A/N: Well hello there! So, this is...weird. On a whim, I tried to fill a prompt for the KKBB kink meme and I actually managed to finish once I started. A surprise. It ended up not really being what the OP wanted, I think (haven't got any replies yet) so...yeah.

That said, here's the original prompt;

Harry is such a delightful catastrophe, but I'd love to see him being awesome for a moment. Someone makes a crude comment about Perry/gay people in front of him and he tears them a new one in his own snarky, protective way.

Perry overhears and rewards him very, very thoroughly without letting on as to why.

Since this is the first time I'm writing in this fandom, and since this is the first day I even started reading any fanfiction for the fandom as well....I'm not expecting this to get a lot of positive response. But I am hoping that I won't be getting any flames, because those suck, and are of no help at all.

Anyway, some basic warnings.

This is slash, duh. And rated M for a reason.

And English isn't my first language, so excue grammar/tyops/spelling.

Now, let's get on with it!

Yeah, I want coffee with that

Do I want coffee with that? I think I do. Black, no sugar. Croissants need something on the side that isn't so…gay. Especially with the chocolate filling, and the fact that it's….home made.

Oh, hi! Sorry, breakfast; you know how it is. Waking up odd hours in the morning, being hungry but not at all coherent enough to figure out how to deal with it. Something like that. I used to do it a lot. Before Perry, that is. Always up before me, because I'm a lazy ass and I like my sleep. A lot of it.

Anyway, he likes to cook. He takes it to heart, the whole "breakfast is the most important meal of the day" too. Really, he does. It's crazy. I used to get by on coffee alone, sometimes just a glass of water and an asprin. Then he was all like "hey, you can live with me, and I'll work your ass off" (foregoing any puns on that for now, we'll get to that bit), and then the smells. Even hungover, it works like a charm. I'm out of bed and in the kitchen pretty quick, all things considered (me being, as Perry likes to say, slow as a snail. Well, no, not exactly. He uses more profanities, fucking being his favorite (obviously), and some different kind of wording. I'm just summing it up for you, in the words of us mortals).

He's got some devious plan behind it all, of course. Otherwise he wouldn't have breakfast for two ready, because he's a bastard, and would only have made some for himself if it was a normal situation. So, I'm pretty convinced he does, actually, have some kind of evil master plan behind it all.

I just haven't figured it out yet, but I will.

Ah, well, you know? That's another mystery all together. I probably shouldn't have mentioned it at all, since you'll probably be thinking of it throughout the story and try to figure out what the hell it has to do with everything. Well, shit. Whatever, let's get on with it? I've got my coffee now, so it should get better form here.

Actually I know it'll get better (it's got a pretty good ending, all considered), but that's not the point.

So, anyway, it was some time after Harmony dumped me. Yeah, sheesh, I know, right? You thought it'd be a happily-ever-after? Sorry to break it to you, but real life doesn't work that way. Well, I kinda still hope it does, because I'm feeling pretty good right now and would like to continue on this way, but still. So not the point.

I had been feeling good with Harmony though. After oh, I don't know, a lifetime of pathetic pining for the perfect girl, a man tends to be pretty fucking happy once he realized that, hey, I got the fucking girl!

Yeah, I was happy. But, as I haven't been subtle to point out, it didn't last. She's still a friend though, but it isn't the whole Forest Gump like-salt-and-pepper-now-she's-gone then we're-like-salt-and-pepper-again kind of thing. I got her, didn't lose her, but didn't get laid anymore.

Um, yes, so, I was in a dry spell for a while. Perry was….not really his usual self. I mean, he still insulted me daily, hourly, minutely (does that word mean what I want it to mean in the context? Sorry, I would ask Perry, but…it's still pretty early. He's reading the paper. I don't want to disturb, you know?). Anyway, he allowed me to get distracted by the whole detective thing we've got going on. Usually, he's pretty damn hard (well, yes, that too; now get your mind out of the gutter, geez!) to convince (yes, it was that innocent), but after Harmony…I was on almost (because 'every' would make even me suspicious that Perry might've actually cared) every case he got. Fucking it up, as usual, of course. But with some strokes of luck – I don't know what they are, I've just kinda accepted that I'm Murphy's Law and Against-All-Odds all in one by now – I didn't screw up enough to lose us any of the cases, and actually helped solve some of them.

Though, this once, I took a bullet (well, maybe two, or three; I don't remember. It was all a bit fuzzy, and Perry refuses to talk about it. He just shouts, a lot) because hey, having your best friend covering you in crossfire without eyes in his neck, you don't just sit there when some crazed shit-heads comes sneaking up on him to spray the walls with his brains.

Ew, I did not need that mental picture.

So, anyway, what was I talking about?

……Um..

Oh, yes! Harmony, and Perry being…not really himself, but me being too slow to notice.

So, aside from all the cases I was suddenly allowed to tag along to, I also got to explore the less seedy bars I'd been visiting before (the weird Christmas Party place with naked people on display in window-boxes aside, Perry hasn't really invited me to anymore fancy parties, even if this is L.A.). I was thrilled at the time, and really didn't give a shit about this development. Perry, booze and flashy neon lights was good enough to keep me from wondering where it all came from. I mean, curiosity killed the cat, right?

Who came up with that anyway? Did he (or she, because being politically correct is totally my thing) stuck a mouse in a bear-trap with kitty-candy all over it and let in a cat to see if it'd be curious and tempted enough to check out all the goodies on that point- metal thing in the middle of the living room, just to see what happened?

Sick bastard.

As I was saying…at least, I think I was…so, anyway, Perry took me to bars, nightclubs, whatever. Fancy ones. And I got drunk, really drunk, on really fancy booze. I mean, we're talking blue drinks with umbrellas and tray upon tray with tequila shot races. Good times, at least until moring.

Anyway, it lasted for about a week before he said my liver would shrivel up into nothingness and put a stop to it all. I'm still pretty convinced his wallet was just whining, because when it's free, I can drink twice my weight of alcohol if I was paying it myself. But still. It was a good week, and I got over Harmony pretty fast, all considered.

I mean, before the glorious week of clubbing for free, it'd been a few weeks of screwing up on cases (the bullet-taking case was what triggered the sudden offer of drinking, by the way, in case you didn't catch on to that. I think he was trying to distract me. Huh. Distracting me from a distraction with another distraction?.....the man's just good like that, I suppose.). So maybe it wasn't that fast, but still, I think I was prepared to go at least a few years being hung up on Harmony since I'd spent most (almost all, actually) of my life doing the same (with the exception of me having had her once by then, which I hadn't back in the days). Surprisingly, this wasn't so.

But, anyway, are you even getting why I'm telling you all this? You aren't are you?

Damn.

Well, to sum it up; Harmony and I broke up, Perry cared (but I didn't know that back then) and did the friendly things friends do; only he's Perry. So it isn't that obvious. So, I didn't notice. I know, stupid, but still. What did I know? Perhaps he'd wanted to train me, try and find a cure for my stupidity – that might've been a reason for allowing me to join in on so many cases. And the free drinks? I don't know, I was too busy drinking to spare it much thought. I think I was going along the line of "just take what you can, before the good stops!".

I did kinda recognize he was making me feel a lot better though, so I kinda started liking him a lot more. Not that I didn't before, despite the insults and the threats and the scary tempter and…well…yeah. I just think I realized that he really was my friend. So, yeah, it took a while. Getting shot at, tortured, losing a finger (I'm not even going to mention the balls; it still hurts thinking about it), having off bridges by the hand of a dead girl, and all that shit, and then getting employed, a place to sleep and so on. Then the bars, the cases, the alcohol; I dunno. Something made me get it. It kinda crept up on me, alright? I don't know when I actually realized, but I did. Perry is a fucking cool guy. He's like, the best friend you'll have around for the rest of your life, you know?

So, around that time, I was going from worse to better and I was thinking "this guy is so gay, because he like, fucks a new one at least two times a week, and 'm okay with that (though I could do without the thumping and groaning and – yeah. In a dry spell, hello? Sympathy?!) but he's so fucking scary you'd think he was a psycho killer or something, and thank shit he's on my side, and finally shaved off his beard."

Now, this is where the story actually begins. What, you've never heard of a build-up before? A prologue?

Well, now you have, so shut up or leave.

…..

Still there? Really? Nice.

Yeah. Anyway, the beginning, yes. Moring, at home, by the TV watching re-runs. It went something like this I think;

"Perry, I got my liver swopped. I'm fine now. Can we go to that place, with the pretty strippers tonight? We can even be in the gay corner! I'll just bring a pair of binoculars and watch the show across the room!"

"Harry, what the fuck? Your liver swopped? Do you think I'm a fucking idiot? And that would be a big fucking NO. We're not going out tonight, you're not leaving the house. You're staying on this fucking couch, and you're not moving. Now shut up and let me finish."

"But Peeee-rr-yyyy! I don't even like Oprah! It's so gay! Can I at least go to the kitchen?"

"Just for that, no, you can't."

"But I'm hungry…"

"Shut up. Now."

That was the beginning, yes. I persuaded him to eat out that day though, because I managed to get into the kitchen when he went to the bathroom, in order to make us lunch in an attempt to convince him to reconsider and actually go out that night. It didn't work, since I almost burned down the kitchen and pretty much ruined the majority of our food supply (we hadn't been out shopping for the week yet, so it was pretty empty already), BUT….he agreed on leaving the house for lunch, at least. If only to calm down, a few miles away from the mess I'd made. Sometimes he just needs a moment or two.

Anyway, so, we went to eat lunch. And I was feeling pretty good you know? Because he was my bestest buddy, my forever-friends, my BFF (doesn't that kinda mean the same thing? Oh, whatever, I was never any good with that stuff anyway…) and I liked him (well, I still do). Even fuming, he wasn't that bad of a company and glass of wine with some weird French food would make it all the better (he goes full out when in pissy moods; restaurants, real ones, not pizza, which I had suggested).

We didn't get far though, before I screwed even that up. Except I kinda didn't, for some reason. I don't know why. Wait, here's what happened, right?

So, walking down the street, we were talking. More like arguing, but still. I asked him if he was gonna have frog legs, you know, to cut down on his intake of fat and maybe lose a few pounds? He stopped, poked me in the chest, and said something witty, I'm sure. It never sticks, but it made me say some more stupid things (like always; he's got at that, provoking the idiot in me. Although, he'd say I don't have one inside me (because he obviously isn't an idiot, he says), I am an idiot).

It was the normal shit going down, between us anyway. I'm not sure other friends do it quite the way we do, but still. It doesn't bother me.

So, it being all normal, I hadn't anticipated to get interrupted.

"Heh, look, prissy-boy is lecturing his girlfriend".

" I bet he bottoms, even if he's the fatter one. I mean, larger one. Bet he's trying for the body-builder look, eh?"

"Yeah, he's the one with the pink shirt. Oh man, so fucking gay it's painful."

"Hey, do you like, drive a blue Prias? I think I saw you at the mall!"

"Buying thongs, lacy ones."

Actually, that wasn't really what they said. It went more like…

"Hey! You fucking faggot! Get out of the way!"

"Got into a fight with your girlfriend, lover-boy?"

"Fucking disgusting!"

Then add some spitting, and the scene should be pretty close to what transpired. I don't really remember, I was a bit pissed off after the "fucking faggot" comment. A bit guilty too, because I had kinda been steering our argument towards the usual direction…

"You're so fucking annoying!"

"Yeah, you wish I was fucking! I'm just annoying, so stop dreaming; I know I'm irresistible, but come on! Actually no, don't come! We're in public, after all, and I think that's illegal or something."

"What the fuck Harry?!"

Well, you get the point.

Anyway, Perry had kinda stormed off during our own argument (somewhere after his "wtf" moment and my attempt to explain what I meant, since he looked so confused and constipated). So, I was kinda alone. They must've overheard us, and seen him leave. This sucked, because if he'd stayed, we'd been two against three. Not one against three. But since they were around my size, in smart suits and rich-boy cologne, I'd say there were about 1 and a half of them compared to Perry.

That aside, I wasn't really thinking in size or numbers.

"Hey! That was uncalled for!"

"Oh yeah? Looked like the fag was gonna rape you, I guess it's true what they say about Stockholm's syndrome. What did he do, lock you up in his cellar with all the whips and other fuck-toys?"

I really wasn't thinking about the numbers then. I did, however consider their size. They always tell you to pick on people your own size, and well, they were pretty close to mine so I figured it'd work out.

Because at that point in time, I was getting pretty touchy about Perry being insulted. Only I could do that, I realized, because we were BFFs and stuff. (Yeah, this still applies, so don't try anything.)

"Yeah, he totally did. I had him on gun point. Wanna try it out?"

"Don't get so cokcy you sick fuck! Unlike your princess, we don't suck it!"

Um, yeah, that pretty much did it. I don't know why, it was just so very lame I shouldn't have reacted with more than a laugh.

But, I just jumped at the one closest (black suit, black hair….actually, black is the only color I remember on the guy. And red, of course) and planted a pretty painful punch (…that's a lot of p's) on his nose. It felt like a broke a knuckle, but it didn't matter, because I'm pretty sure the guy's nose snapped in two too.

"What the fuck man?! What do you think you're doing?! I'm having you thrown in jail for that!"

Hm, yes, they didn't react very well. It seems I'm the only one who just kinda shuts up during a fight and get my ass kicked. Anyway, I even surprised myself next, even as the other two guys (the third was busy nursing his nose, I'm still pretty proud (again the the p's) of that) took a hold of my collar (they were actually still bigger than me, despite adding up to one and a half against Perry).

"You really want to do that? I've got a gun in my pocket. And this was all self-defense on my part; I'm a detective, gives me lots of enemies. You're one of them."

"Bullshit!"

"Wanna try out your luck? Go on, call the cops; I hang out with them during lunch break. Love their doughnuts."

Usually, this is where they beat the shit out of me and leave me bleeding on the streets for the birds to shit on. Or, if Perry had still been next to me (can't decide if he'd be too shocked to move, or just wait until he was really 'needed' before stepping in and saving the day).

Fortunately, this time around, they really were just rich-boys with filthy mouths and fragile bones. I mean, having my hand in my coat pocket, shaped like a gun, and pointing straight in the guy's stomach was just too cool to actually work, but it did. Somehow. They backed off, anyway, because people were starting to stare (it takes a while in L.A., but I'm used to it. Hello, from New York, remember?).

Anyway, I watched them leave. Kinda in a daze, because hey, they just fell for the lamest trick ever and all I'd gotten form this fight was a bruised knuckle and ripped collar (the guy'd been strong, despite how he'd looked). It'd been nothing short of a miracle, I thought, so I was kinda justified to stand there staring at nothing.

But then I turned, because Perry was probably sitting at his restaurant by then eating frog legs and sipping wine and flirting with the waiters. He'd stormed off in the middle of our argument, and had probably expected me to follow, but knowing there was a chance I didn't so he should've continued on to where I'd know he'd be. Only, he'd been walking against me and stopped just a few steps away. It didn't look like he'd seen or heard anything that'd just happened, because if he had, he'd commented on it. I'm convinced he wouldn't pass up a chance to bitch at me about something like that. Getting into a fight and stuff.

"What the fuck is taking you so long? You haven't moved since I left! Come on, I'm fucking hungry and you're NOT ruining my lunch a second time today!"

Um, so, he totally didn't notice anything. I didn't mention it either, because really; he seemed pissed enough as it was. At least, that's what I thought at first.

You see, Perry is…a hard man to read. His vibes are all over the place. Why do you think it took so long to realize he cared, and that he was being a friend, hm? Anyway, it took me a few hours to notice something was off.

He was being…nice.

Like, not Perry-nice, like he'd been ever since Harmony had broken up with me. But, you know, normal nice. Like, nice as you can find described in the dictionary.

I finally reached a point where my freaking out finally broke loose.

After dinner, again on the couch (remember the beginning? Oprah? Begging to go clubbing? Yeah, I like that couch).

"I didn't mean it."

"Uh, what?"

"What I said about your ass."

Okay, fuck, I missed that part didn't I? Remember the argument that sent Perry storming off? Yeah, somewhere among the fuck's and idiot's and I-know-you-want-to-fuck-me, he said my ass was pretty revolting, even for him. Or something like that, I don't remember the specifics. What? You expect me to carry around a fucking recorder all the time to make sure the story's spot on? Yeah, right.

"Your ass actually looks pretty fuckable."

"Um, Perry? Are you drunk?"

"No."

"Ooo-kay. You just paid me a compliment. And you hit on me. Wait, did you? Did you just hit on me?"

"Would you mind if I did?"

You get where this is going? No? Let me just explain myself, why his question kinda actually made me stop and think.

Between the dry spell after Harmony, hearing wild, (gay) animal fucking from his bedroom at least once a week (or something, I didn't keep track. I tried very hard not to, actually) and that day's events with the guys' assumptions that Perry was raping the shit out of me in some cellar and then my response to it….well, let's just say I have an open mind, despite being pretty stupid. Most of the time.

I figured I wouldn't mind, because he's gay, and I'm cool with that, and he's my friend and I like him.

"Huh. No, I don't think I would. Why?"

"Oh I was just wondering."

"…."

"…"

"No, seriously, why?"

"I want to fuck you."

Woha, that was pretty straightforward (well, there wasn't anything straight about it, but still…), right? I thought so too.

I freaked out a bit.

Like, just a tiny bit. Really.

"Perry…you're scaring me…"

"Don't be such a pussy, you know that's not my thing."

"What? I thought you were hitting on me, now you're not?"

"Oh my god, Harry, I mean, what the hell?!"

"What?!"

"Never mind, fuck. So, what, you want me to hit on you now?"

"Maybe I do! No, wait, what?"

"You're such an idiot."

Eh-herm. Right. So, this is where he kissed me. For the second time (it was easy to keep count back then, so don't bitch on me about that, alright?). I was…still freaking out a bit. But, you know, when you're just so shocked you can't really think or move? Yeah, and then, somehow, when someone starts kissing you it's kinda like a reflex so you just immediately return it anyway? That's pretty much what happened, for a totally of about….5 seconds? I don't know. You think I could keep track of time when I couldn't even react to my best friend kissing me in any other way than kissing him back?

Anyway, not the point. He just stopped, as if we hadn't been kissing at all, and continued to watch the TV. I was shocked. Not really angry, I didn't even feel very violated. Just kinda…numb?

Really, it's impossible to explain. Like trying to say what banana tastes like, to someone who's never eaten it.

So, anyway, after that it was just silent for a very long time and I tried to sort out what the hell just had happened, what I felt about it, and all that shit. Perry didn't move, he just sat there, looking too smug. He was probably enjoying the fact that he'd efficiently shut me up, for once.

I don't really know what happened, but life went on, almost as normal. Except I was jumpy as hell around him, and he suddenly liked getting really close. I didn't stop him; I just tried to get away. Like a mouse the cat's playing with, you know? Just, without the eating part. At least, not yet. We're getting there, I think.

Sorry, really bad metaphor. Not hot at all. Ew.

Anyway, the strange flirting-with-Harry-and-eliminating-his-personal-space thing went on for a day or two before it developed. It all went pretty fast, if you ask me. Still, I've always been the leap-without-looking type of guy, so I guess that's why it came so naturally anyway.

"I meant it."

A weird sort of déjà-vu, only it's a bit different. We were in the kitchen this time.

"What?"

"I do want to fuck you."

"Ah…um…eerrr…."

"I'm going to kiss you again."

"Uh, right---"

And he did. This time, I was prepared, because, hey, he warned me, right? So, I should've shoved him off, or clenched my lips closed, or something. But I didn't, so I figured I wasn't really as straight as I'd thought (as if those days of watching Perry flirt with me, not a random guy off the street, hadn't forced me to think in those thoughts already).

And the rest, as they say, is history.

But, if you're wondering, we did get to the sex, and yes, it was on the kitchen counter, and yeah, it was pretty weird and awkward and creepy. But he carried me to bed afterwards, his bed, and that was awesome. Because he has silk sheets.

Anyway, I know you want specifics, right? I wouldn't mind re-telling them, because yeah, it was awesome. It wasn't just hot and life-altering (I just found out I'm gay for my best friend, hello?), but fun. I mean, he kept insulting me like usual, only, with a hard-on. Which kinda nullified the effect. Ah, well, not really. Kinda reversed it, actually. I don't know about you, but getting pressed up against a kitchen counter, having that hot and hard grinding against your own still clothed dick while there's sucking and nibbling at your neck and hands on your ass and teeth and lips and tongue….you won't mind the occasional "fucking hell, you're such an idiot" or "I don't know why you're still alive, when you refuse to back down for something stupid like that…and when you can't even throw a decent punch, but fuck I'm glad you are" whispered in your ear. (I actually don't know what he means with the last part, but hey, once again, you take what you can get, right?)

Have you noticed how broad his shoulders are, by the way? Great to hold on to when my knees were buckling. He wasn't playing fair; there was a war going on in my head between fucking hell get out of this now it's so wrong, you're straight and fucking hell this feel good, bi is such a great compromise and the hand on my crotch really didn't help. It didn't take long for me to stop complaining though, because if you've ever experienced a certain amount of arousal, you'll know that when the blood travels south, it kinda drains the brain of any sort of intellectual powers. Since I'm not really blessed with those in a sober, non-horny state, I was a bit of a mess by the time Perry had removed my shirt and started unzipping my jeans.

I realized then that my hands were pretty busy too, and that his ass was indeed as firm as it looked. Since I had his tongue down my throat and his dick grinding against mine I figured it was okay to admit I'd apparently checked out his ass before all this. Anyway, I bit the skin underneath his ear, because I've always liked that, and I wondered if he did too, and he did.

He didn't sound like he did when he fucked those (to me, at least) faceless and nameless guys. Actually, he never did sound during that, it was all them. I felt ridiculously smug for the small moan he'd breathed against my own ear then. I didn't stop to think that small moans like that couldn't be heard through his bedroom walls, and it didn't matter, because when he'd removed our pants and underwear and had me perched on the counter he let out a shout when I took us in my hands together and pulled.

That would've been loud enough to hear through his bedroom walls.

As he thrust, and took over, because it was my first with a guy and he was so much better and it felt so good – he kissed me hard, and I think I hit my head pretty hard against the cupboard behind me but I can't remember any pain because it felt so good. I think I shouted his name, but all I heard was "Harry!" and then it was hot and sticky and I was shaking. I think he was too, but he washed us off and I was too tired to pay attention and then he was carrying me, and tucked me in with silk sheets and he kissed me good night. I couldn't bring myself to regret anything, even if it was rushed, even if I'd been straight up until then. I just fell asleep, and woke up to coffee and pancakes and kisses.

"Harry? What the fuck are you doing?"

"Um, nothing?"

"Is that a diary?"

"…yeah. A diary, which means you can't read it, because it's a diary, and I'm writing in it so that means it's mine."

"….Right. Finish your coffee already, I'm off to bed again."

"Really?"

"Yes, it's a fucking Sunday. Come when you're done. And no, do not make any puns about that. No."

"Okay, fine, whatever. I'm done, I'm co—"

"---you're putting the cup in the dishwasher first."

"You're such a neat-freak. Geez."

A/N: -wince- Do I even DARE ask "how did I do"? D: Because I kinda pains me to even post this crap. Shit.