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fellowshippers2006-01-22 05:35 am
smutcutter.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-01-22 05:35 am
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Title: Don't Ask, Don't Tell (2/8)
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smutcutter
Pairing: SB/OC (Harris)
Rating: NC-17 (for this chapter and scattered throughout)
Warning: This contains an original character... don't hate the playa...
Disclaimer: This is totally fake! Beyond fake! Never happened, never will - hell, some of the main characters are out my own demented mind.
Summary: Sean falls for a man, Harris - it was the best of times - it was the worst of times - it's told in many flashbacks - this is not a work in progress, it's done - I will be posting a chapter every few days. I wrote this originally over ten years ago and after my dive into RPS, I took it out, dusted it off and rewrote a good chunk of it. I want to thanktiggothy for her super fast and amazing beta work, hippediva for her constant support, and frahulettaes for everything....
CHAPTER 2
Over a week passed. Harris thought about Sean every day and masturbated thinking about him every night, sometimes with Stephen's help or with an anonymous mouth at Numbers. Harris would run his hand over his own arm, rising the skin to goose flesh, remembering Sean’s grip, his scent, the taste of him, and the best part; the bruises.
The sudden vibration from the cell phone in his jeans pocket made him jump and snapped him out of the daydream, the rising bulge in his pants subsiding. The aerial map files he was transferring were clicking away and in no need of his attention. He flipped open the phone and saw he number he didn’t know. He pressed the answer button.
“Harrison Montgomery."
"I had no idea your full name would be Harrison."
English accent, the H in his name practically nonexistent.
Oh God.
"Sean?"
"Yea, hi."
"Hi."
"Are you busy?"
"Ah... not really; just planing the deaths of those daring young men without their flying machines." He heard Sean laugh a little at his very old joke.
"I was wondering - I'm gonna be in town Saturday - tomorrow - sorry for the short notice - well - I was wondering - I mean - " He was stammering and whispering.
Harris couldn’t help it.
“Quick fuck or are you gonna feed me first?”
God, SOMEONE drop a pin, Harris thought.
“Well, I always tend to get hungry, well, later.”
“Great, we’ll order out.”
“Great. Brilliant.”
“Seven? My place, yea?”
“I’ll bring more whiskey.”
“See ya then.”
The phone went dead. Harris lifted his hand to light a cigarette; the tiny flame shuddered from his shaking hand, and his cock swelled.
Saturday, 7pm. Sean pulled up in a cab and got out, paying the driver far too much; never could get used to the exchange rate, he told himself. Harris’ door opened and Arlene was instantly at Sean's feet.
"She missed you." Harris smiled and closed the door after Sean walked in.
"I missed her." He crouched to pet the insistent cat; found himself suddenly slammed against the wall, Harris’ lips devouring him, his hands yanking at his jacket and dropping it to the floor.
"Hungry?" he whispered, staring into Sean's bewildered eyes, placing Sean’s hand on his dick.
"Yes - and well - I-"
"Shhh -come on - let's eat."
Molly Malone's, the local Irish pub, had expanded to add three new pool tables and Stephen and Harris had commandeered one for the night.
“So, if he calls, you’re gonna bolt, right?”
Harris lined up his shot.
“Pretty much.” The 9 ball plopped neatly into the corner pocket. “I’ve been through this before, Steph. He’ll drop me faster than a bad script the minute his ego is done with me. So, why not enjoy him now.”
Steph gulped his beer.
“How about ‘right’ now?”
“Excuse me?” Harris stopped mid pour from refilling his glass from the pitcher; Steph nodded towards the front door where Sean had just walked in with his 'mates', about 6 of them, all talking loudly and laughing.
Harris nearly choked.
Sean turned to the bar, broad smile on his face until he saw Harris. He turned quickly, facing his friends, as if to block Harris and his friend from view, his heart beating rapidly. The spit in his mouth had gone sour and his body broke out in a cold sweat.
"Hey, those are new!" Daragh, Sean's best friend, pointed to one of the unoccupied pool tables. He slipped a heavily muscled arm over Sean's shoulder's and smiled at the bartender, blue eyes sparkling, already anticipating the inebriation.
"We'll be havin’ two bottles of your best Irish whiskey an’ he's buyin’." He
smiled at Sean, patting his shoulder. "An’ would ya be so kind as to deliver them over there." The tender nodded and Daragh led the troupe to the tables
.
Harris moved closer to Steph, unable to look, and felt a bead of sweat roll down his back.
"I have a pretty good idea how to play this one,” he hissed, his face flush.
"You'd better think fast." Stephen glanced over Harris' shoulder.
"Harris?" Sean's voice was solid and friendly. Harris spun to look into Sean's guarded eyes; the facade was in place and Harris got the signal loud and clear.
"Sean! What's up?" He stuck out his hand and Sean shook with overt strength. Harris hid his smirk. Fine, I can play your game, he thought, I know all these rules. Straight boy by day, suck my dick at night. Harris silently vowed to plow this boy like a Georgia wheat field next time they were alone.
"Daragh, guys - this is Harris and. . . "
"Stephen." Stephen sat with one red Converse propped up on the pool table and popped his bubble gum. Harris bit back a laugh.
"This is the guy that got me out of that scrap in Hollywood." Sean smiled and patted Harris’ shoulder while everyone said their hello's and nodded their approval. Under Sean's hand, he felt the urgent press, shoving the facade on tighter.
"Care to join us in a game?" Cooper, thin red curls bouncing as he spoke, was paying for the drinks. "And, Sean, you owe me one."
Harris thought he had landed smack dab in the middle of a English beer commercial. The accents flying around were heavy and loud. The almost “good old boy camaraderie’, complete with asides to their manhood, and women, as well as cars and football, made Harris gag; but he jumped right in with them. He knew now, once he nailed Sean, the end would not be far off. He was lost in his own thoughts, ignoring the tightening in his stomach at the thought of ending things with Sean, when the cue ball rolled silently past the eight ball. Harris laughed quietly at his mistake and stood, shaking his head.
"Well, that must mean it's my turn to buy." He handed the stick to Cooper. "Be right back." Cooper was still giggling.
Daragh took this chance to grab Sean by the elbow and steer him to a quiet corner.
"Daragh, what is it?"
Daragh's eyes flashed at Harris, who had one foot propped up on the bar rail, leaning in to shout the order to the barkeep over the noise in the crowded bar. The tender patted Harris on the shoulder in a gesture of familiarity.
"It's him."
"What about him?"
"Something." His eyes bore a hole into Harris’ back.
"Daragh, your words are always so direct." Sean tried to end this dangerous conversation but Daragh's strong grip landed on his shoulder.
"I mean, look at him! That long hair hanging to his arse!"
"Yea, and?"
"And his friend, Stephen - what kind of a name is that for a man – Ste-F-en. I'll tell you what, my friend, their bloody fairies, they are!" He nodded quickly in his own confirmation. Sean fought off a dizzy spell.
"Oh come on!" He almost followed that up with ‘what does it matter anyway?’ Thankfully, he held his tongue.
"I tell ya, I'm never bending down to get the soap around those two." Daragh all but crossed himself.
"Look Daragh, he's as tough as you or I. He helped me out a lot that night." That night; that first night. He turned his gaze to Harris as well and the facade tore, letting in an image of Harris' hair flying over his back, a guttural growl; Sean grabbing a handful of that hair and driving deeper into his lover. Lover. Had he really THOUGHT that word? Where the hell did that come from? Sean gasped slightly as a raised voice brought the real world back into focus.
Next to Harris, sitting at the bar, was a young executive, obviously drunk, in a three-piece suit who argued viscously with the over painted young woman beside him.
She gestured to him, hands raised in surrender to stop his voice as it grew louder, her face contorted as if she waited for the blow. The argument was escalated as the man ripped off the woman’s gold ring and slammed it on the bar; one of her perfectly manicured nails broke and flew like shrapnel.
Now in a full fury, and with the crowd parted like the Red Sea, the man stumbled off the stool and grabbed the girl's arm roughly, teeth clenched in a curse. She attempted to twist from his grip, lost her balance on her high heels and fell head long into the wall, cut her lip and twisted her ankle, dark curls tumbled to obscure her tears.
The man spent a split second in shock and was about to help her, the 'I'm Sorry' already halfway to his lips. Then, he remembered he was the 'man' here, his back straightened, and he continued to yell at her for being clumsy. The patrons of the bar looked on in complete, detached fascination, as if they watched a slow speed chase on the local news. The man reached for her again, hands out like claws, when he felt the lightest of taps on his shoulder.
"WHAT!?!!?" He whirled around and was met with the most powerful punch he had ever encountered. He hit the wall, slid to the floor and was out cold, a trickle of blood spotted his power tie. Harris rubbed his hand and stared down at the impression his ring had left on the guy's cheek. He helped the girl to stand and handed her over to a cocktail waitress.
With a nod of thanks from the bartender, he calmly took the tray of drinks to the pool tables amidst the applause of the patrons, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Sean's brood clapped the loudest and Daragh was the first to shake his aching hand.
"You're alright, Harris."
"Thanks Daragh." He smiled.
* * * * * * * * * *
Harris' head lay in his hands, fingers dug into his scalp. His body was hunched over, doubled into itself. These memories were a battering ram to his gut and he started to feel ill. He pulled out his ponytail holder and ran his fingers through his hair. One finger landed on a snag and he angrily pulled at it, listened to a clump tear strand by strand out of his head. He looked at the dangling blond broken spider's web of a tangle and shook it into the trash.
* * * * * * * * * *
The summer had been warm. Brilliant lemon sunshine days that breathed life into endless fields of green, the sky so crystal blue it hurt the eyes. Sean’s production company had rented a sprawling ten acre ranch in Callabassas for him and his co-stars ('mates') as sort of a vacation and rehearsal space. Harris declined most invitations to visit and more often than not, they came from Daragh rather than Sean. He had become a regular at Numbers when Sean finally called. Harris waited two days to respond before showing up, bag in hand.
“Okay, stop bugging me already,” He smiled as Sean opened the door.
Of course, Harris was given his own room and by morning was always found back in his own bed. Sean swore Daragh had spotted them at least once, out of the corner of his eye, in a embrace of more-than-friendship. Daragh said nothing, but a darkening storm cloud had settled into his eyes.
"You’re going into town today, right?" Harris whispered into the approaching dawn as it spilled into Sean's bedroom, as if speaking would break some sort of rule. All this time, they rarely ever talked in bed. He turned onto his side to face Sean.
"Yea. Buncha meetings about the show." Sean glanced at his costume for the weekly television drama revolving around a soldier in the Napoleonic wars of which he was the star. He had been told to bring it, and the sword, to the meeting; hopefully not to turn it in. "Probably going to fire all of us. Renew the show - not the cast." Harris heard the slight fear in Sean's weak joke.
"Sean!?" Daragh's voice boomed down the hall and fell on them like a bucket of ice water. Sean's eyes grew wide.
"Shite - he's coming this way!" He hissed.
In a mad scramble, Harris bolted from the bed, gathered up his clothes and ran to the bathroom that was attached to Sean's room. He closed the door quickly and practically leapt into the shower, closing the sliding frosted door. Sean flopped onto the pillows in mock sleep and prayed the room didn't still reek of sex. The door opened with a jerk, Daragh leaning on the doorknob.
"You still bloody sleeping? Have you any idea how long a drive it is into town?" Sean rolled over and nodded.
"Right, right - I'm up - I'm up!"
"Ya best be - and take a shower man, stinks to high heaven in here,"
The door closed with a hearty slam and Daragh called out the other names, banging on doors. Sean's heart pounded as he strained to hear Daragh go into his own room. When it was safe, he threw the covers back and ran into the bathroom.
"Harris?" The shower door opened. Harris tossed out his clothes except his sweat pants, which he was tugging on.
"All clear?" He was close to giggling. " I feel like your father came home early; this is so friggin silly."
Sean nodded and turned away, trying to hide his embarrassment. "I know; I know - its just easier to -"
He walked back into the bedroom. Harris took a step out of the tub and missed. Sean heard the thud before he knew what had happened. The soft pop might have been anything, a toothpaste tube broken, a can of soda opened under a pillow; but he had no idea what to make of the inhuman wail. He spun around only to see Harris in a heap on the floor.
"Harris!!" The sink had a splotch of red on the edge from where it connected with his forehead, rivulets of blood dripping into his hair and eyes. The scariest thing was the huge bulge that grew at the knee of his sweats.
The room filled instantly with the others who came to see what animal had been slaughtered. Sean had forgotten all pretense and barked out orders for an ambulance and ice and gently cradled Harris’ head. On hindsight, he would realize that no strange looks were actually given and Cooper had said something like, "Why on earth was he hiding anyway? Ain’t like we didn't know."
Cooper found a bottle of very strong pain killers in Harris' room. Sean forced two down Harris’ throat with slightly shaking fingers.
He became conscience enough to mutter ‘Make it three.”
The hospital room was bright and smelled of sickness and disinfectant. It made Harris want to throw up.
"How long do I have to stay this time?" He rolled his eyes at the doctor, wincing slightly at the bandage on his forehead.
"Harris - 2 days and you know that." Dr. Jennings put his pen away in his pocket and placed the chart at the end of the bed.
"I could have popped it back myself ya know - I have before." He crossed his arms like a spoiled child as he tried to betray his real feelings of dizziness. The pain killers made him feel invincible, but his voice was small and almost scared. Sean appeared silently at the open door.
"Just rest this time - please? I can't keep going in there and putting it back. One of these days you might lose the leg, you know that don't you?"
Harris turned on the patient doctor.
“Look, stop the speech. THIS time it WAS an accident!” His chest heaved with the explosion; if he had tears left, they’d be falling.
"I didn't have to operate this time, Harris. This time. Okay?"
Harris fumed silently and stared out of the window.
"Please, rest. I'll come by later to see you before I leave." Dr. Jennings nodded politely to Sean before he slipped into the hall as his pager beeped urgently.
Sean stepped up to the bed carefully; Harris still looked outside.
"Guess everyone knows now, hm?" Harris’ joke fell on deaf ears as Sean sat next to the bed. "Look, Sean, I'm sorry. I just slipped."
Sean nodded slowly. "Are you going to be alright?"
Harris sighed. "Yea yea, I'll live. Look,." He finally turned to look at Sean. Hell no, he did not want to see that look, that look of pity masked as concern. Not from this one - not from a fuck. They’re supposed to be there for the good times, not the bad. He wanted nothing more than to be alone. “I appreciate this, but you didn’t have to come down here.” Harris kept his arms locked tight across his chest.
Sean looked down at his feet, then the wall, anywhere to avoid that rejection in Harris’ eyes. It was so blatant, it burned. When he looked back, Harris was intent on the tree on the other side of the glass, Sean stood. Good, Harris thought as he heard the chair scrape on the floor, get the fuck out.
He started when Sean settled himself on the edge of the bed and used the chair as a footstool. Very slowly, he reached out and pried Harris’ hands apart, working on the white knuckles in turn until their hands rested palm to palm.
"How did this happen? How did your knee get this way? I can't imagine it was just a fall from the tub. Your doctor sounded like this has happened before." HIs voice was a conspirital whisper.
"Its nothing, I'm used to it. It just slipped out of joint." Harris looked at the hand holding his. He marveled at the calouses, the shape of them, remembered the feel of them on his skin. Something in his stomach quivered. Sean did not let go.
Harris sighed. "Let me explain. . . . .
TBC
Author:
smutcutterPairing: SB/OC (Harris)
Rating: NC-17 (for this chapter and scattered throughout)
Warning: This contains an original character... don't hate the playa...
Disclaimer: This is totally fake! Beyond fake! Never happened, never will - hell, some of the main characters are out my own demented mind.
Summary: Sean falls for a man, Harris - it was the best of times - it was the worst of times - it's told in many flashbacks - this is not a work in progress, it's done - I will be posting a chapter every few days. I wrote this originally over ten years ago and after my dive into RPS, I took it out, dusted it off and rewrote a good chunk of it. I want to thank
tiggothy for her super fast and amazing beta work, hippediva for her constant support, and frahulettaes for everything....CHAPTER 2
Over a week passed. Harris thought about Sean every day and masturbated thinking about him every night, sometimes with Stephen's help or with an anonymous mouth at Numbers. Harris would run his hand over his own arm, rising the skin to goose flesh, remembering Sean’s grip, his scent, the taste of him, and the best part; the bruises.
The sudden vibration from the cell phone in his jeans pocket made him jump and snapped him out of the daydream, the rising bulge in his pants subsiding. The aerial map files he was transferring were clicking away and in no need of his attention. He flipped open the phone and saw he number he didn’t know. He pressed the answer button.
“Harrison Montgomery."
"I had no idea your full name would be Harrison."
English accent, the H in his name practically nonexistent.
Oh God.
"Sean?"
"Yea, hi."
"Hi."
"Are you busy?"
"Ah... not really; just planing the deaths of those daring young men without their flying machines." He heard Sean laugh a little at his very old joke.
"I was wondering - I'm gonna be in town Saturday - tomorrow - sorry for the short notice - well - I was wondering - I mean - " He was stammering and whispering.
Harris couldn’t help it.
“Quick fuck or are you gonna feed me first?”
God, SOMEONE drop a pin, Harris thought.
“Well, I always tend to get hungry, well, later.”
“Great, we’ll order out.”
“Great. Brilliant.”
“Seven? My place, yea?”
“I’ll bring more whiskey.”
“See ya then.”
The phone went dead. Harris lifted his hand to light a cigarette; the tiny flame shuddered from his shaking hand, and his cock swelled.
Saturday, 7pm. Sean pulled up in a cab and got out, paying the driver far too much; never could get used to the exchange rate, he told himself. Harris’ door opened and Arlene was instantly at Sean's feet.
"She missed you." Harris smiled and closed the door after Sean walked in.
"I missed her." He crouched to pet the insistent cat; found himself suddenly slammed against the wall, Harris’ lips devouring him, his hands yanking at his jacket and dropping it to the floor.
"Hungry?" he whispered, staring into Sean's bewildered eyes, placing Sean’s hand on his dick.
"Yes - and well - I-"
"Shhh -come on - let's eat."
Molly Malone's, the local Irish pub, had expanded to add three new pool tables and Stephen and Harris had commandeered one for the night.
“So, if he calls, you’re gonna bolt, right?”
Harris lined up his shot.
“Pretty much.” The 9 ball plopped neatly into the corner pocket. “I’ve been through this before, Steph. He’ll drop me faster than a bad script the minute his ego is done with me. So, why not enjoy him now.”
Steph gulped his beer.
“How about ‘right’ now?”
“Excuse me?” Harris stopped mid pour from refilling his glass from the pitcher; Steph nodded towards the front door where Sean had just walked in with his 'mates', about 6 of them, all talking loudly and laughing.
Harris nearly choked.
Sean turned to the bar, broad smile on his face until he saw Harris. He turned quickly, facing his friends, as if to block Harris and his friend from view, his heart beating rapidly. The spit in his mouth had gone sour and his body broke out in a cold sweat.
"Hey, those are new!" Daragh, Sean's best friend, pointed to one of the unoccupied pool tables. He slipped a heavily muscled arm over Sean's shoulder's and smiled at the bartender, blue eyes sparkling, already anticipating the inebriation.
"We'll be havin’ two bottles of your best Irish whiskey an’ he's buyin’." He
smiled at Sean, patting his shoulder. "An’ would ya be so kind as to deliver them over there." The tender nodded and Daragh led the troupe to the tables
.
Harris moved closer to Steph, unable to look, and felt a bead of sweat roll down his back.
"I have a pretty good idea how to play this one,” he hissed, his face flush.
"You'd better think fast." Stephen glanced over Harris' shoulder.
"Harris?" Sean's voice was solid and friendly. Harris spun to look into Sean's guarded eyes; the facade was in place and Harris got the signal loud and clear.
"Sean! What's up?" He stuck out his hand and Sean shook with overt strength. Harris hid his smirk. Fine, I can play your game, he thought, I know all these rules. Straight boy by day, suck my dick at night. Harris silently vowed to plow this boy like a Georgia wheat field next time they were alone.
"Daragh, guys - this is Harris and. . . "
"Stephen." Stephen sat with one red Converse propped up on the pool table and popped his bubble gum. Harris bit back a laugh.
"This is the guy that got me out of that scrap in Hollywood." Sean smiled and patted Harris’ shoulder while everyone said their hello's and nodded their approval. Under Sean's hand, he felt the urgent press, shoving the facade on tighter.
"Care to join us in a game?" Cooper, thin red curls bouncing as he spoke, was paying for the drinks. "And, Sean, you owe me one."
Harris thought he had landed smack dab in the middle of a English beer commercial. The accents flying around were heavy and loud. The almost “good old boy camaraderie’, complete with asides to their manhood, and women, as well as cars and football, made Harris gag; but he jumped right in with them. He knew now, once he nailed Sean, the end would not be far off. He was lost in his own thoughts, ignoring the tightening in his stomach at the thought of ending things with Sean, when the cue ball rolled silently past the eight ball. Harris laughed quietly at his mistake and stood, shaking his head.
"Well, that must mean it's my turn to buy." He handed the stick to Cooper. "Be right back." Cooper was still giggling.
Daragh took this chance to grab Sean by the elbow and steer him to a quiet corner.
"Daragh, what is it?"
Daragh's eyes flashed at Harris, who had one foot propped up on the bar rail, leaning in to shout the order to the barkeep over the noise in the crowded bar. The tender patted Harris on the shoulder in a gesture of familiarity.
"It's him."
"What about him?"
"Something." His eyes bore a hole into Harris’ back.
"Daragh, your words are always so direct." Sean tried to end this dangerous conversation but Daragh's strong grip landed on his shoulder.
"I mean, look at him! That long hair hanging to his arse!"
"Yea, and?"
"And his friend, Stephen - what kind of a name is that for a man – Ste-F-en. I'll tell you what, my friend, their bloody fairies, they are!" He nodded quickly in his own confirmation. Sean fought off a dizzy spell.
"Oh come on!" He almost followed that up with ‘what does it matter anyway?’ Thankfully, he held his tongue.
"I tell ya, I'm never bending down to get the soap around those two." Daragh all but crossed himself.
"Look Daragh, he's as tough as you or I. He helped me out a lot that night." That night; that first night. He turned his gaze to Harris as well and the facade tore, letting in an image of Harris' hair flying over his back, a guttural growl; Sean grabbing a handful of that hair and driving deeper into his lover. Lover. Had he really THOUGHT that word? Where the hell did that come from? Sean gasped slightly as a raised voice brought the real world back into focus.
Next to Harris, sitting at the bar, was a young executive, obviously drunk, in a three-piece suit who argued viscously with the over painted young woman beside him.
She gestured to him, hands raised in surrender to stop his voice as it grew louder, her face contorted as if she waited for the blow. The argument was escalated as the man ripped off the woman’s gold ring and slammed it on the bar; one of her perfectly manicured nails broke and flew like shrapnel.
Now in a full fury, and with the crowd parted like the Red Sea, the man stumbled off the stool and grabbed the girl's arm roughly, teeth clenched in a curse. She attempted to twist from his grip, lost her balance on her high heels and fell head long into the wall, cut her lip and twisted her ankle, dark curls tumbled to obscure her tears.
The man spent a split second in shock and was about to help her, the 'I'm Sorry' already halfway to his lips. Then, he remembered he was the 'man' here, his back straightened, and he continued to yell at her for being clumsy. The patrons of the bar looked on in complete, detached fascination, as if they watched a slow speed chase on the local news. The man reached for her again, hands out like claws, when he felt the lightest of taps on his shoulder.
"WHAT!?!!?" He whirled around and was met with the most powerful punch he had ever encountered. He hit the wall, slid to the floor and was out cold, a trickle of blood spotted his power tie. Harris rubbed his hand and stared down at the impression his ring had left on the guy's cheek. He helped the girl to stand and handed her over to a cocktail waitress.
With a nod of thanks from the bartender, he calmly took the tray of drinks to the pool tables amidst the applause of the patrons, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Sean's brood clapped the loudest and Daragh was the first to shake his aching hand.
"You're alright, Harris."
"Thanks Daragh." He smiled.
* * * * * * * * * *
Harris' head lay in his hands, fingers dug into his scalp. His body was hunched over, doubled into itself. These memories were a battering ram to his gut and he started to feel ill. He pulled out his ponytail holder and ran his fingers through his hair. One finger landed on a snag and he angrily pulled at it, listened to a clump tear strand by strand out of his head. He looked at the dangling blond broken spider's web of a tangle and shook it into the trash.
* * * * * * * * * *
The summer had been warm. Brilliant lemon sunshine days that breathed life into endless fields of green, the sky so crystal blue it hurt the eyes. Sean’s production company had rented a sprawling ten acre ranch in Callabassas for him and his co-stars ('mates') as sort of a vacation and rehearsal space. Harris declined most invitations to visit and more often than not, they came from Daragh rather than Sean. He had become a regular at Numbers when Sean finally called. Harris waited two days to respond before showing up, bag in hand.
“Okay, stop bugging me already,” He smiled as Sean opened the door.
Of course, Harris was given his own room and by morning was always found back in his own bed. Sean swore Daragh had spotted them at least once, out of the corner of his eye, in a embrace of more-than-friendship. Daragh said nothing, but a darkening storm cloud had settled into his eyes.
"You’re going into town today, right?" Harris whispered into the approaching dawn as it spilled into Sean's bedroom, as if speaking would break some sort of rule. All this time, they rarely ever talked in bed. He turned onto his side to face Sean.
"Yea. Buncha meetings about the show." Sean glanced at his costume for the weekly television drama revolving around a soldier in the Napoleonic wars of which he was the star. He had been told to bring it, and the sword, to the meeting; hopefully not to turn it in. "Probably going to fire all of us. Renew the show - not the cast." Harris heard the slight fear in Sean's weak joke.
"Sean!?" Daragh's voice boomed down the hall and fell on them like a bucket of ice water. Sean's eyes grew wide.
"Shite - he's coming this way!" He hissed.
In a mad scramble, Harris bolted from the bed, gathered up his clothes and ran to the bathroom that was attached to Sean's room. He closed the door quickly and practically leapt into the shower, closing the sliding frosted door. Sean flopped onto the pillows in mock sleep and prayed the room didn't still reek of sex. The door opened with a jerk, Daragh leaning on the doorknob.
"You still bloody sleeping? Have you any idea how long a drive it is into town?" Sean rolled over and nodded.
"Right, right - I'm up - I'm up!"
"Ya best be - and take a shower man, stinks to high heaven in here,"
The door closed with a hearty slam and Daragh called out the other names, banging on doors. Sean's heart pounded as he strained to hear Daragh go into his own room. When it was safe, he threw the covers back and ran into the bathroom.
"Harris?" The shower door opened. Harris tossed out his clothes except his sweat pants, which he was tugging on.
"All clear?" He was close to giggling. " I feel like your father came home early; this is so friggin silly."
Sean nodded and turned away, trying to hide his embarrassment. "I know; I know - its just easier to -"
He walked back into the bedroom. Harris took a step out of the tub and missed. Sean heard the thud before he knew what had happened. The soft pop might have been anything, a toothpaste tube broken, a can of soda opened under a pillow; but he had no idea what to make of the inhuman wail. He spun around only to see Harris in a heap on the floor.
"Harris!!" The sink had a splotch of red on the edge from where it connected with his forehead, rivulets of blood dripping into his hair and eyes. The scariest thing was the huge bulge that grew at the knee of his sweats.
The room filled instantly with the others who came to see what animal had been slaughtered. Sean had forgotten all pretense and barked out orders for an ambulance and ice and gently cradled Harris’ head. On hindsight, he would realize that no strange looks were actually given and Cooper had said something like, "Why on earth was he hiding anyway? Ain’t like we didn't know."
Cooper found a bottle of very strong pain killers in Harris' room. Sean forced two down Harris’ throat with slightly shaking fingers.
He became conscience enough to mutter ‘Make it three.”
The hospital room was bright and smelled of sickness and disinfectant. It made Harris want to throw up.
"How long do I have to stay this time?" He rolled his eyes at the doctor, wincing slightly at the bandage on his forehead.
"Harris - 2 days and you know that." Dr. Jennings put his pen away in his pocket and placed the chart at the end of the bed.
"I could have popped it back myself ya know - I have before." He crossed his arms like a spoiled child as he tried to betray his real feelings of dizziness. The pain killers made him feel invincible, but his voice was small and almost scared. Sean appeared silently at the open door.
"Just rest this time - please? I can't keep going in there and putting it back. One of these days you might lose the leg, you know that don't you?"
Harris turned on the patient doctor.
“Look, stop the speech. THIS time it WAS an accident!” His chest heaved with the explosion; if he had tears left, they’d be falling.
"I didn't have to operate this time, Harris. This time. Okay?"
Harris fumed silently and stared out of the window.
"Please, rest. I'll come by later to see you before I leave." Dr. Jennings nodded politely to Sean before he slipped into the hall as his pager beeped urgently.
Sean stepped up to the bed carefully; Harris still looked outside.
"Guess everyone knows now, hm?" Harris’ joke fell on deaf ears as Sean sat next to the bed. "Look, Sean, I'm sorry. I just slipped."
Sean nodded slowly. "Are you going to be alright?"
Harris sighed. "Yea yea, I'll live. Look,." He finally turned to look at Sean. Hell no, he did not want to see that look, that look of pity masked as concern. Not from this one - not from a fuck. They’re supposed to be there for the good times, not the bad. He wanted nothing more than to be alone. “I appreciate this, but you didn’t have to come down here.” Harris kept his arms locked tight across his chest.
Sean looked down at his feet, then the wall, anywhere to avoid that rejection in Harris’ eyes. It was so blatant, it burned. When he looked back, Harris was intent on the tree on the other side of the glass, Sean stood. Good, Harris thought as he heard the chair scrape on the floor, get the fuck out.
He started when Sean settled himself on the edge of the bed and used the chair as a footstool. Very slowly, he reached out and pried Harris’ hands apart, working on the white knuckles in turn until their hands rested palm to palm.
"How did this happen? How did your knee get this way? I can't imagine it was just a fall from the tub. Your doctor sounded like this has happened before." HIs voice was a conspirital whisper.
"Its nothing, I'm used to it. It just slipped out of joint." Harris looked at the hand holding his. He marveled at the calouses, the shape of them, remembered the feel of them on his skin. Something in his stomach quivered. Sean did not let go.
Harris sighed. "Let me explain. . . . .
TBC
no subject
me likey...
Re: me likey...
http://smutcutter.livejournal.com/99014.html#cutid1
AND chapter 3 -
http://smutcutter.livejournal.com/99496.html#cutid1
Thanks again!
love this
Re: love this
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3211420.html#cutid1
chapter 8
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3211081.html#cutid1
chapter 7
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3209068.html#cutid1
chapter 6
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3208506.html#cutid1
chapter 5
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3207453.html#cutid1
chapter 4
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3206301.html#cutid1
chapter 3
no subject
Thanks,
Vi
no subject
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3211420.html#cutid1
chapter 8
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3211081.html#cutid1
chapter 7
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3209068.html#cutid1
chapter 6
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3208506.html#cutid1
chapter 5
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3207453.html#cutid1
chapter 4
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3206301.html#cutid1
chapter 3
no subject
Thanks,
Vi
no subject
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3207453.html#cutid1
That's 4 -
http://community.livejournal.com/fellow_shippers/3206301.html#cutid1
and that's 3 - if you still have problems, let me know (smutcutter@aol.com) and I will email you the chapters