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As Harry continued to try to touch him, Perry found himself smacking the hand until the brunette got the point. The onslaught of the questions about Harmony made him sigh though, as it was just his luck. Just when he expected Harry to be the dumbass that he usually was, the stray just had to get a brain. Probably two brain cells finally collided into one another to make one thought connection form.

“First, sit.” he demanded, shifting and dragging out the chair. His hand shot out and he nearly shoved Harry to sit, as he didn’t want the other male to fall over. Then he’d have to reach out and catch him. That’d involve touching. Perry was lazy and didn’t have the strength or energy to catch Harry.

He didn’t want to go back to the hospital because of something stupid.

“Ran into someone who worked for Ravan. You’re coming with me tomorrow – but you will not interfere, got it?” a pause, as he rubbed against the bruise forming against his high cheekbone. Honey-leaf eyes dipped up and down, half checking his partner – damn, even after this long, they still weren’t the gay kind? – and half sizing Lockhart up.

After a moment, he realized he might as well be honest. “Yeah, I called her. Told her you were hurt from a case… asked it as a favor.” he decided it was best to leave out the part where he asked it as a favor to him, rather than played on her concern for Harry. “Uh… listen, case aside…” oh, M.J. in a little boy’s bed, why the hell did he even care? “Is there… something you want to talk about? About… Harmony?” he asked tentatively, debating on whether or not he needed ice.
 
Harry didn't have the time to protest as a chair was somehow maneuvered beneath him; he didn't move to sit, but Van Shrike's none-too-gentle assistance had him doing it anyways and he ended up half-splayed on the seat, staring up at Perry with big, glassy doe eyes.

"Ravan." Harry repeated dumbly, as though it was a foreign word; after he rolled it around in his hazy mind for a few moments, he finally recognized it; he snapped his fingers for emphasis but one of his too-long sleeves got in the way, "Right! Right. Ravan. Wait, where am I coming but not interfering? I've got like, an entire pharmacy in my blood right now, go slow. Go slower, I mean. Than usual."

Of course, then Perry moved onto the more obvious subject and Harry's eyes dropped down to his hands and he picked pointlessly at his nails before chewing on one of them,

"Yeah. She looks great, by the way. Really, uh, you know. Harmony. Always looks great," he mumbled, and then gave Perry a sideways look, shrivelling his nose as though insulted by the question, "What? No. No I don't need to talk about - something. Anything."

There was a long silence, and then the expression fell away to something more morose,

"Just. You know. She's Harmony. Fucks everyone else, fucks me over. Not that I just want - you know. I - nevermind. Look. Where am I going with you tomorrow? I don't have to stay in the car, do I?"

Or, god forbid, dress up.
 
Slower than usual?

Oh gods, he was going as slow as he could already! Harry was as slow as an old woman walking across the crosswalk, and Perry had the urge to just run the witch over. Sadly, he couldn’t run Harry over – he wasn’t quiet a homicidal person just yet – and he did have slight attachments to his partner.

However, hearing about Harmony wasn’t going to be the highlight of his night, and he dreaded bringing up the topic. Luckily, Lockhart didn’t care to talk too much about it… no, Lockhart goes into the fuckup that is his life.

Sigh…

“Listen, Harry. You’re…” special, innocent, precious, kind of cute, kind, lovable, sexy, desir – “not a fuckup.”

Maybe Perry needed to go to the hospital to check for a concussion. “Right, well. Considering that he wrote to wear a rose corsage, I’m assuming at the Rose Lounge. You’ll need to… where black.”

It might be best to not tell Harry exactly what the Rose Lounge was. It was a fairly new place so maybe he could pull it off that he didn’t know as well.
 
Harry was prodding irritably at the bandaging that covered the gash on his forehead, pausing only when Perry spoke, eyes rolling around the room as though searching for the hidden camera before going back to his partner again. In the year he had worked with Perry, insults had always come freely and positive remarks had always come begrudgingly - this one, however, had come out of nowhere.

He didn't want to let the moment slip by unrecognized, but Perry was switching subjects so fast that he could barely keep up - but then, that was probably the point.

"Rose Lounge." Harry repeated, brow furrowing; a year in L.A. was hardly enough to get to know every venue in the city, there was just too much noise and colour for him to get to know the place in that little time, so he raised his shoulders in a shrug, pointlessly adding: "Sounds nice. Sure. Uh. Does a black hoodie count?"
 
“No! Er… fuck, no. Don’t you own anything other than a hoodie?” yeah, he’s really spewing dumbass questions. “Nevermind. Get some rest and we’ll go shopping as soon as we wake up tomorrow.”

AKA eight A.M. Whether Harry fucking liked it or not.

Shaking his head, he gave Harold another peeking glance, up and down and up and down and up –

And down and then he basically marched off in the other direction towards the stairs. The bathroom was the first place he went to, washing up and preparing for sleep. Briefly, he hoped that Harry wasn’t going to hurt himself getting ready for bed, but the other male appeared to be fine. Just a bit out of it, but they’ve been through this routine a few times before.

Maybe I should… watch out for him more often. Can’t believe the fucker got another concussion… but he already did watch over Harry as much as he could. Fuck, he was more like a parent than a partner. And fuck all if that isn’t a bad transitional relationship.

Not that he was sure they’d… transition anywhere. Other than from wherever they were to the hospital and back.

Scrubbing his palms over his face to make himself focus – as if he could wipe away his strange and wandering thoughts about Harry these days – Perry gave himself a hard look in the mirror. Said “Fuck, get your head on gay” and dragged himself to his bedroom for rest.

He’d wake the next morning, probably would have to wake up Harry, and then get them to go shopping after breakfast. If Harry didn’t wake up with his initial call, he was going to tickle the fuck awake.

Playfully. Not perverted-ly. Because well, he was Perry van Shrike.

He wasn’t perverted.
 
Harry opened his mouth to reply but it snapped shut again when Perry talked over him; quite in fact, Harry did own something other than hoodies, but it came in the form of a single black blazer, which happened to be the same one he had worn when he had first met Perry - and the thing was ancient as well as being covered in tears and grass stains from when he'd gotten his ass kicked. Any other formal wear he'd owned had, at one point or another, been destroyed. Usually while doing something stupid.

"Right. Shopping." Harry said morosely, though Perry had already dissappeared, "Just what I like to do, early in the morning."

He sat there for a moment longer before finally getting to his feet, briefly suffering from a terrible case of vertigo before the world straightened out again and he tottered unsteadily back up the stairs, finding the upwards climb a lot more difficult than the descent had been - and that had been like a fucking rubik's cube.

Several tries later and he shuffled his way back to his bedroom; most days, Harry would be out running around L.A. looking for shit to do, but most days he wasn't suffering from a massive concussion - some longing part of him yearned to be outside, but the rest of him just wanted sleep. The latter won over and Harry barely managed to get undressed before slipping under the covers.

He woke himself up by shouting in his sleep once - nothing unusual - but otherwise slept through the night.
 
Throughout the night, Perry had a rather pleasant slumber. Even when Harry gave a rather loud shout, he didn’t budge an inch – the guy wasn’t going to die if he hurt himself. Well, maybe he would have, but this fag was too tired to care.

So when morning came, he was wide awake and not even aware that maybe he should have given Harry more time to rest. After all, maybe the other male didn’t get enough rest? Either way, he didn’t mind as he kicked open the door – it wasn’t shut fully anyways – and came in.

“Lockhart, time for duty!” because shopping was not something to take lightly. He reached out and poked at Harry, nearly jabbing at the other male’s chest. If that didn’t get the brunette up, he was going to tickle – an effective torture that wouldn’t kill his partner. Plus, he’d get a few gropes in. Not that that was the purpose or anything.
 
By the time eight a.m. rolled around, all of Harry's restlessness had caused his sheets to twist around his hips as he lay with one arm slung over his face to block out the light that was peeking in through the crack in the curtains. He jerked out of a light slumber when Perry practically kicked the door down,

"I don't need a big, gay alarm clock." Harry protested sleepily, turning over and burying his face into his pillow after Perry prodded him in the chest, deciding that somehow less damage could be done that way; he went as far as pulling the second pillow over the back of his head, sandwiching it between the two and burying it like an ostrich trying to escape the horrors of the wilderness.

"Who shops at eight in the morning?" he asked, muffled by his makeshift fortress, "No one. No one does, Perry. No one needs a jacket bad enough to do it."
 
“You need more than a jacket. We’ll get you an entire new wardrobe.” Because really, how does he let the other male go out of the house – his condo! – looking like a reject from the middle East?

“Come on, get up.” he warned, fingers already ghosting over Harry’s sides. The purpose was to tickle the other male, but he found his eyes glued to the fact that his fingers were easily able to brush the brunette’s shirt up. Just an inch, if that, but the smooth skin below it made him stare harder than he had when some bimbo dropped their pants in front of him.

Smooth, nearly flawless flesh. Sure there were flaws here and there, but to him, it was flawless because it was real. Not some fake Ken wannabe, but a real male that had hardships of life and trial. For the longest moment, or what felt like it, he was stuck just staring and… petting.

Oh shit on a cracker, he was brushing his fingers back and forth on Harry’s flanks, petting the other male’s sides like villas against Harry.

Fuck, he was a pervert. “Waking up?” he murmured, almost like he was in a trance and was plainly fascinated by the brunette before him. Was this taking advantage of someone? Especially since Harry was... not in full health and can't defend himself?
 
Harry was paying his penance for a night of heavy drinking; it came in the form of a sharp headache, but he wasn't sure how much of it was from the whiskey and how much of it was from getting his head smashed into a cement fountain a day-and-a-half ago. He was sure the semantics of it were unimportant though; all that mattered, ultimately, was that his head felt like it was going to pop off like a cork from a champagne bottle.

"I don't need a new wardrobe. I have an old wardrobe. What do I even need a 'wardrobe' for? It sounds gay." Harry retorted, "Hoodies and t-shirts are all-purpose, multi-functional like a - like a fucking swiss army knife. I don't wanna wear skinny jeans and sweater vests."

He could hear Perry still urging him out of bed, but he pressed the pillow down against his ears in the hopes that he might drown him out because maybe if he couldn't hear Van Shrike, he could pretend that he had another hour or two left to sleep.

Of course, the urge was gone almost in an instant when he felt his shirt creeping up, followed by fingertips trailing up his sides; his muscles all twitched in response, a series of visible shivers shifting through them, followed by a sharp jerk as the sensation registered as - tickling.

Harry stared, wide-eyed, at the fabric in front of him.

Was Perry Van Shrike tickling him?

A small, muffled noise escaped Harry's throat, his grip on the pillow having loosened without him realizing it because Perry's fingers were slowly stroking up and down his sides, no longer light enough to be a tickle, but it sure as hell wasn't hurting him.

Slowly, Harry slipped the pillow off his head, his hair sticking out at bizarre angles from where it had been mussed and he twisted his torso enough to look at Perry now, expression bewildered.

"Yeah." Harry replied, breathy for reasons he didn't know; maybe he wasn't getting enough oxygen with his face smashed into pillows or something, "Yeah I'm, uh. Waking up. Awake. I'm awake."
 
If there was a time he felt like he was trapped in a trance, then now was it. Time seemed to just pause for him and maybe it did for Harry as well. Like some fucking love story, he was melted into this moment to just… feel. His senses were heightened and lowered at the same time, while he stared half at his hands, half at Harry’s flanks.

When the other male spoke up, he slowly dragged his gaze upwards to meet confused and bewildered eyes. Maybe then it should have dawned on him that he needed to stop, that he wasn’t just tickling, but touching Harry fucking Lockhart.

It took him a moment to pause in the strokes that he was giving. No, not the naughty strokes, you perverted viewers. Just the petting kind that he would have bestowed upon a beloved pet or perhaps a lover in a moment of intimacy.

Now wasn’t that the thought of the fucking year?

“Yeah… you’re awake.” he muttered, fingers soaking in the feel of warmth. But unlike the movies, reality came smashing back and breaking through his skull with a painful stabbing reminder of exactly what he was doing.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

“Way to state the fucking obvious, dipshit. Get up and get ready!” Perry snapped out, his trance shoved violent down the stairs of his mentality like an old man that was in the way to the bathroom and one just had to go.

Snatching his hands back as if burned, he turned heals and left without another word, entering into the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day. Why he had even headed straight towards Lockhart’s room was… inexcusable.

So he swiped that from his mind as best as possible, shaved his irritating goatee off – gosh, it was baby smooth under all that hair – took care of his late morning erection, and took a quick rinse to refresh himself after practicing oral hygiene. Once morning routines were done, he left the bathroom vacant for Harry and went to the kitchen to whip something up for breakfast. It wasn’t extravagant, just waffles, eggs, sausages – maybe just for Harry. . .well, no, that wouldn’t work, maybe just for himself – and beverages.

As he worked on the sausages, half thinking of something that he shouldn’t and half thinking about the day, Perry briefly wondered what would be a good outfit for Harry to wear to the Rose Lounge. Good and hopefully, not to suspicious to either parties. “What about leather…?” he asked out loud, partially to himself and slightly expecting Harry to answer like the leech usually did whenever he spoke to himself aloud.
 
It wasn't unusual for Harry to be bewildered by Perry Van Shrike, but that morning he was especially confused - commonly, when Perry woke him up, his preferred method was to throw something at him or shout until he was out of the bed; Harry had never taken any particular offense to either method because they were strangely familiar to the methods that had been used on him as a kid. A little sad if one over-analyzed it, but it worked.

But this was the first time he had even been woken up by - tickling. Touching. Caressing. And that was what Perry had been doing to him, when he thought about it - Perry had been caressing him for several long moments; Harry could have been blissfully ignorant about it, except the sensation of the other man's fingers was still lingering on his side, making it impossible to deny that it had happened.

Harry only managed to come up with a single thought regarding the subject and it was thus:

What the fuck was that about?

He stared after Perry as he stormed out of the room, risking getting out of the bed only several minutes after he was sure the other man was gone; he made his way to the bathroom once it was free, glimpsing himself in the mirror and shuddering.

He looked like shit; his face was cut and bruised all to hell and even he had to begrudgingly admit that he needed to shave. Harry went through the motions of showering and shaving, taking a little extra care to make himself look less like a hobo - an image that was ruined the moment he put his old, oversized clothes on.

Barefoot, he padded out into the hallway and hesitated at the idea of dealing with Perry for a second time that morning - but the smell of food was undermining any potential fear instinct. Ultimately, his stomach won the battle and Harry ended up popping up in the kitchen just as Perry was musing to himself,

"What about leather?" Harry parroted, snagging a bit of waffle before any spatula-wielding hand could knock him away - if he had retained anything from New York, it was his quick hands.
 
He snapped out of it as soon as he realized he had spoken aloud rather than internally as he had intended to. It was… cute though, how Harry parroted him. Well, it was sometimes enduring. Other times, he found that a fist to the jaw wasn’t enough to get the brunette to shut the fuck up.

“Leather – to wear?” he answered almost immediately, trying to save himself from appearing airheaded as his partner did daily. Admittedly, Perry had attempted to smack the hand that came after a waffle, but Harry’s hands were faster. At least he had some skill, even if it was a bit misplaced.

The blonde dished up two plates and placed them on the table, before putting things away. If one was to peek into their lives, they might have thought on how domestic Harry’s and Perry’s interaction at home was. They took care of one another, cooked for one another – mainly Perry did in fear of losing the condo to a fire – and did almost everything like an old couple. The only difference was that they slept in separate rooms.

“I think it might be good for you. The Rose Lounge is a higher end… club. You’d want to look flashy rather than like,” at this, hazel-green eyes took another dip up and down Harry’s form. Not for viewing pleasures, mind you, just for observational purposes. “a hobo.” as Perry was polishing off his plate, he had a look in his eyes that clearly stated he knew exactly what to do with Harry’s old clothes.

Burn them.

As a side note, he’d remind himself not to burn them while Harry’s still in them.

If Lockhart didn’t fuck this meeting up.

“You done? We’ve got lots of shopping to do before we go.” the detective raised a perfectly cleaned eyebrow, almost as if he had waxed them. Perry was determined to keep things as simple and platonic between them as he could though, because if he acted out of the ordinary, they would have to talk about it. And talking about it would analyze what occurred earlier this morning. And that? Well, that was an unsatisfactory bitch of a situation that he was not yet ready to face. Not with the dipshit that looked like he didn’t know where his mouth was if he didn’t move it every so often.
 
Harry had the waffle half-stuffed in his mouth as he crossed the kitchen, barely resisting the urge to hop up on the counter and sit on it the way he had done as a kid - but he knew better; Perry wouldn't want his ass on the marble, so Harry did the mature thing and sat in an actual chair. Backwards, but still, it was progress.

He removed the waffle long enough to speak:

"You want me to wear leather? In L.A.? It's kind of forty degrees in the shade here, Per." he said and stuck a finger through the waffle, lifting it up to his face and looking at Perry through the hole he'd made, "I mean, unless heat strokes are haute-couture; I can seizure for the elite club-goers."

He turned in the chair to face the table when breakfast was placed down, prodding at the eggs with a fork and watching with child-like amusement as the yolks ran,

"Anyway, I thought hobo was in. See that style everywhere here." Harry said, furrowing his brow as he picked through his breakfast with extraordinary delicacy for one who tended to lumber through everything else, "Though they may be actual hobos. I can't tell here, you know? Fashion is weird."

Despite his tendency to play with his food, Harry cleaned his plate, finding himself hungrier than he'd realized - that, and even after a year he still had an appreciation for Perry's cooking. It wasn't that Harry was incapable of making meals, but back home, it would have been an understatement to say that money was tight - on the worst months, he was lucky to scrape by with one meal each day. With Perry, he often felt spoiled, despite the frequent verbal and occasional physical abuse.

"Wild guess I won't be getting anymore hoodies, huh?" Harry asked, rising from the table with his plate and going to the sink.
 
Seizure? Only if Perry was lucky.

“I’m sure if homo would be in before hobo.” he said offhandedly, as he grabbed for the plates to rinse and then put in the dishwasher. Even if Harry had attempted to rinse them, he would do them again – just incase. Sometimes it appeared like he didn’t trust Harry to do the simplest things, and while most often than not it was that, it was also the fact that he was obsessive-compulsive.

For a minute, they seemed to remain quiet, so that only the sound of water drizzled in the morning air. Once finished with the dishes, he shook his head and decided not to comment on the hoodies, as he was going to make sure he could replace Harry’s wardrobe.

With outfit ideas running through his mind, he dried his hands and reached out to grab for Harry’s chin. He might not have been as fast with his hands as his partner was, but he was fast enough to capture the jaw and tugged it upwards to face him. “Huh…” he muttered out, honey-emerald eyes critically analyzing Lockhart.

Without realizing it, Perry found himself not only analyzing Harry, he was checking him out. Cute almost button-like nose, bedroom-ish yet innocent doe eyes… rosy, cocksucker lips…

“Guess it’s not too bad…” the blonde stated to himself, more about his strange attraction to his heterosexual partner than about the idea of matching some outfit to the other male. Suddenly, he let go and began to briskly walk towards the front door. Perry had already dressed for the day earlier, and it didn’t matter what Harold was wearing, as the other male was going to get new clothes either way.

He grabbed his keys and twisted the lock after he’d open the door. “Get moving, chief, we haven’t all day.” he called over his shoulder, moving to get in the car and knowing that Harry better be following him now, or he’ll know the true meaning of being a hobo.
 
"I see what you did there. You took the 'b' from 'hobo' and replaced it with an 'm'," Harry said, gesturing his hands left and right as though he was plucking at an invisible alphabet, "Which is ironically called a homoph - what are you doing?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up as he found his jaw suddenly captured between Perry's fingers,

"What am I, Yorick?" Harry asked, bewildered as his head was tilted a little from side to side while the big guy looked him over, "Did I miss a spot shaving? What?"

It had never been out of the ordinary for Perry to touch him - more often than not, it came in the form of a slap upside the head or a punch in the arm, but there had been the occasional pats on the back, sometimes a hair-ruffling if Perry was being absent-minded and letting his guard down. Most of the time Harry didn't return any physical contact because - well, he tended not to with anyone; he'd grown up in a household that was strictly contact-free, save for the times where he'd really fucked up, then it was no holds barred for his dad.

Harry's eyes rolled around as he was inspected, staring at the ceiling, the walls, then at Perry, his expression shifting between confusion and begrudging acceptance because, really, it wasn't the weirdest fucking thing Van Shrike had done.

But then he was released again, so quickly that he nearly fell over, and when he got his balance back, he realized Perry was already halfway out the door,

"What's not too bad?" Harry asked, pulling on his shoes as he hopped out the door after him, "What - you know. Nevermind. I don't want to know what's not too bad because I'm pretty sure there's no reasonable answer here. So I guess we're not going to WalMart or anything, huh?"
 
Really, he couldn’t believe Harry actually said WalMart of all places to get clothes. To get leather? That’d be… disturbing.

Narrowing his eyes at the other male, he shook his head and started the car, snapping at the brunette to get his seatbelt on or else he’d drive off without the dipshit – and then attempt to run him over. “We’re not going to WalMart, dumbass. First to Men’s Warehouse to get you a nice suit or two. Then to the…” well, porn shop probably wouldn’t fly so well when Harry still had the ability to jump out of the car.

So he remained quiet for the time being until he was able to pick up speed and was driving at a steady rate that the brunette wouldn’t be dumb enough to jump out during. Plus, the car doors would lock automatically after he went pass ten miles per hour. “Then to a kink shop to find some leather. For the good quality kind, not the fake rip-offs.” Perry had the urge to just shove his partner in a crotch-less leather chaps, but that might be too much for the bitch.

Sadly, not his bitch.

During which, he decided to remain quiet until they reached their destination. A worker inside spotted him getting out of the car and waved at him, of which he returned with a nod and signal that he was here to ‘fashion up’. “Come on, chief, let’s get this over with.”
 
"Suits." Harry repeated morosely, putting his head against the window frame and watching L.A. flash by as a stream of colours and short-shorts, "Great. I don't know if I really go to enough events to justify a suit, you know? Seems every time I wear a jacket, I get my ass kicked."

His mouth pulled into a grimace,

"A 'kink shop'? That had better be slang for something else, Perry." he said, but got out of the car anyways, observing the interaction between the warehouse employee and Perry, "Don't come here often or anything like that, do you? Are they going to know your name and have your in-seam memorized?"

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stepped inside, a movement he instantly regretted; in his life, Harry had been fitted for two suits. One had been for his sister's wedding, the other for his mother's funeral. Both events had been astoundingly similar. Status quo for the Lockhart clan.

Since then, he'd really just snagged suit jackets off the hanger and hadn't bothered much with measurements; a pair of slacks usually suited any function he had to attend.

Peering around the place, he could guess that it wasn't going to be so simple.
 
“They have a database for that.” he remarked offhandedly, as if it was the most natural thing for any store to have. After all, what’s the point of wasting time to measure a customer that had been in just a month or so ago? The database was obviously changed every six months, just because it was standard procedure. After today, Harold Lockhart would be on file.

When Harry took too long to move out of the way so that Perry could walk completely in the store, he nearly shoved the smaller male aside and stepped in gracefully. The worker that had waved to him came up to them and smiled brightly. “Welcome back, Mr. van Shrike. Another suit so soon?” of course, his suits got ruined during cases, so it wasn’t a surprise he was in often.

“Not for me this time, Jennifer. For hobo boy over here.” he gave her a flashing smile that charmed even women he wasn’t interested in. Jennifer indulgently smiled back at him, laughing slightly as if his jabbing remark towards Harry’s dressed state was meant to be a joke rather than an upturned nose at Lockhart’s fashion sense.

“Well, we have just the thing then! Maybe a side-striped style? Pin-up? Let’s get our boy measured up, shall we?” she happily chirp, linking arms around Harry’s arm and nearly dragging him towards the mirrors and stand. “Not exactly my type, but rather fetching. Where did you catch this one, Mr. van Shrike?” Jennifer teased, giving Harry a flirting grin and glance over.

Perry’s left eye twitched but she hadn’t noticed, so he only tilted his head and smirked at Harry. “Found him being beaten up by his ex so I decided to save him. Cleaned his blood, cleaned his life, and what the fuck do you know, I have a houseboy.” he joked, indulging Jennifer with a barked laugh that they both gave, as she began to measure Harry.
 
Not for the first time, Harry felt like a marionette as Perry puppeteered him around the store, assisted by Jennifer; the two shot jabs back and forth and Harry was unsurprised to find himself as the target for all of the jokes. He took them in stride anyways,

"I wasn't being beaten up by my ex." Harry said, "Santa is not my ex, Perry."

He looked at Jennifer,

"Santa did it." he re-iterated, pointing to the gash on his forehead but finding his arm tugged to the side, his hoodie pulled off of him as Jennifer went about busily measuring, raising one fine brow in response to him. He did his best to hold still through the measuring process, but the in-seam was always uncomfortable, leading to Harry staring up at the ceiling while Jennifer's hand was moving up his thigh.
 
Was it strange that he was getting a Rodney from just watching Jennifer run her hands up Harry’s thighs?

Was that fucked up?

What the fuck is he thinking? Of course it’s fucked up.

It was another woman’s hands, running up legs that he should be spreading and—

Okay, that was enough of that thought.

“Santa did not beat you up, Harold. Just a guy in a suit.” Perry explained to the worker, her smile reflecting that she had assumed so.

“Well, looks like you’re just the perfect size for some of the suits we have, actually. A nice build – do you exercise?” she asked the brunette, eyeing his chest as if she could see pass his shirt.

Meanwhile, Perry was busy eyeing Harry’s crotch to notice someone else checking out his bitch. Er, partner.

While they were ogling Lockhart, another worker picked up the slack and made to grab for the measurements. He was an efficient worker, because by the time that anyone had the reason to drag their eyes away from the hobo standing in the middle of a suit store, he was back with a few suits to try on. “I took the liberty to grab a few different shades, if that’s to your preference.” he announced, handing pairs of suits to Harry.
 
"Right, sure, it's a guy in a suit, but that's a little ambiguous, isn't it? He wasn't wearing, like, Armani. He was wearing a Santa suit." Harry replied, having decided to mask his discomfort with chattiness, as per the norm; one eyebrow rose very slightly when Jennifer popped up in front of him again, wielding her tape measure like a weapon,

"I - uh -" Harry said, finding himself unreasonably bewildered by the question; he looked down at his chest, where Jennifer was presently staring, "Exercise. Yeah."

He glanced up at the mirror and became painfully aware that Jennifer wasn't the only one staring; Perry looked like he was in a trance, his eyes dropped down - again, he followed the line of vision and discovered that Perry's focus was significantly lower than Jennifer's had been. Ultimately, it was enough to drive Harry off of the stand without being urged to, suddenly unable to help the feeling that he was somehow on display.

Thankfully, another worker came along and Harry took the suits, grateful for the chance to go hide in a change room,

"Yeah, sure. At this point I'd be fine with hot pink." Harry mumbled, ducking off to the rooms.
 
“Will you stop with the ambiguous crap?” Perry rolled his eyes, and perhaps it was a ‘gay thing’ that Harry would have labeled as, but what the fuck. But at least it dragged his gaze away from the brunette’s crotch. Gods, he was going to need therapy soon, if not already.

However, as Harry had mumbled something, it wasn’t as quiet as they might have thought, since it carried far enough for the three to hear. The male worker perked at that and was briskly off. Just in a minute’s time, he was back and slipped a white and pink trimmed suit over the dressing room’s door. “Try this on first, Mr. Lockhart.” he suggested, taking the suggestion of the hot pink trimming to heart. They need to please the customer, after all.

Perry bit his bottom lip as soon as he saw the suit that was picked out, finding it even too gay for Gay Perry to wear. The blonde was nothing but a black or white suit, inversed color of a dress shirt, a tie if formality was needed, and always matching shoes and socks. Suave, charming, charismatic, handsome… that was Perry. Sure he was gay, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t avoid the flamboyant flare of ‘rainbow spewage’ on his wardrobe.

“Yeah, Harry, why not try that on? You’re lucky they have one just your size.” he smirked, despite the fact that Harry couldn’t see it.
 
Stepping into the change room, Harry had to resist the urge to find an alternate route out of the suit shop - he was sure he could maneuver the ventilation system, after all - and proceeded to get out of his jeans. He was prepared to fight his way into one of the suits when he heard one of the warehouse employees talking to him through the door, quickly followed up by Perry,

"Um. Yeah, okay." Harry said, opening the door enough to stick a hand out, blindly taking the proferred suit; he pulled in back inside, and after a moment, a groan of aesthetic agony would be heard from inside the changing room, "Seriously? Am I Tom Wolfe here, or something?"

But Harry was nothing if not a good sport; he came out of the change room bare foot, wearing the ridiculous white-and-pink suit, eyebrows raised high,

"Probably not flashy enough, Perry." Harry deadpanned, taking a moment to strike a ridiculous pose, "I think this might be too dull, you know?"
 
Really, Harry looked… fucking retarded in a white and pink suit. Black was really a better color on the hobo-wannabe.

But Perry only smirked and tilted his head here and there, moving to circle the shorter male to inspect him. “I’ll say. Don’t worry though, leather’s black, so you’ll look fetching tonight.” he teased, reaching out with a hand to smooth over Harry’s shoulder. The material wasn’t bad though, as almost all suits here were high quality.

Soft and smooth, just as he expected of the suit and – with a finger brushing teasingly against Harry’s exposed neck – just like he expected Lockhart’s flesh to feel like.

“Does it fit to your ta-.” but before Jennifer could finish, Perry brushed a hand towards her direction.

“Let’s go with a dark color. He’s still not out to his parents and well…” he heaved a dramatic sigh. “We can’t really flaunt anything but pure masculinity for him until he does.”

It was like he missed his calling or something, because she soaked it in and gave Perry an understanding gaze, followed by a slight tsking sound towards Harry’s direction. “How about this one then?” she asked, fishing out a nice solid black suit with a three button up and a white dress shirt. Handing it to Harry, she stepped back and watched as Perry nearly shoved the brunette into the dressing room.

“Wait, let’s get a tie with that.”

“A solid black?”

“Perfect.” he did that thing where he pointed on his nose and at the worker, hinting that she had it dead on.

Jennifer quickly found a solid black tie and handed it to Harry, before Perry actually did shove his ‘lover in hiding’ into the dressing room. “Do button up this time, Harold~”
 
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