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"I dunno, Per, I think it's kinda my business when someone you're bumping-and-grinding with - and used to, you know, bump-and-grind with on a regular basis - is involved in a case. I'm not asking for the messy details here or anything, I don't want to know who did what, it's just - it makes it more personal, right? And I don't know, blowing up your car sounds pretty personal, not that we have any sort of proof he did it. I'm just saying." Harry said, fidgetting while Perry was cleaning the stitches, squirming under Van Shrike's hands like an eight year old,

"I get the feeling Ravan isn't from around here," Harry added, "That, or she doesn't ever see daylight. She didn't even have a tan, and unless you walk around with an umbrella and SPF 200 slathered everywhere all day, L.A. is going to give you a fucking tan. And it looked like she stopped at a costume shop before she came here, like this was somehow last minute? I don't know."

And she was strong as a goddamn ox, but he decided not to mention it; he already felt pretty emasculated by the whole thing.

"See, I can agree on that." Harry said, regarding alcohol - he could always agree with booze; he paused, however, visibly startled by Perry's - compliment? Something like a tiny smile climbed onto Harry's lips, a little quirk at the corner of his mouth that showed dimples before he smothered it down, not wanting to look too cocky in the face of positivity - Perry would think it was going to his head.

Of course, then he was getting smacked in the face and shit, didn't that just seem typical?

"Hey, what -?" Harry said, watching Perry leave, and realizing exactly why he had just been left with his face burning a little, "Right. I'm a bad boy."

He kept forgetting. It had been a while since he'd actually done anything bad, after all. Well, aside from shooting like, sixteen people last year.

But those ones had sort of been shooting at him.
He followed after Perry then, back through the club, avoiding the eyes of the people still populating the place and ignoring another wolf whistle to his left before stepping back out into the parking lot, taking in a breath of L.A. air - it wasn't exactly clean, but it didn't smell like sweat or the various other scents that had been filtering through the club.

"So we go into a club and knock a guy out with a combination of a bumpaddle - shit I forgot to give it back to that dominatrix - and fists. I don't know if we learned anything, besides what size I am for leather pants. And, I mean, now I'm more informed about BDSM." Harry said, "I guess it's not a complete loss."

He hesitated then, stopping where they had parked,

"Hey Per," Harry said, biting at his lip and cocking his head to the side, bird-like in his curiosity, "I could be wrong, you know, but I'm pretty sure the car didn't have this knife in the tire when we got here. Seems like a new feature. And kind of threatening."
 
On the way out of the club, Perry was barely paying any attention to his surrounding. He was focusing on the card in his hand and fishing for his phone so that he could give the doctor a ring. Outside, the valet handed him his keys and told him that instead of driving the car up here, it was safer in tradition for the BDSM leavers to go towards their own cars. This method was mainly so that they didn’t get followed by someone they didn’t desire to have following them if there was an attempted hook-up.

The blonde didn’t give much thought about it, so they wandered towards the car. It wasn’t until Lockhart spoke up – well, pointed something out, as Harry always talked – did he do a double take.

And did it again.

And again.

“Hate to break it to you, Chief, but you are wrong. I mean, who doesn’t come out of a BDSM club with knifes in their fucking tires?!” he snapped near the end, sarcasm dripping with anger. Anger that was perhaps misdirected towards Harry, but if he couldn’t fuck his frustrations away, he’d bitch about it.

While it might have been threatening, to Perry van Shrike, it was a nuisance. Just a day or so ago his car got blown up, and now, the rental car had slashed tires. What next? The check engine light would come on and then the engine would fall out on them mid-drive?

“Fuck, just get in.” if Harry protested against that, he planned to subject the brunette to one of his death glares. That, or he’d physically force Harold in. Perry didn’t wait though, as he got into the car and nearly shoved the key in – he was going to drive this thing, slashed tires or not.

Of course, fate had other plans. Whoever the fucker that slashed the car, had also cut the wires. Just as he turned the key, a mass of wires spilled upon his lap and the car didn’t even give as much as a whine of a start. Perry cursed softly and slammed his head against the wheel lightly, only to jerk back upon hearing the horn blare once loudly.

With his luck, of course the horn was the only thing working.

Nearly kicking the door open, he stepped out and heaved a sigh with his hands on his hips. Blonde hair fell over his face as he bowed his head, almost in defeat.

“We need to get a cab.” he stated, not verbalizing it, but meaning for Harry to be the one to hail one down.

It was either a cab or they took the bus, and he didn’t think two men in leather getup should be busing around.
 
"Yeah, I don't mean to be a mood killer here," Harry said, staring at the mass of wires that had landed in Perry's lap, "But I'm pretty sure that means we're not going anywhere, if the slashed-tire-thing didn't convince you."

Probably not a good time for sarcasm or ironic humour, in fact, it was probably a good time to get out of the car and out of Perry's reach, so he did just that, grabbing his clothes from the floor of the car as he went and as he moved to tug on his hoodie, he discovered that there wasn't actually much left of it,

"They slashed my clothes." Harry said flatly, then held up the mutilated hoodie, "Seriously, Per, look at this. Someone took the time out of their day to slash a five year old hoodie. What the fuck is this shit?"

He peered up at the sky for an instant, as though silently asking 'why?' because for all of his planning not to get caught in L.A. wearing just a pair of skintight leather pants, there he was - in L.A.

Wearing just a pair of skintight leather pants.

"Damn it." Harry sighed, heading out to the street to wave down a cab, deciding that, ultimately, he'd been through more humiliating things.
 
Perry had to resist the urge to look skyward as Harry was doing and ask the higher being ‘why’ as well. Then again, his was less of a ‘why’ and more of a ‘why, you son of a fucking bitch!?’.

He didn’t think the higher being would appreciate that, so he decided to not even look skyward. Instead, he slipped out of the car – still suave, despite the fact that he had to abandon yet another car – and moved to follow Harry. Perry just stood and watched the brunette attempt to hail down one of the bright yellow cabs. There were even green ones these days, along with the black checkered ones.

All of which saw Lockhart and ignored him or chose to avoid the scrawny male in leather get-up.

Not that Perry could blame them. He’d avoid the former New Yorker as well. And that was if the other male wasn’t in the leather outfit.

“Harry, look out!” the bulkier male reached out and grabbed Harold by the scruff of his neck. The large palm didn’t have the time to bask in the fact that he was touching the brunette, as he yanked the other male back like some stray cat. The cab that was coming towards them had swerved roughly and nearly ran them over.

There were cars honking their horns and some people cussing each other out. Ultimately, the cab driver was bitched for bad driving – only because it affected other drives – but no one gave a two cent damn that two pedestrians were almost ran over. “Fuck…”

Taxi was obviously not their choice tonight, so it was either walking or bussing.

Perry had not bussed since he was fifteen; when he got his license and nearly killed to get his own car.

“I blame you.” he stated, glaring at the bus stop pass Harry. Which one he was talking to didn’t seem to mater – he blamed them both.
 
After having watched four taxis rush by, Harry was on the verge of doing the macarena to get a cab to stop, but he was spared the humiliation of showing his only dance move when a big hand took hold of the back of his neck and yanked him backwards, half-dragging him off the sidewalk just as a taxi climbed the curb,

"What the fuck!" Harry crowed, flailing his arms at the cabby in a nasal New Yorker rage before forcefully turning to look at Perry, his tone one of conversational annoyance, "What the hell is wrong with L.A? At least in New York, people are honest about trying to kill you - they put a gun in your face and either blow your head off or take your wallet; here, they slip you poison or slash your tires. Seriously. This is the most passive-aggressive city in the world."

He huffed a breath, and then followed Perry's line of vision to the bus stop,

"You? On public transportation?" Harry asked, verbalizing what they were both thinking anyways, "Can your heart handle it, Per?"
 
A small tick seemed to grow on Perry and his left eyebrow twitched just once. His self control kicked in swiftly and stopped that tick though.

“Does it fucking matter? If I’m lucky, I’ll just have a stroke here and now and die.” he stated with a strange sense of calmness around him. Fishing for his wallet, he tried to find a few sparing dollars for the ride.

And came up with two dollars. Definitely not enough for both of them. “Do you have cash on you? I doubt they have atms on the fucking bus.” the bus was indeed coming though, so he dragged himself to walk towards the stop and wait for it.

The tires screeched to a stop, the doors opened like fucking gates to hell, and the driver stank of more than just B.O.

“That’s two fifty for the bus fair for adults.” the driver informed, when Perry showed the two dollars as if to ask if it was enough.

It wasn’t.

The blonde turned to look at Harry and had an expectant look. Less of a ‘please say you have cash for our bus fair!’ and more of a ‘you better fucking have it or I will make you regret not carrying cash!’.

Of course, it didn’t help that there were children crying on the bus, mothers bitching, and a guy in the back trying to get a better view of both Perry and Harry. Mainly Harry and his delicious ass though.

Not that Perry noticed.
 
Half-way to the bus stop, Harry had the creeping feeling that things were not going to work out - this wasn't due to newly developed ESP, but rather it was because Harry Lockhart had been alive long enough to know how this sort of shit happened. They were half-dressed, their tires were slashed, Harry's clothes were slashed, and their last standing option was a city bus - and now that it was right in front of them, he knew, he just knew that they weren't going to be getting on it, because with the way things were going, that would be far too lucky.

In fact, Harry had been so sure of it that he didn't even step onto the bus when Perry did, he just waited on the sidewalk for the bigger man to realize he didn't have the money, and when he looked back at Harry, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug, then patted around himself with as much facial sarcasm as he could manage,

"Sorry, I must have left the change in my assless chaps." he said, trying to ignore the guy who was sticking his head out the window of the bus and staring at him, "These things have no pockets. Do you see why I like jeans now? Jeans have pockets, that's why. And they don't get you fucked over in the middle of L.A. Seriously, who the fuck slashes a sweater?"
 
The air was strange silent after Harry spoke. Even the guy staring didn’t speak up to whistle about Harry’s ass. Perry just stepped out of the bus and narrowed his eyes, having half the mind to kill Lockhart – sarcasm was not appreciated in this situation – and half the mind to just rip off the leather pants to show just exactly what it felt like to wear assless chaps.

As if sensing that they’d lay witness to something they’d rather not, the bus driver closed the twin doors and drove off with a bit more speed than necessary. Once the two were alone, or as alone as they could be on the street, the blonde took another step closer to Harry.

Control… control… he told himself, before taking a deep breath and settling for something that has yet to fail him. He lashed out his hand and made to whack Harry over the head – it always made him feel a bit better. “Fuck…” with that, he stuffed his two dollars into his wallet and began to briskly walk towards the way home. Just a few miles really, no more than a 45 to 50 minute walk.

The last time Perry even walked home was forever ago. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, but rather, it was just not… cool. “Get over your sweater, chief. I’ll get you a new one. Hell, you can get yourself plenty of new ones, with the money I pay you.” and the brunette didn’t even have to pay rent, so he really didn’t see why Lockhart couldn’t buy new clothes like the rest of L.A.

“After we get home, I want to do a run-through check on this art theft. Then we can get a move on with this whole Ravan and Damien business.” in his mind, he didn’t draw any strange connections, because not everything was a fucking book. It really, really wasn’t.

“And after that, why don’t you leave the house for a few hours?” it was already late, so it was asking for a strange thing. But if Harold didn’t leave the house, then how else would Perry be able to invite Larry over for some comfort fucking.

A guy had needs, you know.
 
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