirt and of what lay beneath.
“I used to have a lover who kicked me out,” the man offered with another laugh. He drank from his pint, looking thoughtful.
“It’s not that I don’t…” Harry stopped and squeezed his hand around his glass. The man watched him.
“Love him.”
“Yeah.” I just don’t understand him anymore. Harry lifted his eyes and got caught in hazel. I don’t understand us anymore.
Would it matter if the man were a woman? Would it still be cheating? Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. Different parts, moist where it should be dry, but a woman’s body would rise the same way, and thrust against him the same. Long legs would curl around him. And he himself would... move the same way.
The joys of being a top.
Harry grimaced.
“Is he good in bed?”
Harry sighed. “Yes. God, yes.”
The man leaned into him and plucked the gin glass from where it sat. He drained it in one swallow. His throat rippled. “At least there’s that.”
Harry shrugged. At least. He wondered if that was all. Perhaps they’d been reduced to quick sex and shouting. Had all the rest been lost somewhere along the way?
Harry’s throat constricted for a second.
The man’s hand drifted across the tiny smear of gin on the bar-top and found Harry’s fingers. A light caress. Harry turned his hand over and their palms touched. He stroked the side of the man’s hand with his thumb.
Draco was in bed, well on his side of it. Or maybe he’d gone out as well. Maybe he was walking in the rain. Or finding a pub. The man’s fingers slid up his wrist and Harry shivered. He’d forgotten what that felt like.
He’d forgotten lots of things.
“Do you… want to go somewhere?” The man’s voice was soft, unassuming. Harry licked his lips.
“Where?”
“We could go to my place. It’s not far.”
Harry looked at him and found his face to be much closer than before. Something stirred again in his chest. The man’s eyes searched his face. “It wouldn’t have to be long. You look like you need it.”
Harry’s first impulse was to agree. He could just forget it all, forget Draco and their four years. Forget the last month. Forget the hard edge in Draco’s voice this time, the way his hair had shuttered in front of his eyes, the way he had thrown the glass tumbler down. The way it had shattered on the linoleum, the spray of liquor on the floor.
He could forget the way he’d shouted back, and the sound the door made as it slammed behind him.
The man’s home would be warmer than the wind and the rain it lashed outside. Blankets that didn’t smell like anything he knew. It wouldn’t mean anything, Harry already saw that. The man didn’t even look like Draco.
His fingertips found the man’s hand again.
Warm breath brushed at his throat. Harry shuddered and his fingers clenched. He could almost feel the soft laughter in Draco’s throat. His lover had always found something to whisper, something to smile at just before his tongue tickled at the skin just behind Harry’s ear. His groin was full of heat, and it had been so long since that particular place on his throat had been touched with a huff of breath.
Draco hardly even kissed him anymore.
The heat of a palm came up to rest on the small of his back, pressing lightly. He turned his head and found the man’s lips inches from his own. They were soft-looking and full. Without strings attached. He wanted to lean in, to feel that heat again. To… just. Be untangled for a few minutes, by someone else’s fingers. He wanted to rise again, and have it mean nothing, and pretend it meant everything, and then go back to his flat and put another face on the one who had pulled his threads loose this time. He wanted to be unraveled in heat and sweat and lips and skin, and have it be familiar.
Breath shuddered against his mouth and he almost felt lips against his. It was a delicious, tantalizing, exotic heat. He didn’t recognize it.
Harry pulled back and turned his head away. He untangled his fingers carefully and slid his hand into his lap. “I’m sorry, I…” His body was a mass of heat and need and want. He shifted and the man’s hand left his back.
Harry stood, licking his lips. “I can’t.”
The man nodded and Harry met his eyes. They were soft, and Harry looked away before he could remember the succor he had seen in them.
He fished around in his pockets for change, but the man shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, love.”
Harry hesitated, then left the pub without answering.
It was pouring, coming in sideways. He walked quickly, splashing in the puddles, coat heavy over his shoulders. The yellow light of the streetlamps pooled in the gutters and turned his skin sallow. Harry wrapped his arms around himself and went faster.
* * *
The hallway to the flat was brightly lit. Harry walked down it slowly, feeling water running off him in rivulets. His hair was plastered to his forehead and he couldn’t think.
The door to their flat opened suddenly, carving a dark hole in the wall. Draco stepped out and shut it behind him. He fumbled with the handle, flicking the hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head, and caught sight of Harry. He froze, key still in the lock, the fingers of one hand hovering over a button on his wool coat.
“Harry.”
Harry stopped. Draco removed the key and slid it into his pocket, then took three steps down the hall before coming to a halt. “I was…” Draco’s lips pursed. “I was coming to look...”
Harry opened his mouth and shut it. He nodded. Draco stepped closer. His face was shadowed, and his hair gleamed in the hall lights. The strands were so white against the black of his coat. “You’re soaking,” he said quietly.
Harry nodded again. “Raining.”
Draco gave a soft sniff and glanced at Harry, then away. “Harry, I.” His brow furrowed. “What I said.”
Harry looked at him briefly. He chewed his lower lip. “Let’s walk.”
Draco nodded, looking at the floor. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. They made their way silently into the lift, and then down into the lobby. The doors slid open to let them out into the driving rain. Draco moved closer through the aperture and his arm brushed against Harry’s sodden sleeve. Grey eyes flicked up to his and then dropped.
Harry looked away and walked half a block before leaning in hesitantly once more. Their arms touched and Draco met his eyes again. Neither of them spoke.
But neither of them moved away.
...
Read the sequel: The Quality of Ice
Title: Downpour
Author: me
Pairing: H/D, H/male OC
Rating: R
Summary: Harry contemplates just... letting go of it all for the night. (About 1600 words)
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. Well, the OC does.
ETA: mobi and epub versions of this series available for download here
...
Harry’s third glass of gin sat half full between his fingers. He hated gin. The taste was as metallic and dirty as the night outside. The dampness of his hair from walking through the downpour still itched his neck.
“Can I get you something else, love?”
Harry smiled weakly at the young man seated next to him. Sandy colored hair, hazel eyes. He was facing Harry, knees splayed slightly to bracket Harry’s body. “Scotch?”
The man cocked a half smile at him and signaled the bartender. He laid his hand down on the bar, fingers resting against the stained wood a scant centimeter from Harry's arm.
“Rough day, then?”
“You could say that.” Harry met the man’s eyes briefly and looked back at his gin. The bartender came silently with the scotch and went away just as silently. The man shifted. Their eyes met again, and this time they held.
“Well, it’s certainly a rough night.” The man’s voice was low, energetic. Harry listened after it wistfully. It had been a long time since he’d been addressed in such a manner. At least, it felt like a long time.
“It’s England, isn’t it,” Harry muttered. The man laughed and once again, Harry had to quell the soft flutter in his chest.
And where had that sensation been anyway? Taking a bloody holiday. Draco had managed to drive it out of their home once again. Or maybe Harry had; he didn’t make the distinction anymore. The ends were always the same anyway.
It was a fight. Another fight. Harry caught himself wondering if maybe it was their last one.
“So.” The man’s voice brought Harry back. “What brings you to this dreary establishment?”
Harry took a drink of scotch. Much better than gin. Sometimes change was necessary, and Harry just… forgot. “Nowhere else to go, really.”
The man’s dark brows rose. Harry smiled again. “Had a row with my lover.”
He could see the flare in those hazel eyes. Taking in that word, and storing it away in useful places. The man scooted closer, moving his left arm to brush against Harry’s. “Bad luck, mate.”
Well. Then Harry’d had a month of bad luck, hadn’t he? Everything that came out of his mouth seemed to call to it, to come and rain down on their bedroom and living room and kitchen, and even on his office because damn it if Draco didn’t occupy his thoughts there too.
“He’s an arse, this lover of yours?”
Harry shook his head. “No more so than me, I guess. But it’s… well.” He straightened.
The man’s fingers brushed his own. “Old hat.”
“Getting there.”
The man looked at him intently. Fierce eyes. Harry liked fierce eyes. He could already see that his companion was slender, dressed in an untucked white shirt and black trousers. It suited him. Harry thought of touching the fabric of that shirt and of what lay beneath.
“I used to have a lover who kicked me out,” the man offered with another laugh. He drank from his pint, looking thoughtful.
“It’s not that I don’t…” Harry stopped and squeezed his hand around his glass. The man watched him.
“Love him.”
“Yeah.” I just don’t understand him anymore. Harry lifted his eyes and got caught in hazel. I don’t understand us anymore.
Would it matter if the man were a woman? Would it still be cheating? Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. Different parts, moist where it should be dry, but a woman’s body would rise the same way, and thrust against him the same. Long legs would curl around him. And he himself would... move the same way.
The joys of being a top.
Harry grimaced.
“Is he good in bed?”
Harry sighed. “Yes. God, yes.”
The man leaned into him and plucked the gin glass from where it sat. He drained it in one swallow. His throat rippled. “At least there’s that.”
Harry shrugged. At least. He wondered if that was all. Perhaps they’d been reduced to quick sex and shouting. Had all the rest been lost somewhere along the way?
Harry’s throat constricted for a second.
The man’s hand drifted across the tiny smear of gin on the bar-top and found Harry’s fingers. A light caress. Harry turned his hand over and their palms touched. He stroked the side of the man’s hand with his thumb.
Draco was in bed, well on his side of it. Or maybe he’d gone out as well. Maybe he was walking in the rain. Or finding a pub. The man’s fingers slid up his wrist and Harry shivered. He’d forgotten what that felt like.
He’d forgotten lots of things.
“Do you… want to go somewhere?” The man’s voice was soft, unassuming. Harry licked his lips.
“Where?”
“We could go to my place. It’s not far.”
Harry looked at him and found his face to be much closer than before. Something stirred again in his chest. The man’s eyes searched his face. “It wouldn’t have to be long. You look like you need it.”
Harry’s first impulse was to agree. He could just forget it all, forget Draco and their four years. Forget the last month. Forget the hard edge in Draco’s voice this time, the way his hair had shuttered in front of his eyes, the way he had thrown the glass tumbler down. The way it had shattered on the linoleum, the spray of liquor on the floor.
He could forget the way he’d shouted back, and the sound the door made as it slammed behind him.
The man’s home would be warmer than the wind and the rain it lashed outside. Blankets that didn’t smell like anything he knew. It wouldn’t mean anything, Harry already saw that. The man didn’t even look like Draco.
His fingertips found the man’s hand again.
Warm breath brushed at his throat. Harry shuddered and his fingers clenched. He could almost feel the soft laughter in Draco’s throat. His lover had always found something to whisper, something to smile at just before his tongue tickled at the skin just behind Harry’s ear. His groin was full of heat, and it had been so long since that particular place on his throat had been touched with a huff of breath.
Draco hardly even kissed him anymore.
The heat of a palm came up to rest on the small of his back, pressing lightly. He turned his head and found the man’s lips inches from his own. They were soft-looking and full. Without strings attached. He wanted to lean in, to feel that heat again. To… just. Be untangled for a few minutes, by someone else’s fingers. He wanted to rise again, and have it mean nothing, and pretend it meant everything, and then go back to his flat and put another face on the one who had pulled his threads loose this time. He wanted to be unraveled in heat and sweat and lips and skin, and have it be familiar.
Breath shuddered against his mouth and he almost felt lips against his. It was a delicious, tantalizing, exotic heat. He didn’t recognize it.
Harry pulled back and turned his head away. He untangled his fingers carefully and slid his hand into his lap. “I’m sorry, I…” His body was a mass of heat and need and want. He shifted and the man’s hand left his back.
Harry stood, licking his lips. “I can’t.”
The man nodded and Harry met his eyes. They were soft, and Harry looked away before he could remember the succor he had seen in them.
He fished around in his pockets for change, but the man shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, love.”
Harry hesitated, then left the pub without answering.
It was pouring, coming in sideways. He walked quickly, splashing in the puddles, coat heavy over his shoulders. The yellow light of the streetlamps pooled in the gutters and turned his skin sallow. Harry wrapped his arms around himself and went faster.
* * *
The hallway to the flat was brightly lit. Harry walked down it slowly, feeling water running off him in rivulets. His hair was plastered to his forehead and he couldn’t think.
The door to their flat opened suddenly, carving a dark hole in the wall. Draco stepped out and shut it behind him. He fumbled with the handle, flicking the hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head, and caught sight of Harry. He froze, key still in the lock, the fingers of one hand hovering over a button on his wool coat.
“Harry.”
Harry stopped. Draco removed the key and slid it into his pocket, then took three steps down the hall before coming to a halt. “I was…” Draco’s lips pursed. “I was coming to look...”
Harry opened his mouth and shut it. He nodded. Draco stepped closer. His face was shadowed, and his hair gleamed in the hall lights. The strands were so white against the black of his coat. “You’re soaking,” he said quietly.
Harry nodded again. “Raining.”
Draco gave a soft sniff and glanced at Harry, then away. “Harry, I.” His brow furrowed. “What I said.”
Harry looked at him briefly. He chewed his lower lip. “Let’s walk.”
Draco nodded, looking at the floor. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. They made their way silently into the lift, and then down into the lobby. The doors slid open to let them out into the driving rain. Draco moved closer through the aperture and his arm brushed against Harry’s sodden sleeve. Grey eyes flicked up to his and then dropped.
Harry looked away and walked half a block before leaning in hesitantly once more. Their arms touched and Draco met his eyes again. Neither of them spoke.
But neither of them moved away.
...
Read the sequel: The Quality of Ice
