Cheap Paperbacks (KittenxSeven)

[sevenpercentsolution]

It was December but California had decided to forego common courtesy and stay hot as hell; it would be the second Christmas in a row that Harry Lockhart hadn't seen a snowfall but he still wasn't used to it. After all, what was the Christmas season without having to dig your car out of four feet of the white stuff, or without slush and sleet and hail pellets so big that they shatter your sideview mirror twice in one month and force you to rob a corner store so you can pay for the repairs?

Actually, fuck snow.

Harry lifted his chin from where it had been settled on his fist and squinted through the windshield; Perry had left him in the car again. Sometimes he felt like a dog, and a bad one at that, because at the very least he could have cracked a window instead of leaving him in a BMW hotbox.

He shifted in the seat again, slumping down so his knees touched the dashboard.

The holiday season always made him twitchy; as a rule, Christmas sucked, and maybe it was a universal thing, maybe everyone's Christmas was tra-la-la-la-fucked every year - but in his experience, the holidays inevitably ended with hospitalization and the previous year had been no exception.

Harry glanced at his hand, eyeing the stump where his left ring finger used to be, then leaned his head against the side window, frowning at his own reflection. It would be the first time in four years that he hadn't spent long, cold evenings breaking into stores to do his holiday shopping - in fact, it would be the first time he would be able to legitimately buy a gift for his neice back in New York.

The urge was still there, though; some habits were hard to break, and apparently theft was one of them - and so was smoking, but Perry had already told him to stop stealing and he would be damned if his nicotine got taken too. In fact, he had half a mind to light up right then -

- but Perry wouldn't like that. As gay as Perry was, he was also a lot bigger than him, and smoking in his car meant running the risk of getting a nasty look, to be quickly followed-up by one of those slaps to the back of the head.

Harry fingered the half-pack of cigarettes in his pocket but didn't pursue the thought any further; instead, he twisted in the leather seat and miserably pressed his face into the edge of it, sighing. It had only been ten minutes, but given that Harry had the patience and attention span of a cocker spaniel on crack-cocaine, it felt like hours.

Perry had gone in for a follow-up with a client, wrapping up a case he'd been working on for the past two weeks - infidelity, missing trust funds, and some sort of Taiwanese hooker were all involved, but that was really just par for the course in California - and was probably sorting out any final details. Apparently somewhere along the line, Perry had decided that he was utterly incapable of anything that involved business or polite conversation, thus he got left in the car.

Harry had been prepared to roll around the seat again, up until the point his ass vibrated, which was cause for him to briefly attempt to escape the car without actually opening the door - it was only when he was outside of the BMW and several feet away from it that he realized the thing bouncing around on his seat was Perry's cell phone.

And people were staring at him. Possibly because he had screamed.

Grimacing, Harry begrudgingly got back into the car, plucking up the phone and tossing it onto the driver's side seat, where the thing continued to bounce around and play Gloria Gaynor.

In his lifetime, Harry Lockhart had done some stupid things, but he knew better than to do something like answer Van Shrike's phone.

He sure as fuck knew better than that.

But that didn't explain why he ended up with the thing to his ear anyways,

"Yeah, hello." Harry said.

The voice on the other end was female, kind of sexy in a I-Smoke-Four-Packs-A-Day way,

"Van Shrike?"

"Um. Yeah. This - yeah. This would be - him. His phone. My phone." Harry replied articulately, glancing at the windshield again, then back at his own knees, "Who's this?"

"Bensen; Elaine Bensen."

There was a long, expectant pause; when Harry said nothing, she continued on,

"I got your number from a friend, but I need to talk to you in person, I can't discuss it over the phone. Can you meet me at the fountain in Inglewood Park tomorrow, at three?"

"Well, I'm gonna have to check my schedule -" Harry began, only to find himself cut off.

"Please; this is important. I need your help."

Harry scrunched his face up; something about those four words got him every time.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. I'll be there."

He guiltily put the phone back on Perry's seat and slouched back into his own; he told himself it wasn't a big deal or anything, it was probably just a missing dog, or a cheating husband.

Perry didn't have to know.

 

[iKitten]

At some point between here and there – and he means between getting out of the car and closing the door really – Perry van Shrike had to come to terms that no idea – no matter how sane and safe it sounded at the time – would be a good idea when Harry was involved. Seriously, he couldn’t leave the man alone for more than five minutes before something illogical happened. The fuckhead was just a magnet for crap that would end up with more than checks being written out or a migraine at the end of the day.

For a good minute, he had stared at Harry once he got out of the car, observing the other male to make sure that nothing was going to spontaneously burst into flames. He wouldn’t put it pass it happening.

Once he was sure that things were as safe as he could leave it, he turned and went to meet with the client. Just ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops. Dear god, don’t let Harry find a way to unlock the door and get loose. It was like keeping a dog, really.

So when it reached the ten minute mark with the fucker talking on and on about how he should have realized what was going on, how things could have turned out differently (really?), Perry was plastering on his “I’m going to be polite, he most likely will be a returning customer” smile.

Someone up there finally gave him a break though, and with a polite wave, he slinked out of the place and back to the car as fast as he could. The blonde checked his expensive, diamond encrusted watch – a gift to himself a few weeks earlier. Twenty minutes. And Harry was still in the car, and his car was still in tact.

The night was going… fabulous. As gay as the brunette would have told him that sounded.

Unlocking the door and climbing in, he sat on his phone and quickly shifted to pick it up. “Did you touch it?” that was a stupid question. Did Harry even know how to use this thing? “Never mind.” he interjected before the other male had a chance to response. Putting the car into drive after turning it on, he nearly sped out of the driveway and onto the street. The night was wearing down on his nerves and he had plenty of paperwork to do. He was also expecting a few clients to call him by the end of the night.

Completely ignoring the sidekick in the passenger seat, he drove home without a word and ABBA playing in the background. Still wordlessly and rather calmly, Perry made his way towards the door. He expected Harry would be following him, since they did live together – still. He’d have to check his sanity on why he still allowed that.

Multitasking, he was trying to open the door and check his phone at the same time. In sequence, the door clicked open and gently eased away from him, his phone light flashed on at the press of a button, and the neighbors woke up from the rather common disturbance. “HARRY, YOU IDIOT.”

Common. So they turned back off the lights and went back to bed.

“You touched my fucking phone!” without walking into the house just yet, he turned to face the other man and nearly shoved his phone into the other’s face. There were oil marks on the surface, he could see it. Sweat marks that naturally formed if someone pressed their cheek against the phone while talking. He fucking hated that and always made sure keep the phone at least a centimeter away from his cheek when in use. “What the fuck were you thinking? Didn’t we go through this last week?” even though his voice was still annoyed, it was much quieter and more incredulous than anything. How many times did he have to teach Harry something until he got it?

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

As per the norm, Perry slipped into the car with all of the good cheer of the Hulk, if the Hulk happened to have perfectly back-combed hair and Versace shoes; Harry opened his mouth to respond but snapped it shut again just as fast, deciding to let the silence take over for the duration of the car ride, a task that was no small feat for him.

The quiet was effectively ended when they got out of the car, however; Perry checked his phone and maybe it was his freaky detective skills or maybe he'd left prints on the phone, but whatever it was, it lauched Van Shrike into one of his mini-tirades, something that Harry had become used to long ago.

"Actually, last week it was about where I put my shoes and how you trip over them every night" Harry corrected him, rubbing at one of his eyes with his knuckles, "And the week before that it was, um, I think it was about how you hate my hoodies and I should stop dressing like a twelve year old. Ten year old. Or something."

He shrugged his mouth and glanced up at the sky, swinging his arms at his side and clapping his hands together before looking at Perry again,

"Oh, hey, so how did it go? I mean, everything is all wrapped up, case closed? 'Cause you don't seem like you closed a case, it seems more like - someone pissed in your cornflakes or something."

 

[iKitten]

Before he even realized what he was doing, his arm twitched and he felt the palm of his head come in contact with the back of Harry’s head. “Fuckhead.” he simply stated, as if that was enough explanation to why he had lashed out.

Turning to walk into the house, he threw over his head a warning that Harry better take off his shoes and leave them to the side of the door. The other male truly was like a child, needing to be told almost everything before he did something – and sometimes even during – so he wouldn’t fuck up. Not that Harry was a fuck up.

Okay, so he shouldn’t lie.

They all were fuck ups in LA; that’s just how it was. But Harry was a disaster magnet on top of that. As Perry moved to prepare something to eat for dinner, he shut his phone after a wipe against a towel, not bothering to check if Harry went through something. The idiot probably just got bored and played with it.

“Of course the case went well. Would I be standing here if it didn’t?” he answered, shaking his head. “Are you going to eat or shower first, Chief?” Perry pointedly asked, clearly indicating that he wanted the brunette to wash up at some point. Dirt from the day plus Harry plus his house? Not a good combination. He swears sometimes, he thinks Harry is just one step away from rolling on the ground like some puppy.

He shuddered at the image. From horror, of course.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

He should have seen it coming; really, he should have. Having spent nearly a full year living in close quarters with Perry Van Shrike and regularly getting swatted upside the head or punched in the shoulder, he should have expected it to happen - and yet, when it did, Harry's expression was one of utter bewilderment. Hair mussed, he stared owlishly after Perry for an instant before continuing into the condo,

"We've had cases go bad and we're still standing." Harry said, apparently having completely disregarded the head-slap that had occurred only seconds prior; most people viewed Harry Lockhart as having a mind that was roughly the equivalent of that belonging to a goldfish - he seemed to forget things quickly, be amused easily, and get distracted by shiny things.

Just, since moving to L.A, he felt like he was in the wrong fishbowl.

At Perry's question, Harry glanced down at himself, frowning at the hoodie and too-loose jeans; his clothes were generally ill-fitting, stuff that he'd had since he'd lived in New York, things that he'd had for years and figured they still had a few more years left in them.

"I'm clean." Harry said finally, managing to sound mildly insulted, "Mostly. It's not like I jumped around in the mud or fell in a fountain or something."

Again.

He toed off his shoes and left them in front of the door; after a pause, he shifted them off to the side with his foot and moved into the sitting room, standing by the sliding door to stare out at the city. Since the previous Christmas, the cases had been - standard. Or what Harry had learned was standard, given that his first experience as a Private Investigator had involved his balls being electrocuted. Thank god that wasn't standard.

Harry told himself it was a good thing that their cases were normal; it was reasonable, and it was healthy to have normal, non-threatening cases.

Yet some days it was hard to ignore the little part of himself that was bored to shit; Harry stepped out on the balcony and into the hot California air, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up.

 

[iKitten]

“It doesn’t matter. You sweat.” as if that was enough of an explanation for a shower. In reality, Harry was probably not that messy. They hadn’t done much today other than drive around, get lunch, snapped some shots on surveillance, and met with the client to close the case. Other than that, paperwork had taken over the spare time. There hadn’t been any chance for either of them to get dirty enough that they had to jump into the shower this very instance.

All the more reason why he thought Harry should. Who knew what the other male had done when he wasn’t looking? For a brief moment, Perry stared at Lockhart as if he had drooled all over that old and battered hoodie.

Old and battered hoodie.

He couldn’t believe he even let that thing in his home, let alone be seen with it. As Harry moved to go out onto the balcony, amber orbs found them trailing after those hidden globes that –

And that was when Perry van Shrike smacked himself up the side of his head. ‘Fuck, what the fuck am I thinking? Harry fucking Lockhart? Shit, I need fucking therapy.’ he mentally snapped at himself, as if he had done something stupid as he claimed Harry to be. The sandy blonde got back to making their dinner – he never allowed Harry to cook on the stove in fear of losing the house to a fire or explosion.

Once the thrown-together spaghetti was finished, he began to dish up some for himself. “Harry, put that out and get in here and eat. Come on~” and he made some tutting sounds as if he was calling a dog. Never let one say that Perry van Shrike was not playful. At least, if they wanted to live comfortably for very long.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

"Yeah, well," Harry said, speaking through the crack in the door, "Most humans do sweat, it's not my problem you're like a ken doll."

The unmoving hair included. What the fuck did Perry put in his hair?

He took a heavy draw on the cigarette, holding the smoke in as he stared out at the city; L.A. was nothing like New York. Sure, it was overpopulated and smelled bad in a similar way, but it had always felt like New York was alive, like the city itself was moving in one constantly wriggling, cheerfully homicidal mass.

But there was something almost lazy about California, maybe it was the weather, the constant heat made people lazy, whereas the ball-shattering cold of a New York winter made people move around so they didn't die of hypothermia. At any rate, he couldn't blame the steady access to drugs because New York had even California beat in that regard - just, instead of risking getting capped for buying crack off the wrong guy, in California you risked being bedazzled in fabulous clothes by your dealer.

He peered back through the door a second time when he heard Perry calling him like he was a faithful golden retriever; on some level, Harry knew he should be insulted by being spoken to like a lap dog, but then he considered that he had been called much worse things in his lifetime. He snuffed his smoke out on a tray he kept on the balcony - he'd put it there after Perry had yelled at him for flicking them onto the ground below - and pocketed the remaining dog-ear of the cigarette. Waste not, after all; New York tended to linger in a guy.

Stepping back inside, he gave Perry a sideways look,

"One of these days you're gonna have to let me use the oven." Harry said, taking up a plate, gesturing to the oven, "It's a ceramic top; you can't even cause fires with those things unless you toss some butane on it."

He took a serving of the spaghetti anyways; he would never argue if he was being fed, but still, it wasn't like he was going to burn the place to the ground by turning on a heating element.

"Anyway," Harry said, "I think I'm gonna go see Harmony tonight."

It had been a few months since he'd seen Harmony and a few weeks since she had answered her phone to him; he was pretty sure she had invested in caller I.D. Of course, she'd made it pretty clear that - they - were never going to happen; they'd tried it after the whole almost-dying thing, but it had just been -

- awkward. Strange.

Plus she'd fucked some other guy within a week. That had kind of sucked.

Yet it was Harry who looked guilty,

"Just gonna, you know. See how she's doing."

 

[iKitten]

Perry was already in his seat at the dining table – of course they had designated seating arrangements – by the time Harry came in to dine. Not together though, because they’re not together. Just… across from one another.

He used the excuse that his mouth was full to not debate about the oven issue with the brunette, since he knew how that was going to turn out.

“I want to use the oven, Per!”

“No, fuckhead, I know you’ll figure out a way to burn down the house.”

“With a ceramic top?” insert offended look here.

Insert a long, suffering sigh and a meaningful look here.

End argument for the day, due to Harry’s survival instincts.

. . .

So instead of replying, he just chewed the sauce covered noodles and raised an eyebrow at Harry. It wasn’t like he wasn’t listening to the other male, but it was hard to follow Harry’s conversations when he was always talking. Hadn’t he heard of a quiet dinner? But there was always something that would catch Perry’s attention and make the detective do a double take.

Such as anything involving the name Harmony.

As rough as their interactions were with one another, if it boiled down to it, Perry would have to grudgingly admit that Harry was his… friend. He had taken a bullet for the dumbass, so somewhere buried deep in his subconscious, he must have thought Harry as something more than a petty thief born to be thrown into jail.

He kept his features neutral as he swallowed his bite. “Did she say you could come over?” he asked patiently, like Harry was a child that needed permission from both sides. “Besides, who said you could have the night off? Shower and then paperwork, remember?” there was no such thing in the night’s game plan, but it gave an excuse to keep Harry away from Harmony. They were all great friends, yet he knew that if Harry went to see Harmony alone, there was a possibility that the New Yorker was going to come back brokenhearted.

Fairytale love in Los Angeles? Not fucking likely. Harry wanted destiny and fate and love made of the gold shit. Well that shit didn’t exist in the West Coast. Even Perry had to come to terms with that, what with all the fucked up relationships he’d been in, and on some levels, he wanted to protect his – ‘Damn, I guess I have to think of him as a friend one of these days.’ – to protect Harry from finding out the harsh way.

He didn’t feel guilty for lying to Harry the first time last Christmas. He really didn’t. This was just being… honest.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Harry didn't look at Perry as he settled himself down in a seat, keeping his focus on the table, chewing on the inside of his cheek,

"It's not like it'll be the first time I've showed up unannounced," he reasoned as he poked the spaghetti around on the plate, "And she hasn't been answering the phone, you know?"

She was avoiding him, she didn't want to talk to him; she was the one who had shtupped someone else, yet he felt like he was the one who had fucked up. He'd forgiven her for it already and some pathetic part of him knew he'd probably forgive her for the next time she did it, too - and there would be a next time. There was always a next time for Harmony; guys fell at her feet at age thirty-four the way they did back when she was nineteen, and with so many options, why would she choose some fuck-up New Yorker with a criminal history?

He didn't tell Perry any of this.

"Maybe her land line has been down."

For three weeks.

"And she doesn't know I've been trying to contact her." he added, then shrugged, taking a bite of his dinner.

 

[iKitten]

Not in Los Angeles.

But Perry didn’t tell Harry that, because there was no need to kick the puppy when he was down. “Well, too bad, Chief. I don’t care if Harmony’s expecting you or not, you have work to do. You know, work. The thing that pays you and lets you have a roof over your head?” the sandy blonde reminded, snapping his fingers back and forth over Harry’s face a few time.

He shook his head and went back to his spaghetti, taking large bites and chewing thoroughly. He also doesn’t tell Harry that he’s seen Harmony a few times around town. Instead, van Shrike gives a sharp and narrowed eyes look to the other man, before polishing off his plate. Without another word, he puts the plate in the sink and begins to wash it – it’d stain the porcelain plate if he didn’t.

“Are you done? You’re done. Go shower and get to work.” he firmly ordered, wagging a finger at Harry like he was trying to train his dog – if he ever had one – and grabbed for the plate, whether or not Harry was actually done. Cleaning everything off and storing the leftovers, he did the dishwashing. It was only natural if he wanted his dishware last longer than the day.

He placed the dishes on a rack to air dry, before drying his hands and moving towards the stairs. Perry expected Harry to follow orders. That’s how it was in his mind. And in a perfect world, he would have the perfect, obedient assistant and lackey. Sadly, he only had Harry. Even if the puppy eyes did strike a nerve in him.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

The sound of snapping brought Harry's head back to the condo and away from the memory of having his head settled against Harmony's thighs - granted, at the time he'd just been shot and she was afraid he would die, but still. It was a nice thought.

God, she had great legs.

"Right. Yeah." Harry said, still sounding a little distant, "Paperwork."

It'd been almost a year that he'd had a real-honest-to-god job; before Perry, he hadn't had an actual job since he was seventeen, which was around the time he'd discovered he could get more cash if he was dishonest - the guilt had only lasted for a week after the first robbery he'd pulled off. It had occurred to him that he could end up in jail because of it one day, but it had been preferrable to the alternative of continuing to live in the gutter that was his family home; just him, good old dad, and dad's best friend, Jack Daniels.

He'd done a few odd jobs over the years too, always just enough to get him by and always paid under the table.

This was different though, working for Perry - for starters, it was legal. It was legitimate. He did taxes now.

He managed to get in another forkful of pasta before the plate was taken and he glanced awkwardly at the clock on the wall,

"Maybe you're right. It's kind of late. Another time." he said, talking more to himself than to Perry; he glanced down at himself a second time, eyeing the jeans and t-shirt, trying to uncover the source of Perry's insistence that he needed to bathe.

Upon finding nothing, he shrugged and headed for the bathroom anyways, grabbing some night clothes along the way. He ignored his reflection as he stripped down and stepped under the hot spray; this was another thing that had taken some getting used to - Harry's apartment back in New York rarely had hot water - the plumbing had been so defunct that most days the shower would be frigid, which was especially hellish mid-winter. Those were the days when he had practically lived off of coffee. Not that he needed the caffeine.

And back in his old apartment, he'd never had the sort of shit Perry had in the shower; Harry opened the shampoo bottle and sniffed it curiously - it smelled like a damn garden. As per the norm, Harry just used the cheap stuff he'd bought and soaped himself down, scrubbing himself slightly pink under the hot water.

When he stepped out, he finally caught sight of himself in the mirror and grimaced; he needed a shave. Inspecting himself, he noted he was getting a little thin - he'd always been spindly from running around too much and never being able to hold still, but Los Angeles had only made him more hyperactive and his time in the gym had burnt away what little body fat he'd had to spare.

Harry frowned at himself, then shrugged, digging for his razor.

 

[iKitten]

‘I should feel guilty.’ Perry mentally told himself, knowing that he was trying to keep Harry and Harmony away from each other as much as he could. For completely non-selfish reasons, of course.

But then, the notion of feeling guilty dissipated before it even settled. He just shrugged his shoulders at the idea of feeling guilty for that, and continued on with his night. The shower turned on in the bathroom between their rooms, indicating that Harry decided to follow his orders. He should have been specific that he was going to shower first.

But instead of worrying too much about it, he just sighed in thanks that the brunette even heard a word he said, and moved to prepare for his own shower. Just silk pajamas and a large, fluffy white towel was all he needed. Perry decided that if he was going to have to wait – he really needed to get a second bathroom installed – he might as well do some work. It was on the way down the hall to fetch a new derringer, as the old one had been used in the last case, that he spotted the towel on the ground.

The sandy blonde raised an eyebrow and moved to pick it up. There on the corner, were the initials ‘HL’. Harry’s towel.

And yes, he had their stuff initialized – mainly so Harry didn’t have any excuse why he had touched Perry’s things.

Not caring for formality, he turned the knob of the bathroom door, finding that it wasn’t locked. Perry went right in, with the towel in his hand like an offering. “Harry, you dropped your towel. Don’t you notice these things, fuck-head.” there had been a notable hitch in his tone and he ended it as a statement rather than a question, but he played it off as cool as he could.

But fuck, did Harry have a nice ass or what?

For someone who appeared scrawny and could be broken in two, the brunette has a firm body. A firm, dripping, nude body. One that was facing away from him – it was how the bathroom was designed, as the mirror and sink was facing away from the door – and showing him the glory –

He had to mentally smack himself again to stop that trail of thought. Perry didn’t externally react though, despite a few glances down to the assets that he didn’t realize the house dog had. “I guess you haven’t been lazing in the gym after all.” a simple statement that wasn’t exactly a compliment. Perry knew what Harry did most of the time and where the other male went, mostly out of necessity if they had a job that came up unexpectedly. Yet he had always suspected that Harry went to the gym to pick up girls – he really should have thought that one through – or just to pretend to be macho.

Sure, Harry didn’t have the bulk and muscles Perry had, but it was noticeably different than he had expected. Pleasantly so.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

At the time, Harry had been frowning at the mirror, focused as he drew the razor down over copious stubble; his facial hair tended to have a life of it's own, and not attending to it for even two days generally meant a struggle was inevitable.

He had been concentrating so thoroughly on what he was doing that he didn't even notice Perry's reflection in the mirror - not until he spoke, anyways, and it was enough to startle Harry, causing him to jerk mid-stroke of the razor; he drew in a hiss between his teeth, the white-blue shaving foam turning vaguely pink as he opened up his own skin.

"Shit." Harry said, glancing back to Perry, realizing he was completely naked, then repeating, "Shit."

It wasn't because Perry was gay; really, it wasn't. It was more that, regardless of who he was standing in front of, Harry just generally didn't like being naked - because despite the hyperactivity and chattiness and the penchant for showmanship, Harry Lockhart was socially shy and being without the copious layers of his t-shirts and hoodies and baggy jeans was, frankly, mortifying.

Firmly facing the sink and clutching at either side of it, Harry stared down at the faucet,

"Uh yeah, thanks." Harry said, grimacing as words escaped him just a little too fast, "Mind just, you know, dropping it somewhere? I'll, uh, I'll get it."

Of course, the next thing Perry said was cause for Harry's eyebrows to shoot up; he chanced looking in the mirror and caught sight of Perry in the reflection; he was standing in the doorway, holding out the towel, but Harry held fast to the sink; it was bad enough that his bare ass was on display.

He could feel his face burning.

"Cardio does wonders." He added weakly.

 

[iKitten]

Harry wasn’t a homophobe. He really wasn’t. Because if he was, then how could he work for and live with Gay Perry?

Perry knew that. He knew it, and yet, it irked him to see how uncomfortable Harry suddenly got when Perry came in. They were guys, for fuck sake. It wasn’t like he doesn’t see the same junk every time he whipped it out to piss, shower or occasionally masturbate. He didn’t see it much when with other partners, as it’d be occupied doing other –

And let’s not think of things like that while staring at Harry.

But like the little devil inside of every gay bastards like he was, he only grinned as an idea came into his mind. Instead of just handing Harry the towel and scrambling out of the bathroom like he was embarrassed at seeing his coworker naked, he stepped fully into the bathroom. The door was given a gentle bump, so that it seemingly ‘just swung’ a fraction towards closing. The lock didn’t resound, but a small ‘tig’ sound nearly echoed in the bathroom as the door rested an inch from fully shutting.

Perry, with a neutral face, dropped the towel like Harry had asked.

Thrown it really.

A few feet from him, angling it just a few feet to the right of where Harry was standing.

He stared and raised a neutral eyebrow at Harry in the mirror’s reflection.

“Well, pick it up.”

He wondered if Harry every heard of the soap in the prison joke.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Harry barely resisted dropping his face into his hands; life always had a way of fucking him over, but this was a new one.

Via the reflection in the mirror, Harry was able to watch as Perry's expression transformed from being neutral, to being split by what was possibly the most ominous smile he had ever seen. At some point Harry heard the door strike lightly against it's frame, but the implications of it never occurred to him - his main focus at that moment in time was just that he was naked and there was someone else in the room.

Granted, he had been naked in front of people before. Women. Usually women he'd met in bars, who he went to bed with late at night after they'd both had a couple of beers. In dark rooms.

Given that sort of sexual history, Harry could never claim to be a practising Christian, but being raised in an Irish-Protestant home tended to teach a person shame, or in Harry's case, a painful case of shyness.

He made eye contact with Perry after he threw the towel, both eyebrows raising,

"Really?" He deadpanned, doing his best to ignore the way his cheeks were burning; he tried to remind himself he was a grown man, not a school girl in a change room, but it didn't seem to help,

"Seriously?" he added, just for good measure, before shifting to the right and deftly maneuvering the towel over with his foot; he did his best to ignore the fact Perry was standing behind him as he plucked it up off the ground, immediately putting it around his waist and immediately grateful for it.

 

[iKitten]

The two words uttered between them were only given the same, even smile that Perry had plastered on his features. It was obvious that Harry was awkward and embarrassed, but Perry couldn’t help himself. He continued to stare at the other’s form and waited for Harry to focus on the towel before he stepped closer.

For a brief moment, Perry knew he shouldn’t do this. That this was really going to put a kink – and not the fun kind – between their relationship – and not the intimate kind. Perry and Harry had been begrudged friends since last Christmas, partners a little bit after that, and housemates a month after they started working together. Where Harry had stayed before he moved in with Perry was still a mystery to him.

But the point being, he had no reason to break the somewhat domestic and peaceful atmosphere they had with one another. The less he provoked Harry, the less he had to worry about something breaking, catching on fire, or – god forbid – staining.

He really shouldn’t do this.

And yet, before he even had a chance to stop himself, his hand went flying out and gave a resounding smack on now-covered bottom of his partner – again, not in the gay way.

The feeling of the firm, muscular bottom covered by the towel bounced under his warm palm. It was brief as his thoughts, but the sensation of the rather firm smack left his hand tingling in ways that wasn’t just from the impact.

Confused at why he did that, he stared down at his palm for a moment, then Harry’s ass, then his hand, and then turned to leave the bathroom. “Seriously…” he half said, half murmured, swinging the door open and then throwing over his shoulders, “I’m showering next, so get the fuck out.”

As if nothing had just occurred between them, he went to his room to get the clothes he’d left there, and hoped that Harry would have half the brain it took to realize he’d better move least it get awkward if Perry returned with Harry still in the bathroom.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Whatever security had come with having part of himself covered by the towel was quickly dissapated by what happened next; with his focus solely on keeping his private parts private, he hadn't been aware of Perry sliding closer and had understandably been completely unprepared to get slapped on the ass.

Perry's palm was wide and it impacted hard enough that the connection made a clapping noise; Harry let out a yelp of surprise, back stiffening,

"What the -" Harry began, completely bewildered, as though the gayness of the situation had only just occurred to him - but Perry was so casual about it that Harry found himself questioning if the contact had actually even occurred. He stared after Perry as he exited the bathroom, eyes wide, face dripping water and shaving foam and a little blood as he clutched the towel protectively around his waist; he ended up going to his room like that, deciding he could finish shaving later. Dressed.

Closing the bedroom door behind himself, he dropped the towel just long enough to glance back at his rear and, yes, there was a palm-sized pink mark that was gradually fading away.

Perry Van Shrike had slapped his ass.

Pulling on a pair of loose black track pants and yanking on a t-shirt, it occurred to Harry that it probably wasn't the weirdest thing Perry had ever done, especially given his warped sense of humour, but he was pretty sure there was some sort of rule about not spanking your partner's - the not gay kind - ass.

Harry didn't know what to do with himself at that point; he ended up in his default state, which meant smoking on the balcony and trying his damndest to pretend it hadn't happened.

 

[iKitten]

What the fuck just happened?

Seriously, what just happened?

Perry continued to ask himself that over and over as he grabbed for his clothes and went to the bathroom on autopilot. In fact, he was like that the entire time he took his shower, only noting briefly that he was glad Harry had the decent grace to leave the bathroom so they didn’t have to deal with something like confrontation about the ass-smacking so soon.

As he felt the warm water drizzle over his body, trickling down the firm muscles and flesh, he thought about why he had done that. No answers came up, but only the strange fixation on how nice it had felt, and how cute Harry had looked before and after the said incident.

Cute. That was right.

Perry van Shrike thought Harry Lockhart was cute.

God, how gay could he sound? Perry mentally groaned at thinking that, wondering why in the world he was feeling a beginning attraction towards his housemate. Harry was a trap for bad luck and nothing but heartache. He knew it, because the brunette was fixed on one thing only. Harmony. Well, most of the time. Other times, he really didn’t know what went on in that airhead.

But the fact of the matter was, he was attracted to Harry’s body, and Harry was straight. “I’m fucking crazy…” he murmured to himself, tilting his head back to allow the spray of water to wash his hair and scrub away the suds there. On further thought, he was almost convinced that his slight attraction to his work partner was probably just a mixture of body appriciation and loneliness. Seriously, when was the last time he brought home another man and fucked?

That was it, he decided. Turning off the water and drying himself, he didn’t even think to speak to Harry before he went into his own room and as quick as he could, got to bed. He was resolved at what he was going to do though. He needed to clear his mind off of Harry, because Harry wasn’t really what was bothering him. At least, not in this aspect, but in others, Harry always bothered him. In this context, he knew that he probably just needed a good fuck.

So as he fell asleep, his hair still wet and the towel thrown into the hamper, Perry made a mental note to flirt with someone at the party of a past client that they were invited to tomorrow.

The so called paperwork was completely forgotten about.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Harry ended up smoking three cigarettes before he even realized he was still smoking, the action had become so automatic At some point it did occur to him that they had never gotten around to the paperwork they were supposed to do, but he couldn't bring himself to be dissappointed; this was partly due to the fact he fucking hated paperwork, but also because, right then, he wasn't sure how comfortable being in the same room would be for either of them.

He stood on the balcony and tried not to think for a while, which worked up until the point his brain helpfully supplied precisely where Harmony's condo would be in the city, and he proceeded to stare mournfully at the very distant gathering of lights and buildings until he finally accepted that it was probably pointless and a little unhealthy.

By the time he dragged himself back inside, one a.m. had rolled around - even though there had once been a time where he would have still been wandering the city long past three in the morning, he buried himself face-first into his pillows and fell into his usual restless sleep anyways. Ultimately, Harry slept the way he lived; holding still just wasn't an option.

And when the sun rose at an ungodly hour, Harry did as well; he didn't need to be at Inglewood Park until three, but some guilty part of him wanted to get out of the condo before Perry was awake.

Ultimately, a long history of theft had given Harry the skills he needed to be exceedingly quiet when neccessary; the front door didn't even make a sound when he slipped out, immediately sticking a cigarette into his mouth before jamming his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and hoofing it down the street.

 

[iKitten]

By the coming morning, Perry was all but well rested and nothing seemed to bother him. The sun shined under the crack of his door like a love letter, slipping in with such ease that he was almost thankful that he was awake just a bit before it to see the beauty of something so simple. It was like a perfect morning, and he couldn’t tell why it was like that.

Instead of questioning it, he got up and moved to adjust his morning wood. Sometimes it was there because he needed to take a piss, but other times, it was just there because of some erotic dream he had the night before. This time, it was obviously because he had had a good dream. Too bad he couldn’t remember what it was.

Sleepily, he went into the bathroom and took care of himself, leaning against the wall with a hand while the other stroked himself. A quickie with his hand and aimed at the bathroom allowed him to flush and clean up without a hassle. A quick hand wash, hair brush, and then gel to slick his hair back… it was all routine, really. So in a few minutes, he was out of the bathroom looking all for the world like Perry van Shrike, private detective, again. In silk pajamas.

All was going well for him this morning, as he walked into the kitchen. So of course all had to go wrong when he spotted the small smudge of what seemed to be residue from ashes on the ground. Maybe a smear from Harry’s shoe the previous night, as the other male had smoked quite a few sticks out on the balcony. At least, that’s what it looked like with a peek out there to see the ashtray filled with crap.

. . . of course Harry had to ruin his morning. Even when the fucker wasn’t here.

When the fucker… wasn’t… here?

“Fuck.” he nearly hissed, shaking his head as he realized that Harry probably used this chance to go do something stupid. Getting a quick peek out of the window confirmed that his car was still in the parking lot and in one piece, Parry sighed in relief. “At least he didn’t take the car…” he confirmed to himself, before getting breakfast with a calm mind. Harry would be fine.

At least, he hoped so.

If Harry came back with less than nine and a half, then he’d be worried. Until then, he’d let the world fuck with Harry.

So for most of the morning, he made to do the paperwork that he should have done, did the calls that he should have called, and then met with a client or two that he said he was going to do. The party wasn’t until much later in the evening, so he had time to find the fuckhead – they both had to be there for professionalism purposes, since it was being hosted by a past client.

When four in the afternoon came around, he found himself back at home, getting ready for the party and ticked that he still hadn’t found Harry. Picking up his phone, he pushed the second speed-dial and waited with a scowl on his features for Harry to pick up the goddamn phone.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

4:05 P.M.

Choking up water, Harry clamored up out of the fountain; ignoring the blood streaking from his forehead, he reached unsteadily for his jacket and fumbled for his cellphone.

Caller: Van Shrike

Harry looked up at the sky, then back to the phone; he answered:

"I've gone ahead and hit myself upside the back of the head for you already." he said, adding, "I'm sorry I answered your phone yesterday - by the way. Any idea who wants you dead?"

 

[iKitten]

. . .

. . .

“What the fuck did you do? Are you all right? Where the hell are you? FUCK, Harry, are you hurt?!”

He wanted to ask all that, but it didn’t come out. Instead, he just stared at the blank white walls, wondering exactly why he decided to keep the walls white. It wasn’t a good idea, since he knew that white was a bitch to tend to.

Like Harry was a bitch to tend to.

The other male was trouble after trouble, scraping on his nerves and grinding on his last nerve by the end of the day as if it was the fuckup’s only job. Like he paid Harry to cut years off of his life.

Like he took the bullet for Harry.

“You answered my fucking phone?” he asked, voice dark and anger laced through each word. He was angered at the fact that Harry answered his phone. He was mad that he was right. And worse of all, he was angry at himself for leaving the phone in the car in the first place. Perry, no matter how much he tried to deny it, had a deep and fond affection for his friend. Like an annoying puppy that he just hated to take care of, he loved to hate Harry as much as he…

Hated to love him.

If Harry had talked to him at any point during his musing and revelation, then he hadn’t heard. Instead, he only felt shaken that he felt scared – him, fucking Perry van Shrike – scared that he was admitting some dark and sick feeling. Sick because this was his straight friend.

Well, straight for now. Unless Harry did something stupid and got himself killed. “Never mind,” he said to cut anything else from coming, both from Harry and himself. “Where are you? I’ll come and get you. We need to – fuck, we need to get to the fucking party, you dipshit. What in pluperfect hell were you thinking?! Picking up my phone and going to meet someone that called for me. Is your name Perry van Shrike? Are you Gay Perry?! I don’t think so!” he continued to rant now, his nerves fried and his eyebrows pinched in a frown. Swearing and bitching (god, he was bitching!) all the way to the car, he nearly wrecked something with the rage he was driving to get to where Harry was.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Sitting on the edge of the fountain, Harry held the phone near his dripping face until he realized a family of four had stopped nearby and were currently watching him with a mix of fascination and worry, as though wondering if he was maybe a street performer or part of the Christmas celebrations that were currently overtaking most of the park.

He stood and began to head away from the fountain, the angel statue at the centre of it blotted with blood across its robes; as he walked, he held the phone near thigh-height while Perry ranted, alternating between tiredly rubbing the filthy water out of his eyes and wringing it out of his shirt. When he finally brought the phone up again, Perry was still raging.

"Inglewood." Harry said, once Perry stopped for air, "I'm at Inglewood. Um. Near the fountain - I was near the fountain. I'm near Commercial Street now, just at the edge of the park. Please don't run me over."

 

[iKitten]

Running over Harry was definitely a good option at the moment. It would at least make him feel better. But Perry knew that the good feeling would be a fleeting sensation for all but a few minutes, before he would miss the fuckup. God, how fucked up was that, that he would miss Harry of all people?

He was really a masochist, he just knew it.

So in a few short minutes, he was turning down Commercial Street, nearly running every car and one out of the way until he spotted the beat-up figure in cheap and old clothes, half dead. ‘Must be the fuckhead…’ he mentally confirmed, nearly running Harry over before swerving a bit and then stopping in front of him.

The car doors were unlocked, his hands firmly gripping his steering wheel, and Perry continued to face forward, glaring at Harry’s figure before him. “Get. In. The. Fucking. Car.” he mouthed, anger clearly written all over his face. Harry was lucky that Perry had slammed on the emergency breaks rather than just the breaks at the moment, because his right foot had the itching feeling to just floor it and run over the dumbass.

Only after Harry would climb in – and he would get in the car, because Perry fucking said so – did the sandy blonde finally break his silence. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

And oh fuck no… Harry was bleeding.

On.

His.

Leather.

Seats.

Someone was going to die.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Harry wasn't particularly surprised to see Perry's BMW speeding down Commercial Street like Sarah Palin was on his tail; despite knowing he was running a high risk of being run over, Harry didn't bother to move aside; chewing on his cheek, he eyed Perry through the windshield and watched him very clearly mouth that he should get in the fucking car.

He briefly considered warning Perry that he was, in fact, completely soaked since he knew exactly how Van Shrike felt about anything dripping on his upholstery, but he decided it probably wasn't a good time to remind him of his own finicky rules.

Instead, he climbed unsteadily into the car and stared out the windshield; blood ran in rivulets from two parallel gashes on his forehead but he didn't seem to notice,

"Someone wants you dead." Harry repeated, rolling his head to the side so he could look at Perry, apparently utterly oblivious to the man's rage.