"Perry, god, I need you," he slurred, practically gyrating his hips against me, collapsing into my shoulder, pressing closer, whining and I wondered how whiskey and rum had the power to convert a straight man but couldn't really be bothered with something as menial as 'thinking' when Harry was moving just like that.

The leather sofa creaked with Harry's squirming and I desperately attempted to remember protocol and orientation and friendship as my hands shot out to grip his biceps firmly.

"Harry, what the fuck," I managed, finding it a little difficult to try sound pissed when the guy was breathless and hard on top of me. I was hoping the sound of my very male voice would cause some realization to dawn in his impaired brain.

But Harry, being the darling that he was, only pulled back briefly to stare at me with half lidded eyes. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks were flushed a vibrant red that continued down his neck and disappeared past his shirt collar and his lips were somehow stained a darker color too, blushing like the rest of him.

Or something.

I tried not to notice.

His breath reeked of alcohol as he opened his mouth to mutter urgently. "No, no, you want it too."

I was tempted to smirk darkly because there was no way in hell-

No way, that is, until I felt a clumsy hand pawing at my crotch, squeezing through my pants. With a more appalled gasp than anything, I discovered Harry's words had some truth to them. But damn it, blood supply was apparently limited, that was all, this didn't mean anything.

With an almost clinical detachment I brutally shoved all the panic aside. There was no way I was about to stutter or try and deny my completely spontaneous boner, and so I simply tightened my hands on Harry's arms. "Get off." I poured as much menace as I was physically capable of into those words, the unfinished sentence clearly being or I'll make you.

Harry, however, pushed his hand tighter into my crotch, the whine in his voice almost criminally wanton, "I'm trying to," he complained, his breathing speeding up in frustration as his eyes shone and pleaded.

Then his stupid, stupid hands tried to unbutton my pants and I brutally snatched them away, dismayed at how difficult it was on a solely psychological level - damn it.

I did want this.

"Stop it you fucking moron. You're drunk to shit and you won't like me at all when you're sober."

By which I meant Harry would undoubtedly freak out and hate me, or some other variation of the sort. I tried, really tried, to convince myself that this wouldn't cause me utter misery. I didn't want things to change, I never had.

Harry huffed, wriggling unhelpfully. "I'll never stop liking you. Perry, Perry, please."

I closed my eyes for a moment. "Okay, we're done. This is finished." In a practiced, powerful motion, I pushed and shoved, and Harry was helpless against my strength, but that didn't mean he couldn't make this difficult.

He frowned, baring his teeth in something like disappointed outrage, suddenly irascible as he lashed out with his stubborn determination. In an ungraceful move his grabby hands, slick with perspiration, pulled at my hair and skin, and then he was slamming his lips against mine with a little growl that said don't fucking mess with a horny guy. His mouth was hot and sticky and wet, his tongue easily able to push past my startled lips.

I sat still, unresponsive, but then, I didn't push him away either.

Harry separated and smiled dazedly at me, his eyes cloudy.

"You idiot, fucking idiot," I accused, digging my nails into his arms in frustration. Harry looked at me, traces of victory in every twitch of his lips as he breathed harshly and reached his arms around me. He'd obviously taken the insult as the green light, judging by the way he moved closer, squirming until he was once again comfortable on my lap.

"Okay?" he asked, knocking his forehead against mine. "Okay?"

No, it was not fucking okay.

But I was too rattled to give a verbal response, hell I didn't even know what to say to such a quiet murmur of want. This shouldn't be happening at all, but somehow it was and I was frozen.

I knew I could've left if I wanted to, if I really wanted, but instead I was pulling him roughly by the hair and kissing him, hungry, tired of pretending I didn't want to. And oh I would regret this later, this would hurt later, and everything would go to hell but for now there was nothing but Harry's lips under mine.

I could feel his approval thrumming all around me, the way his fingers seemed to pulse against my scalp where his hands were clenched, the way his hips canted forward, the way he hummed and I could feel the vibrations. His scent and his heat and God it was good.

Harry pulled back to leave sticky kisses on my face, moving his lips sporadically from cheek to jaw to ear, while his previously thwarted hands were met with no resistance as they started to undo and unclasp the fastenings on my pants. While his hands were busy, he paid special attention to a spot just below my ear that made me shiver, his hot breath sending spikes of pleasure down my spine.

I closed my eyes, less out of a overwhelming difficulty to keep them open and more out of disbelief. As much as I tried to figure it out, I still couldn't be sure how a night watching television (granted, with alcohol, and granted it was Lost) had turned into this.

Without preamble, my hardened flesh was eased out of my boxers and fisted by a warm hand, thumb smearing the liquid already gathered at the tip. When I opened my eyes, I drank in the sight of an intent Harry, gaze downcast and focused on his task, lips parted.

He appeared to have a surprising amount of concentration for someone so drunk and when he turned his perpetually bright eyes to me, I could only stare back, unsure of what was being communicated. Then Harry frowned, letting out a strangled murmur of frustration. He used his free hand to pull me sharply by the hair towards his lips.

I could only accede to his pull, like I'd been doing the entire time.

I wished I wasn't so into this, really wished that the hand jerking me off didn't feel so good and that the lips prying and prodding and hungry and clumsy didn't feel fucking amazing when it should have felt like some sloppy, pitiful attempt.

The hand disappeared for a moment, and I barely had the good grace to bite back a grunt of protest.

I was soothed when I saw that Harry was trying to struggle out of his own restraining confines, though his hands seemed to be caught at the button. He pushed his face into my shoulder, using me as leverage to lift his hips up, panting as he tried to undo that one mischievous, apparently unconquerable little button.

Finally, he slumped down, unable to help one small rocking motion forward before he clutched at my shirt.

"Perry," he groaned. "Help." His face was pinched in naked desperation and my throat went dry; fuck if I could even remember the last time someone had looked at me like that.

"You absolute moron." I wasn't angry anymore, not when Harry was straddling my lap, vibrating with tension and looking wonderfully debauched. I'd never known anyone so turned on that they couldn't even get their own pants off, but then I remembered that Harry was massively drunk and I lost a bit of my amusement.

Still, with steady hands I pushed the button through the hole and undid Harry's zipper, relishing the sharp hiss it produced. But then I backed off and leant against the couch, and Harry more than willingly took over where I left off.

Some part of my brain prevented me from getting too into this. I was afraid of touching him too much, as if just one more brush or lingering caress would snap him out of his desire-fueled frenzy and he'd realize exactly what he was doing - exactly who he was doing.

Brought back by Harry's hurried movements as he pushed down his pants, boxers and all, down to his thighs, I wondered how he could make such syrupy, damn near tender sounds underneath the need.

And then Harry had leant forward, curling one arm around my shoulder and wrapping his free hand around both our lengths, setting a brutal pace, sweat and pre-come making things slick and easy.

He kissed me messily, distractedly and his head tipped back as he grinded against me.

I groaned shortly; never mind that Harry was straight, but how he could be this good while so drunk was a mystery. Or maybe, I admitted quietly, it was just because it was Harry.

His strokes slowed suddenly and I glanced at him with a reprimand on my tongue, until I noticed his growing frown.

For a moment I thought it had all gone to hell, but then I remembered that same frown from before and what it had meant. A come-hither type expression that reminded me humorously of the old romance movies in which someone would always have to shout out 'kiss me you fool!'

Knowingly, I tugged Harry down and kissed him, pushing and tilting his head until he was breathing too hard to kiss properly, but it didn't matter because he was so into it, clutching and keening and meeting in earnest.

Harry let his appreciation show by almost immediately speeding his hand up again, his moan smothered in my mouth.

"See, see," he slurred in between sharp exhales. He kissed me with an open mouth again and I savored the tingling of bruised lips when he pulled back.

It wasn't long before we became lost in shallow, sporadic thrusts and gasps, but while Harry was kissing frantically and touching me like I'd disappear in the next instant, I tried to keep my hands clenched against the couch as much as possible, the awareness never quite leaving me.

This is Harry you're fucking with.

The thought sent equal amounts of dread and hot pleasure coursing through my veins, mixing for a titillating combination.

"Fuck…I can't…" Harry pushed his face into my neck, his breath hot against my skin. "Why won't you touch me?"

I was jarred out of my haze a little at that, surprised at the anger and notes of drunken despair Harry had always been prone to expressing.

I didn't say anything and he bit down on my neck, whimpering. "You want me, too, don't you? Why won't…." his hand stopped, moving to twist in my shirt. "Perry," he moaned helplessly, his breath coming out in sobs.

I thought this was it, I thought he might walk away with his scraped together pride, bobbing boner and all, because I wasn't doing anything but then he growled and jerked up to glare at me fiercely. "Touch me," he said, more threateningly demanding than I'd ever seen him.

After a moment of silence, I reached out my stiff fingers and held his waist, pushing my thumbs under his shirt to rub little circles on his hot skin. Harry's face smoothed and he closed his eyes, opening them again with darkly glittering approval, as if the simple touch meant that much. His eyes were nearly black as he leaned down to kiss me, equivalent to a 'thank you' or a reward or something, and it was almost tender - it was almost sweet.

It almost killed me.

I started to think this was a bad idea, more of a bad idea than I'd originally thought, and I was freaking out because I had to make it stop… But Harry kept kissing me (and I was, to my horror, kissing back), his hand again causing that delicious slick slide and friction and I was lost.

I came first, all held breath and closed eyes as I tried not to move, but my grip tightened on Harry and of course he knew the moment I'd come undone, his symphony of "Perry, Perry, Perry" like a cooing, proud song. His hips snapped forward and then he tensed, groaning in gasps.

He fucking collapsed against me and his arms slid around me like a soft cage, gentle and pliable in the afterglow. He buried his head against my shoulder, slumped and heaving, catching his breath as his body was relaxing and melding with mine.

"Perry," he mumbled happily, kissing my neck lazily.

For the second time that evening, I completely lost it.

I pushed him off of me - hard - and he fell easily, caught off guard, landing with a heavy thud.

He'd hit his head whiplash-style against the floor and he had considerable trouble levering himself up, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

By the time he looked up at me, I was already zipped up and standing.

"Perry-" all traces of contentment were gone and he seemed mildly panicked, though there was the drunken smile lingering on his lips that tried to play this off as some sort of joke. I wanted to snort at the irony, because this entire thing surely must have been, too.

"Listen very carefully," I started, voice deceptively calm. "You will not speak of this ever again. So much as suggest it and I will throw you out, understand? This never happened."

And then I walked away, trying to ignore the way his face fell and he looked ready to cry.

Three strides away, when I heard the strangled hiccoughing (mysteriously) sob-like sound, abruptly cut off, I tried to ignore it even more.

The warbled, desperately-trying-to-be-angry-but-failing 'fuck you!' made something in my chest twist uncomfortably, but I kept walking.

I showered and washed away the mistake, and then I went to bed and told myself this would all blow over and everything would be fine.

In the morning, Harry was gone and I told myself that I didn't care, that it was better this way.

And if I told myself this enough I just might believe it.

There was knock at the door, a rather insistent sounding sound. With a huff, I got up from my self-imposed pity fest on the couch (consisting of Froot Loops and The Notebook) and opened the door, half hoping to see Harry on the other side.

I actually found myself disappointed that it was someone else.

"Hello Perry," Harmony greeted, looking and sounding no less like herself, though I could spot the underlining anger like a flashing hazard sign.

"What do you want?" I asked, deciding it would be better to piss her off and drive her away than deal with whatever female hormonal rampage she was on.

"A beer," she said curtly, going over to sit on a kitchen stool. "Now."

I reached into the fridge and slid one over, opting to lean against the counter as she opened it and took a long pull.

"I see you've already done your fair share of drinking," she gestured with her beer into the living room, littered with empty bottles of beer, a Captain Morgan and a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels.

I shifted, valiantly keeping my voice even. "That was mostly Harry."

Of course I hadn't cleaned up yet. Too busy self-pitying and such.

"Oh speaking of," she started sweetly, her eyes turning hard. "Saves me from making some shit transition into the subject. So I'll get right to it. What the fuck did you do to him?"

How had I not been expecting this? Of course, of course Harmony would come here in a whirlwind, all knight in shining armor for Harry, of course she would do anything for him. I scowled.

"I didn't do anything-"

"Oh bullshit! I get woken up at 4AM last night to the guy barely standing and devastated and you tell me you haven't done anything? Great, I'll just believe you then." The sarcasm dripped off her words like thick syrup.

She wasn't hiding anything, wasn't holding back, and the anger was more like a hissing snake now, just itching to maul me gory and bypass the venom thing all together, granted it wasn't fast acting. A slow, torturous death would be most suitable.

"This really isn't any of your business," I had my arms crossed and I realized this was defensiveness-101, but I couldn't be damned.

"He won't tell me anything, he fucking couldn't, but he did keep saying your name. Christ Perry I've never-" she cut herself off when her demeanor softened and sagged. "This is my business now, because he's passed out on my bed and he's not okay," she hissed, drawing herself up.

Not okay kept repeating in my head and I squashed the immediate, violent worry.

"Nothing happened, it's just Harry being Harry-" once again, I was cut off, this time with an undignified shriek.

"It is not!" she said over me, before quieting. "He could only say nonsense 'Perry this' and 'Perry that' and it was shit to decipher, but I could tell it wasn't all rainbows and kittens. I don't know what you did to him, but you had better damn well apologize, he was shaking you idiot."

"That's the alcohol," I cut in lamely, to which she glared at me as though she really, honestly hated me.

"Fix this. I don't want to see him like that ever again."

"Can't make any promises, sorry," and now I was being harsh because I wasn't in the mood for this and maybe I was worried about him no matter how I tired not to be.

She looked at me, long and hard, even as she tilted her head back to take another pull from her beer.

"I could barely calm him down last night," she began, almost airily. "After cleaning him up from his puke-marathon, which was great fun, by the way, he kept sitting there like someone had shot his grandma."

"His grandma's fine," I snorted, derisive and mean.

She continued as if I'd never spoken. "I had to hold him and rock him to sleep and it was only after he was too exhausted with telling me gibberish that he fell asleep."

I made a face, I must have when she uttered 'hold him' and then it finally registered that she'd said 'on my bed.'

Harmony smirked dangerously. "There, you see? What if I'd told you we had sex, God you're so obvious. You look like some betrayed housewife, honestly." She sneered at me.

I knew she was probably still a little stung that things hadn't worked out between her and Harry, just like I knew how she was being a good friend to the both of us despite it, but I couldn't feel warm and fuzzy for the good fucking will of others when she was talking about holding my-

My? Well that was just nice and peachy. I didn't even know what I considered him in my own head, only that I thought him mine. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And the worst of it was that we were, essentially, two people who were both hopelessly invested with Harry, brothers in arms. I spent half my energy supply each day making sure Harry didn't catch on and yet I was still somehow transparent to Harmony, it was damn annoying.

With a final show of impressive womanly grace, she downed her beer and wiped her sleeve across her mouth. "Get your shit together Perry and apologize. I'm sending Harry back tonight after I've comforted him some more." She put suggestive inflection in the word 'comfort' and it was all I could do not to stomp my foot like a child.

One cool, significant glare later and she had stormed out the door, slamming it behind her.

I sighed, shoulders slumping.

Fuck it all. Life was so much simpler without Harry.

But then, a quiet voice whispered loudly, you can't even imagine life without him.

When Harmony came home, it was to Harry standing shirtless in front of her full-length mirror, looking like hell.

"You should be sleeping your hangover off," she said gently, noticing how he winced even at her soft voice.

"Needed water," he croaked.

"I left you some by the bedside."

"Needed more," and he tried to grin at her.

But she was close enough that she could see what Harry was inspecting and gently touching - suspiciously finger-shaped marks on his waist and low on his hips. She couldn't smile back, and when he noticed her noticing, he moved sluggishly to throw on a shirt.

"Oh, Harry," it came out softer and more concerned than she knew he would have liked, but he only shrugged.

"S'the only place he'd touch me," he muttered, hands fluttering thoughtlessly to where the marks had been, fidgeting with his shirt.

She hesitated, trying not to react to the proof of all the implications she'd been putting together since the other night. Unfortunately, the slurred renditions of Perry - fuck I wanted him - and it was warm - warm - wouldn't touch - wouldn't hold - Perry, Perry, Perry were obvious enough for her to put together the pieces. And now he was validating it all, smashing her hope of drunken rambling or even temporary insanity.

Not that she shouldn't have seen this coming. They were always together, stayed together even when she and Harry weren't anymore.

"You don't have to go back there, you know. You could stay here for a few days, longer if you wanted."

He shrugged again, crawling lethargically under her covers and deflating against her pillows, like she'd always imagine he'd do every night.

"That's okay, Harmony. But thanks," his speech was slow and raspy and she wouldn't be surprised if he was still a little drunk.

From what she could gather, he'd left drunk from Perry's and then had proceeded to get even more trashed at the nearest bar.

"He's a jerk," she whispered fiercely, Harry's quiet, sad face bothering her more than his drunken blubbering.

"Always was," Harry said, in a way that she couldn't help think was defending and fond. He added, "Sorry about this, jus' need t'sleep som'more."

"You don't have to apologize," she smiled softly and pulled the covers over his shoulders, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. She'd save the scolding for later.

"Sorry 'bout it all, though," he mumbled, letting her play with his hair as he drifted off into a blissfully deep sleep.

She didn't say anything in response, not that it mattered because he wouldn't have heard either way.

When Harry woke up hours later, he ate half the contents of her fridge, monopolized her shower for half an hour and insisted on walking around looking gorgeously ruffled for the remainder of his stay.

Her heart ached but she squashed the feeling with annoyance.

"Hey," he asked, half way through munching on left over pizza. "Was he eating Froot Loops? Perry, I mean."

She thought back. "Yeah, I saw a bowl."

Harry stopped mid-chew to gawk at her for a moment. Then he grinned, toothy and bright, and the sight warmed her heart even if the smile wasn't for her.

He'd been distant and sulky all day and it had been half pathetic and half disconcerting. Sadness didn't suit Harry at all.

"Hah, that bastard, I knew it." He was contentedly devouring her food without pause, looking validated.

"What?" she asked.

He swallowed. "He only eats Froot Loops when he's feeling guilty or bad or some shit." In a heartbeat, his grin lost a bit of its confidence and he sobered. "Well, I don't know, I guess."

She steadied herself for what she was about to say. "I'm sure it'll work out, Harry. The way he looks at you, I'm sure of it."

Her heart had been enduring much trauma in the past dozen hours, and now it shuddered in her chest as it gracelessly dropped to her feet. Harry's cheeks gained a bit of color as he nodded, murmuring a typically manly, closed off response: 'Yeah, sure.' But it was painfully obvious he had it fucking bad.

"He's an idiot if he doesn't make it work, just a scared shithead," she said and it was here that Harry stopped looking besotted and really looked at her.

"Thanks," he said, and she knew it was for more than her optimist relationship talk.

Her lips quirked. "Anytime"

He kissed her cheek before he left, 'sweetheart' on his lips.

She watched him walk away, all squared shoulders and unsteady feet, and even amid her own tangle of emotions, she laughed at how ridiculous he looked.

It was half way through the third run of The Notebook that Harry barged through the door, his purposeful stride faltering a little as soon as he saw Perry.

"H-hey, Perry! I'm…home."

It was with a practiced, mastered indifference that Perry turned his head and drawled, "Yeah?"

Harry bristled. "Don't give me your priss routine," he huffed.

"Wasn't aware I had a 'priss routine,'" he returned.

"Of course you do! But that's not the point. The point is you're a dick."

Perry raised his eyebrow as Harry half-stumbled, half marched to stand in front of the TV, where Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams were kissing oh so passionately in the rain.

"Such a fucking prissy bitch." Harry was nearing full rant mode and he glared down his prey with as much strength as he could muster.

"Did you really have a point, Chief?" Perry was meanwhile planning escape routes.

"Yes! As a matter of fact I do," he eyed Perry a smidge nervously underneath his pseudo haughtiness and sucked in a sharp breath.

Harry braved the distance between them and made his actions exaggerated as he slowly, ever so slowly approached Perry until he was well into his personal space.

"What the hell-"

He cut off further harsh protests and batted away strong arms with an impatient look, shushing with 'just fucking wait.'

"Look," he began shakily. "I'm not drunk now, look, and I'm still here," he glanced down at Perry as elaboration, their bodies close and brushing.

Perry still sat very still, trying and mostly failing to avoid Harry's eyes. He couldn't find it within himself to move, and the next thing he knew, Harry was sliding onto his lap again, his knees straddling either side of his thighs in a familiar position.

His heart lurched and he growled a very choice expletive.

And while the whole straddling thing didn't leave much room for distance, Perry bared his teeth in a snarl of displeasure, pushing himself so hard into the couch he was practically swallowed by the leather.

"Shut up, stop it," Harry urged, stilling the beginnings of a struggle with sweaty hands.

Then those same hands were coming up to cup Perry's face, shaking infinitesimally as they held unsurely, gripping too tightly.

"Listen, listen closely you fuck, just listen. I want you, got it? I want you and no one else and I've wanted you so bad it aches. I don't give a shit what you think, I want you. So…could you please wrap your head around that? I'm not-I'm not asking for anything, just that you fucking understand."

And hell if he even understood when his dependence and fondness (and everything else he felt for Perry) had turned into something more. All he knew was that he'd woken up one day, the wisps of a dream clinging stubbornly behind his lids, and he'd thought 'I want Perry.' Not so simple as that, seeing as he'd never looked twice at another guy, but somehow it made every bit of sense the rest of his life never had. He wanted Perry, wanted everything the other man could offer, and it was something than ran deep and mushy and it was so clear.

But after doing something as stupid as he'd done, he had to make Perry understand, he had to.

Perry had stiffened ominously under Harry and he tried to anticipate crashing to the floor again, knowing it was likely to happen with the liberties he was taking. But then he also knew no amount of preparation, physical or otherwise, would ready him enough. It would still hurt - a lot - in a way that trumped bruises and abuses.

"So please don't," Harry rushed out, throwing his arms around the unyielding shoulders and holding tight in some sort of desperate 'bro-hug-to-make-it-better' tactic, heart thundering too hard in his chest.

"Don't push me away anymore, it was stupid of me, what I did, but I was drunk - courageous - and I thought you - I'd seen you looking, but you're all I have and I can't lose you and I didn't mean - well okay, I did -" a real note of panic colored his tone, "-fuck I'm really sorry please don't-"

Well, shit. So much for making a sane argument.

"Harry," he stilled at the stilted voice coming through gritted teeth. "Stop talking, please."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, as if 'don't talk' equated 'talk quietly.' "I know I was stupid, but you were such a douche. I guess…I just want to let you know that if you, you know, thought I was just drunk and horny, I wasn't. I like you, Perry," he took a steadying breath, embarrassed beyond words even though he'd done worse in this position. "That's all."

He'd said his peace and at least, maybe - hopefully - the air wouldn't be foul between them. He'd meant what he'd said.

Harry really didn't want to leave his new home, his new niche in life, his gay detective best friend Perry. Because somehow his life with Perry had become 'home' overnight.

So he shifted with the intention to extricate himself and leave, but Perry's arms shot up suddenly to hold him in place. He groaned despairingly as he said, "I told you to stop talking, damn it."

Harry felt his heart give a violent, scary jolt that felt something like overwhelming hope. It caused his pulse to increase tenfold until the blood was roaring in his ears and his face was warm as he waited with held breath.

"I suppose I regret pushing you so hard the other night," Perry said gruffly. For him, that was as good as 'I'm sorry; I didn't mean it.'

Harry nodded, his grip tightening a little, voice failing him for a moment. He cleared his throat.

"And I suppose I should have told you I wanted you naked before getting drunk and brave enough to molest you."

Perry snorted weakly. "Sure."

Harry relaxed at the small note of amusement.

Sulkily he ventured, "But really, what do you do, just announce it one day? 'Oh hey, by the way, I've developed this insane attraction and goopy inclination towards you. What say you?'"

"Goopy inclination?" Perry repeated softly, uncharacteristically soft.

"I really like you," Harry mumbled, almost petulant, as if he shouldn't have to say it.

Perry hummed, "You're not so completely idiotic yourself."

Harry pulled back and then said very seriously, "Lookit, surprise kisses don't work nearly as good as they do in the movies. So under the lame excuse of wanting to shut you up…I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

Is this okay? Are we okay? Is it okay that I'm inexplicably and utterly in love with you?

Perry's eyes were all bright and wonderful as he said, "That's okay, Harry."

"Good," he sighed and closed the distance between them, pushing against Perry in a need to be closer that was neither frenzied nor lustful.

After a good ten minutes of sucking face lazily, Harry rested against Perry, amazed at the simple joy from being allowed to.

He could really get used to this, he realized with a pang of fondness and warmth.

"Are you honestly watching The Notebook?"

"It's a modern classic."

"I want you, I want all of you, forever, you and me, everyday…"

"Harry, don't quote the movie."

He shook with laughter against him. "It's so cheesy! This is the epitome of gay, you realize."

"Look who's talking."

Harry pulled back to kiss his nose and snicker. "I'm hungry, let's go find food."

"Find your own damn food," but he got up after him anyways, his heart doing a full out summersault when Harry turned back to beam at him.

Yeah, so okay, maybe he couldn't imagine his life without Harry in it; maybe that thought terrified him.

But now it was looking like Harry would stay, willingly too and it was a willingness bred of the intimacy they'd cultivated swiftly and unorthodoxly, but it was an intimacy that now included sugary smiles and kisses and sex.

Perry tried to tell himself it was only the sex part that had his stomach erupting in butterflies, but he knew damn well it wasn't.

Well shit.

So Harry was the crazy straight guy he was now dating, the one insane enough to want to play hanky panky over re-runs of Lost while sloshed, and maybe Perry was incidentally in love with him.

Or something.

He tried not to think about it much.

Too damn gay.

Harry's idea of 'food' actually consisted of an ice cream cone, and he must have gotten bored with the simple delight of chocolate, because after eating about half of it, he dragged Perry out into the parking lot and cornered him against the car for a deluge of kissing.

He had to coax Perry into acquiescence because he had a thing about PDA due to his levels of badassery. Also, maybe the fact that they'd barely established a kissing familiarity yet, and it was something else entirely to kiss without the drama.

Harry fixed his reluctance by kissing chastely, pressing tight lips again and again until he was able to lick his way carefully into Perry's mouth and then trade the lingering syrupy flavor of chocolate as a reward.

"Why are you so touchy feely?" Perry complained, though it was hardly a cue for something like stopping said touchy-feely-ness.

"It's just such a novelty, don't worry, it'll wear off," Harry assured with a lopsided grin, kissing him soundly again. He nuzzled against him until Perry pushed him away.

"The parking lot is not the most scenic spot for make-out sessions."

There may or may not have been people staring.

"Neither are back-alleys," Harry countered.

Rolling his eyes, he got in the driver's seat and waited for Harry, who smiled at him like an idiot again for no reason.

And Perry's stomach did not do flips like an over active dolphin. No.

Most definitely not.

He scowled and Harry grinned as he leaned over to kiss him again before he could turn the ignition.

His ire was all for show.

And if they ended up having sloppy sex across the seats in the parking lot, well, they couldn't be blamed.

It wasn't exactly the picturesque second-go that they deserved after the botched alcohol-induced affair, but that didn't matter much because Harry touched him insistently yet gently and Perry touched him firmly all over and it was good.

Harry proved again he wanted Perry, leaving no room for doubt and Perry proved that he could give as good as he got.

Even after the messy, sweaty conclusion that Perry would later regret because - his poor car - he sped to get home and Harry kept fidgeting and glancing at him with darkened eyes.

So life went on and despite what Perry always said, the private detective business seemed to be nothing but exciting for them.

"Perry!"

Harry dived in front of him and emitted a strange cross between a snarl and gasp as the bullet tore through his shoulder.

He rallied quickly and Perry could only imagine the flashing glint in his eyes that belied all traces of goofiness that endeared him so.

Harry lifted his own gun and fired three shots before he was satisfied that their attacker was dead (he was still getting used to the whole killing thing, Perry mused, feeling something tighten in his chest at the way Harry's hands shook as soon as he let go of the gun with a clatter) and then he was collapsing, all bent limbs at awkward angles, landing next to Perry in a heap.

His breathing was raspy and harsh and Perry squinted at him through his blackened eye. He could clearly see the blood seeping through his clothes and it was hard to fight down his panic. "You fucking moron, you got shot, you fucking got-"

"So?" Harry hissed, his voice turning scary and fierce in the way it sometimes could. "He was going to shoot you."

Perry was fumbling with his cell phone, dialing 911. "Fuck off, he would've missed." But he knew that he'd been down, and the guy had had a clear shot.

"I'm not going to wait for you to come back alive again, you fuck, not ever," his words were slurred and Perry only panicked more.

Harry reached out a trembling hand to Perry, who immediately clutched it between his, feeling horribly clichéd and too desperate.

"This time…" he trailed off, seeming to lose his thought."…I saved you this time," wry, crooked grin and all and Perry screamed when Harry went limp.

When Harry woke up in the hospital, it was to Perry's slumped figure at the edge of his bed. He shifted, wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

"Hey Per, wake up."

Perry jolted a little and snapped up, blinking heavily at him. "That is my line, you realize."

Harry snorted softly. "You look ridiculous, all bandaged up like that," he reached out slowly to brush the butterfly stitches on his cheek.

"And you look alive," Perry said, something in his voice causing Harry to stop.

"You're worried about me," Harry stated, more softly than he would have normally teased.

Perry glared at him but didn't say anything.

Harry smiled. "I'm glad you're okay, too. Now come on, don't be a smuck. Give me my celebratory kiss already."

Perry screwed up his face in a grimace, but leaned forward anyway for a chaste brush. Harry whined and held him closer when he tried to pull away.

His mouth was stale but Perry didn't care and the tentative kissing turned into something more needy and warm, and the mad beeping of Harry's heart monitor eventually interrupted them.

Harry flushed as the sound of his heart beat failed to slow and Perry smirked, pointedly looking at the frantic rhythm of the squiggly lines. "Calm down, Chief, you'll get a nurse in here."

"Oh shut up."

Perry sighed, cradling Harry's head against his shoulder. "Don't be an idiot again, alright?"

Harry grinned against his skin. "Not making any guarantees. And I love you, too."

The heart monitor kept time in loud incessant beeps and Perry pulled away and ruffled Harry's hair, soothing the worry in his eyes with a tiny nod. With the small reassurance, Harry was nothing but brilliant contentment, underneath the painkillers he was on, of course.

With a quick kiss on the cheek, he held Harry against him again, listening patiently for the heart monitor to tell him Harry had calmed down.

"Yeah, yeah."

Months later Harry showed up at the doorway to Perry's room, clutching a pillow in one hand and dragging a blanket in the other.

"What?" Perry asked, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. It was God knows what time and too early for this.

Harry yawned. "Couples are supposed to do this, y'know. Sleep together. It's cold tonight. Let's say that's my excuse." He inched into the room, waiting.

Perry would have preferred drawn out discussions that were pussy-footed about commitment or some fair warning or something, but he still found himself opening the covers to Harry.

His smile was quiet and warm as he settled into Perry's overlarge bed. "You are ridiculously comfy, you know."

"You are ridiculously moronic," he grumbled in return, pretending he was grumpy about the disturbance of his slumber.

"Love you too, dear," Harry laughed.

It was all sickeningly domestic.

But as Harry curled up against him, Perry thought domestic could still be alright.

And Harry never left his bed from that night on and Perry found that was even more alright.

I…don't know. (Don't even ask about the weird POV changes, just…don't).

This movie is my crack.

Be a darling and review for me?

P.S, yes, yes I was listening to Moves Like Jagger on repeat, why do you ask?