Summary:
Set in the There Be Dragons, Harry Universe, this snippet fits in canon for a moment between our favorite healer and emerald eyed brunet. Quinn's doing paperwork-again and Harry can't keep his eyes off him.
Pairings:
Harry Potter x Theodore Nott x Charlie Weasley x Quinn Kalzik x George Weasley x Fred Weasley x Harry's Future Gheyos/Bonded.
Disclaimer:
I do not own any Harry Potter anything. That belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just like playing with Harry in my own little world of storyville. I make no money by writing this fanfiction. All original characters are my own.
Rating:
M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16, just to be safe.
WARNINGS: Slash. Fluff. Romance. OC's. OOCness. Fits in the TBDH Universe. Very AU. Other warnings will be added as I see fit.
A/N: This little ficlet is a "Quinn Moment" and can fit anywhere in TBDH canon where Quinn and Harry are already Bonded and have a moment to themselves. The prompt for this one was "Quinn's Neck" (obviously...) and this was the result. I have Quinn on the brain at the moment and he CANNOT come into the story just yet, so this is me trying to keep him quiet in the meantime. He said he didn't want fluff, so-yeah. For all my QuinnxHarry fans, enjoy!
It's going to bother him.
Harry knows it before he even tries—and fails—to make a good argument to keep himself from following such a destructive line of thought, because it means he won't be getting anything done this morning. Normally, this would not be as troublesome as it is right now, but it's just them and it's very quiet and it's Quinn and if that doesn't explain everything, then he doesn't know what would.
His charming, kind-hearted Healer is wading through his weekly stack of paperwork in ritualistic fashion, teal eyes occasionally clouding over from the sheer tedium of the task. But Quinn has done this for years and will continue to do so, complicated filing systems, legal duty and requirements aside, he is a Kalzik and healing is in his blood. He cannot curb the urge to want to heal people in much the same way Harry can't fight wanting to help them.
It's in their nature, their very souls, to be able to feel such a level of empathy.
Today, Quinn is handling his appointed share of paperwork while Harry slaves over his own set of plans for bringing down that wicked, mad wizard by the convoluted name of Voldemort. He has plans, hastily scribbled ideas, magical texts and a few enchanted pieces of parchment to deal with. Harry is up to his eyeballs in planning, sorting and designating—he's also strangely content with it. This time, he knows that his plans are working, that he is making a difference and that Voldemort will be stopped.
There is hope, where there once was none and that means more than he can ever explain. Harry cannot believe how lucky he is, even after all this time. His Bonded have never once complained nor protested about taking on a dark wizard head to head for the sake of the wizarding world that all but tried to exterminate their kind out of misplaced fear. There are more reasons for his Bonded not to help than to lend their aid without him having to ask for it, but he is always so pleased and surprised when they step forward with such strength and conviction.
While Harry works, so does Quinn.
Quinn has permission slips, his weekly required diet menu, their weekly meal plans, prescription potion slips and medical histories to pore over. He is up to his ears in sorting, signing and simultaneously thinking of what to make for dinner that they haven't eaten yet for the month. Upon joining their small Circle, Quinn has never complained about shouldering the role of crafting their necessary meals, using his extensive knowledge of nutrition and learned experience to produce culinary delights that are terrifyingly good for them. He is always happy, if slightly embarrassed to be thanked for his efforts and always makes sure they are taking care of themselves on a level that isn't even obviously visible, even while maintaining his Healer's status in the midst of everything.
But that's not what's really bothering Harry at the moment, no, in fact, this has to do with Quinn's neck. Unlike Theo's pale, slender one or Charlie's strong, tanned one, Quinn's neck is quite different from any of his other Bonded. It is normally hidden beneath layers of crisp, neatly ironed Healer's garb, with the occasional glamour, for the moment, Quinn is too preoccupied to care about professional appearance in the privacy of their home.
Harry thinks it will be the death of him. Quinn had just returned from his run in the same breath that their Bonded Gheyos had shown up from their morning sparring in addition to testing Harry's latest idea—a dry run for a future attack on Voldemort. They never complain at all about trying out his suggestions in addition to their daily training. Today, Harry could practically feel the battlelust rolling off of them as they crossed over the threshold into the house. He was more connected to their home than he'd ever thought he would be.
His Gheyos are smart, fierce and devastatingly loyal. They are also impossible, incorrigible and occasionally ruled by instinct. Their entrance into the quiet morning atmosphere brought loud voices, audibly sparking magic and a few headlocks and not-quite-gentle punches traded between them until their Ace had ordered them off to a shower and fresh change of clothes. Harry smiled to himself knowing that after a moment, said Ace would follow them further into the house as well. He deliberately does not rise to greet them, smiling ruefully at the memory of the last time he'd done such a thing.
Quinn knows as well as Harry that it is probably best to avoid them while they work the adrenaline and short tempers out of their system. A Gheyo's battlelust is not something to take lightly. There are obvious ways around it, of course, if Harry is not readily 'available'. Hot or cold showers and probably a few rounds of shower sex will settle everything while soothing ruffled tempers and reestablishing their hierarchy as instinct demands.
Namely, it is probably not the best of ideas to share the showers right then.
Harry knows to stay well enough out of sight because the few times he stepped forward to break up those arguments, he couldn't walk straight for days and while he'd let Quinn heal the worst of it, he hadn't approved of Quinn's self-sacrificing method of taking the injuries onto himself. Especially when it only amounted to a pleasurable, if sometimes uncomfortable twinge during a week when he'd really wanted to be focused.
Never let it be said that he was not a quick learner though, Harry knows which of his Bonded will give him just the right amount of roughness and with just enough gentleness. He also knows which ones will be exceptionally gentle with the faintest touches of dominance. He knows none of them would ever deliberately hurt him and while he cannot deny that his last few moments of 'accidentally' interrupting his Gheyos weren't really accidental at all, today he is not in the mood to be screwed six ways from Sunday.
Well, at least not by them.
Quinn, on the other hand, is an entirely different story.
His delightful, adorable Healer is dressed in an armless v-neck exercise top and matching running shorts, with a pair of oversized socks that look suspiciously like Charlie's. Quinn sat cross-legged at his low table in the corner, brow furrowed in concentration, pursed lips nibbling at the end cap of a colored ink stick as he read the chart in front of him, along with the notes Kyle has taken.
Harry's attention is drawn to that graceful, scarred neck, showing those jagged dark marks slashed along his pale skin, unadorned by any jewelry or scarf, gleaming with the faint sheen of sweat from his recent exertion and arched in just the right way to show off his blond curls at the nape of his neck.
Quinn is doing that 'concentration thing' where he shuffles through his mind looking for answers that he tucked away during the busy week. It causes him to flux in and out of his Halfling form in the slightest of changes, the most obvious being the multicolored scales that blossom and fade along his neck and the sides of his face and arms. Pretty shimmering scales of pale green, yellow, cyan blue and bright, vivid sapphire blue, almost like a tropical fish of some sort. His tattoos, a rich forest green swirl in and out of existence as Quinn tips his head to one side and then rolls it around to the other, absently stretching his neck to the side with one hand as if in remembrance of his morning exercise.
Oh yes, Quinn is definitely another story.
Harry can feel himself instinctively responding to the lingering scent and magical pulse left behind by the arguing Gheyos and while he can resist it, why should he? There really is no reason to, not when he's been thinking about it anyway.
Lack of a voice does not make Quinn any less of a lover in any way, shape or form. In fact, it seems to make him even more pleased when he can make Harry generate enough noise for the both of them. While his neck is one of the few sensitive places, along with a few other spots, Harry more than understands the memories associated with the scars, the feelings of pain, regret and guilt. Sometimes, he wishes he could make Quinn understand that it doesn't matter—not to him, anyway.
Today, Harry hopes that maybe Quinn won't mind if he marks that handsome neck himself. Seeing those scars there always makes Harry want to leave a mark of his own—something that will make Quinn happier, instead of sorrowful in remembrance. He wants to bite at that imperfect skin, to feel his fangs slipping beneath multicolored scaled skin, to sip at that delightful, pure healer's blood and then, to savage the sensitive area before soothing it with his tongue.
Quinn will only ever let him do this.
Harry fiddles with his quill, unable to keep from sneaking another glance. He knows he has work to do, plans to finalize, practice runs with Theo and so on. He knows that Quinn is busy, trying to be productive even though his daily routine has been interrupted by their Gheyos, because they've finished something earlier than he'd expected.
Quinn likes his routine, it makes him happy and Harry is happy when Quinn is happy.
But right now, as Quinn tips his head to the side again, Harry can't take his eyes off the line of corded muscle, the swell of his adam's apple, the twisted, unsightly scars, the faintly puckered scar tissue and then the smooth, clean expanse of skin where the scars give way to his unblemished clavicle and hairless chest.
Of all of his Bonded, Quinn is hairless everywhere except for his pale blond hair that turns almost gold at the tips of each wave and curl. He'd said something once about it being a Healer's requirement, but Harry was far too fascinated by the smooth, unmarked skin to really pay attention to that. Now, he is itching to touch, stroke and claw at that smoothness, wanting to see the red trails his long fingernails will leave and wanting to hear the way Quinn's breath with hitch, as it always does when his lips part in a soundless moan.
Harry snaps the quill in half and then grimaces, belatedly at the mess. He waves it away, cleaning up everything with a wave of his hand. Wandless magic is practically second nature to him now and he doesn't even really have to think about it, before his work is organizing itself and a new quill is materializing out of nowhere, having been summoned from the supply cabinet in the basement. He makes a few hastily scribbled notes along his plans, knowing that it is best if he does so now because once his hands are on Quinn, everything else will have to be taken care of later and the sheer ridiculousness of everything make his face heat with a blush—his only tell and only to his Bonded—that gives away his calm posture.
Of course, once he feels his face warm, Harry cannot help but squirm ever so slightly in his seat. While Quinn is definitely the most cuddliest of his Bonded, he is not, perhaps, the most interested at every turn point. Of course, there is only one particular Bonded Harry can call to mind that is pretty much ready for anything bedroom-related at any given time, but Quinn can be convinced and Harry knows how to be convincing.
He struggles to resist the urge to squirm again and tries to think, plans for Voldemort, orders for Neville and the others, dinner with Luna and Hermione and somehow, his thoughts redirect themselves right back around to staring at Quinn from his messy desk across the room. He knows he's stared a moment too long when Quinn stops chewing on his ink stick. Harry immediately ducks his head, forcing himself to focus on the blank sheet of parchment stretched out in front of him. He should be making battle plans, after all, they plan to raid yet another one of Voldemort's Death Eater hideouts and hopefully free any captives that might be there before it is too late.
The sobering thought dulls the flame of desire that continues to burn as Harry resolutely drags a certain enchanted parchment closer to him. This particular sheet connects him to Theo, as a long-distance mental connection might be unnecessarily draining and Harry has no intention of letting his Alpha exhaust himself over something that can easily be rectified. Theo writes him whenever he has a chance, as he is off strengthening and acquiring new diplomatic relations for them, ensuring that there will be more than enough help to take Voldemort and his followers head-on.
Harry nibbles on the end of his quill, before scratching out a reply and watching as the script flares in gold, before the message is replicated on Theo's end of things. He sneaks another glance up at Quinn, wondering how much headway his Healer has made when the sudden absence of said Healer makes him jolt in surprise.
Parchment forgotten, Harry is halfway out of his seat, emerald eyes roving about the room before he feels Quinn's hands on his shoulders, pushing him gently back into his chair.
I thought you were working… Quinn's mental voice is softly chiding as he leans over Harry's shoulder to see what his Submissive has been up to.
Harry swallows. 'Don't blush. Don't blush. Don't blush' he reminds himself, blindly fumbling on the desk for his quill before tightly clenching it between his hands. "I-I'm waiting on Theo to reply." He answers, fighting the urge to tremble beneath the sudden heath of Quinn's lovely hands. "Did you finish your paperwork?"
There is a soft, whuffling sound that is usually Quinn's version of a laugh, as he leans forward, calmly situating himself in a way that allows him to half-hug Harry from behind and rest his chin on that mop of messy brown hair. I finished some of it, but there was something terribly distracting that kept interrupting my process.
Harry tries not to react, but he feels himself smiling as the familiar weight of Quinn settles over him, the healer's chin digging softly into his scalp, the hands on his shoulders moving forward to wrap around his shoulders in a backward hug. He likes it, more than he would ever admit, because some things are embarrassing, but it's Quinn and Harry doesn't mind, because it's Quinn, so he leans back into the warmth and bows his head slightly, to hide the smile that's sure to come.
"Distracting?" he tries for nonchalance and doesn't know if he nails it or not. It doesn't matter, really, because Quinn always knows how to read him.
Quinn changes from resting his chin on Harry's head to burying his face in the side Harry's head, breathing in the sweet scent of Harry's mint-fruit shampoo and nosing at the soft, brunet tangles. Perhaps he can convince Harry to share his shower. He is fairly certain that both of them are reliving the last ah, pleasurable memory of interrupting their hard-working Gheyos after a vigorous sparring session. He cannot keep the predatory smile on his face from surfacing. Yes. Ever so distracting. I would be about to sign my name and then I would feel these eyes upon me…as if they wished to eat me alive, devour me whole or something of the sort. I don't suppose you have any idea what that could've been?
And Harry knows he is blushing, can feel his face warm, knows his ears are turning pink and closes his eyes even though he has a fairly good idea what will come next. It seems that he is lucky today, because Quinn is just as interested as he is.
Sharp fangs tease at the edge of his ear and Harry's breath hitches, ever so slightly.
Quinn's lips curve into a smirk and he kisses Harry's ear before he bites.
The soft, helpless sound that escapes his lips is more desperate than Harry intended for it to be, but then Quinn's arms around him are loosening and Harry is twisting and turning in his chair to properly reach for him and when their lips meet, it's not the least bit gentle and the taste of his own blood is somehow more arousing than he ever thought it would be.
Quinn's silent laughter as they break apart has Harry finding the courage to meet those playful teal eyes. He searches that familiar face and finds what he is looking for, right before he reaches up to hook his arms around Quinn's shoulders and pull him down to a suitable height.
Harry doesn't care that Quinn's shirt is still somewhat damp and that he's somewhat sweaty and that it's probably too early for this sort of thing, because Quinn is his and sometimes Harry just wants.
Wants more than he can properly explain. But then Quinn has always seen through him in moments like these. Harry pulls a little harder.
Quinn obligingly leans down, following the pull of Harry's arms and doesn't hesitate to tilt his head to the side, exposing his scarred neck and encouraging and seductive all in the same moment.
Harry doesn't wait to notch his fangs in the side of that wonderful neck.
He definitely won't be getting anything done this morning, but that's fine—they'll both have the rest of the day to make it up.
A/N: And there we go, another Quinn moment. :D Next chapter of TBDH will probably be out sometime this week. Thanks for your patience. I hope you enjoyed this little snippet.