Solace
The key slid easily into the lock, and a twist of fingers elicited a satisfying clunk as the deadbolt slid out of the way.
He closed the door behind him, wincing as the hinges complained, and leaned heavily against it.
Fatigue pulsed through him, and he questioned his decision to take the train home.
Apparition would probably have had him in bed right now, instead of half-dead against the door, wondering why the hallway to the bathroom appeared to be twice as long as it had been that morning.
He stared into its silent length and thought of what he'd find at the end of it.
He imagined the hot water that would beat against his aching shoulders. Felt it rinse away the sweat and mud and chill that were his only reward for the evening's stakeout, for the hours spent crouching in a dark forest with all his senses on overdrive.
He thought of giving himself over to the gentle embrace of cool sheets, a soft pillow, and the long, warm arms that would curl around him and carry him to sleep.
The door at his back felt suddenly cruel in its rigidity.
The reality of what lay at the end of the hallway pressed heavily against his chest and the pleasant, grounded feeling he'd taken from his Muggle commute evaporated.
The need for Firewhiskey quickly overcame the inertia that held him against the door.
His blood ran warm with liquor and steam clung to his skin as he brushed his teeth, observing his naked body in the Imperviused mirror.
Out of habit alone, he ran a comb through his mess of black hair before picking up his wand and pointing it at a laceration on his shoulder, an injury he hadn't noticed until he felt the water run over it.
He winced as the wound closed sloppily, and a familiar, chastising voice sounded in his mind, reciting the dangers of performing healing spells on oneself.
He ignored her and switched the bathroom light off as he strode quickly into the dark bedroom, abandoning his glasses and climbing into bed before his pupils had time to adjust.
He stared at the ceiling and listened to the footsteps of someone in the flat above, a strange syncopation against the measured clicks of his Muggle alarm clock.
His head turned to the window, drawn to the pale orange glow of streetlamps a story below.
The light in a flat across the street switched off as fingertips grazed his hip.
With a sigh that was almost a moan, he rolled onto his side, away from the questing fingers.
Undeterred, they followed, and he felt a warm arm slide over his waist.
Hot breath ghosted over the nape of his neck and warmth nestled into his back as a body came close.
An indistinct murmur seared against his scalp and a pale hand reached for him, quickly relieving him of all thought with its familiar, clever touch.
Moans slipped unnoticed from his lips as he rocked, pushing ever closer to the elusive, freckled torso behind him.
His eyes slid shut, blocking out everything but dirty, demanding endearments until the tension pooling in his groin burst forth with a single, desperate syllable.
He remained on his side for several moments, breathing heavily as his heart calmed.
The long arm remained draped over his torso, and he waited for the other arm to come for him, waited to be enveloped, but no movement came.
He let his eyelids drift open as the warm wetness on his fingers began to cool.
He looked down at his own hand.
The gentle warmth behind him evaporated.
With a murmured cleaning spell and sigh that was almost a whimper, he rolled onto his back.
Staring at the grey ceiling for a minute or two, he concentrated on the feel of the sheet beneath him as the cold in the fabric slowly dissipated.
He listened to the mechanical rhythm of the clock, now unnaturally loud and abrasive as it echoed through the empty bedroom.
He swallowed and tried to hear something soothing in the rhythm, something to help him to sleep, but it only grew more cruel.
His eyes were drawn once again to a light out the window, where something bright was shining in the orange glow.
A small silver blur was floating in the air, and growing larger as he watched it.
He knew it would come through the window before it did, and it landed silently on the floor, too close to the bed for him to see it, but he didn't move.
Instead, he reached a hand toward it and patted the edge of the mattress invitingly.
A silver dog immediately leapt onto the bed, its tail wagging.
He smiled as a warm, tingling sensation descended upon his ear and cheek as a silver tongue delivered kisses.
He reached up and scratched ears he couldn't feel, chuckling as the eager terrier leaned into him and shook one of its hind legs in response.
His fingers tingled as he pulled them away and the dog sat back on its haunches.
Its mouth opened and a warm voice filled the room.
"Was thinking of you, just now, and having a wank. Realised I forgot to tell you that the new shop's just about sorted, and George wants me back in Diagon Alley, so I'll be home tomorrow. Hope you're keeping my side of the bed warm."
The silver terrier rose to all fours and half-stepped, half-jumped over his body.
It trotted up the vacant side of the bed and lay down with its head on an empty pillow and its torso pressed against the freshly healed shoulder.
He admired it for a moment, savouring its warmth, before it dissolved into a silvery mist.
The gentle glow faded as it was absorbed into the sheets.
He sat up just far enough to reach for the old, orange blanket folded at his feet.
Wrapping himself up in it, he lay down on the cooler side of the bed, bringing his head to rest on the pillow still warm with magic and the smell of ginger hair.
Swiftly and gently, sleep took him.
fin.
A/N: Many thanks to Alycen, Abby and Nathaniel.
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