Staying Straight: After Story

Author Notes: I think this is what some of you nice folks are here for. There wasn't nearly enough love between our heroes in the main story, let's add on!

The following chapters will not necessarily be in chronological order, including some events occurring in the eighteen month timeskip between chapter 34 and the epilogue. This chapter is not one of them, and occurs after the story completely. I'll make an effort to denote, either in the chapter or in a note, when each respective chapter occurs!

All of the "Moves" chapters will be in chronological order. Incidentally, this is one of them!

The song mentioned in the chapter, oddly enough, is titled "Moves," by the New Pornographers. Funny, that...

1: Moves - Act 1

Part of being a couple was doing couple stuff together. Jo had figured that for the longest time. He'd only ever really seen it in movies, dates and holding hands and long walks on the beach. He had never had more than a passing relationship, a week or two of sleeping with the same person before casually dropping hands and moving on because whatever spark had been there had fizzled out as fast as a firework. His relationship with Harley was more like a fire, blazing, and had only seemed to swell in ferocity over the last two years as if well-fed. And maybe it was. Maybe kisses and hugs were like kindling, but if that was true, then maybe doing actual couple stuff would be even better.

Jo just wasn't sure what other sort of couple stuff they really could do. They did dates, and those were great. They went to movies, and they would sit near front so Harley could see, Jo wouldn't complain about having to crane his neck back, and they ate popcorn and talked and joked with each other under the sound effects. The nearest beach was a three hour drive, but going to the lake in the summer was still a pleasure, their toes in the sand and their fingers laced tight to the knuckle as they enjoyed the sunset together. Jo just wanted more. He wanted to be as close to Harley as a person could get, and often found himself saying, "I wanna make you the happiest guy alive. What sort of stuff can we do together that'd make you happy? You know. Couple stuff."

Harley, after much demurring and promising he was happy as they were, had finally come up with a solution, and though Jo immediately had his doubts, he didn't say no. That was how he found himself pushing the sofa in their living room all the way back to the wall and moving their coffee table to make space on the floor, as Harley set up a DVD in the player and drew the curtains shut on the flowers brushing the glass. "You don't seem like the dancing type," Jo remarked, then set the coffee table down. He knocked it against the wall, then jerked upright to fix the painting made crooked by it, as Harley hummed with mild amusement.

"I'm not, not really. I took ballroom dancing in high school, and I was rather dismal, to be frank. However, I still enjoyed it." He pushed the disk drive shut and turned to face Jo as Jo set his hands on his hips, and Jo noticed that his cheeks had gone all pink. "Er... my dance partner... she wasn't especially strong at it either, but holding hands with her, having our bodies that close, it was enjoyable for a repressed Catholic schoolboy like myself." Jo felt his insides chill a little. He tried to shake it off – a man never forgets his first girlfriend, and even after, Jesus, seven years now, Harley shouldn't have to pretend it never happened – but there was a tiny, instinctive flare of what might have been jealousy. Harley seemed to notice the effect he'd had on Jo, and raised a hand and a conciliatory smile. "I'd like to try it with you, as it's nice enough when you and I hold one another, but perhaps hand-holding with rhythm would be nice."

Jo shrugged a little, then stepped forward to the center of the room as Harley turned the DVD on. Overly cheerful music burst forth from the speakers, and a host and hostess, both of whom wore very obvious and dated makeup and sparkling formalwear, greeted the viewers in a completely inauthentic, scripted welcome and assurance that "anybody can learn to dance!" Jo couldn't stifle a snicker, but Harley paid rapt attention as the two took position.

"We're going to begin with the swing. Gentlemen should place their hands on their ladies' shoulder and take the hand at the hip level-"

Harley abruptly paused the DVD and chewed his lower lip. Jo scowled bitterly. "Right, so, how do we get around that?"

"Er." Harley tented his fingers and tapped them together. "It might be harder, but we could switch off. There are different motions for the man and woman, since the woman has to do what the man does but in reverse. For now, I'll let you lead, since you're taller."

Jo didn't feel like bickering over an inch of difference and Harley's faintly-remembered high school lessons. "Makes as much sense as anything else." He studied the pair on the screen, then pivoted to face Harley and bowed elegantly at the waist, donning a smirk. "May I have this dance, mademoiselle?"

"Oh, monsieur," Harley giggled, imitating a belle flapping a fan with his hand. "How scandalous. I simply can't-"

"Oh, yes you can." Jo set his left hand on Harley's hip, his thumb brushing the hollow where the bone met his belly, his fingers curling around his back, then moved his right hand up to Harley's shoulder. Harley pointedly put his right hand over Jo's left and moved his hands into the correct positions. Then, he hit play.

The music in the video was bland and toneless, generic strings and bass guitar, but it had enough of a beat for the two light-bleached hosts on the screen to demonstrate what they called a "swing step." Harley and Jo watched a few times – right foot steps right, then back in, right foot rock-steps in, then rock-steps back. It was simpler than microwave pizza. Or it looked simpler than microwave pizza.

"If you can handle this, then you're doing well!" The female host beamed into the camera, her glassy eyes glossed out by the too-bright yet still fuzzy lighting (like someone had smeared Vaseline on the camera lens), but her praise somehow still genuine. "We can add some more complicated steps once you have mastered the basics."

Jo and Harley had not mastered the basics. Jo kept trying to watch their feet to see what exactly was meant by "rock-step," because he heard that and wanted to stomp on someone's face in a mosh pit. Harley was counting under his breath, but kept getting distracted from moving his feet with the beat to look back at the screen. As a result, Jo kept stumbling into Harley whenever he stopped, nearly toppling him over a few times, and the pair of them would stop, laugh, take each other's hands again, and keep trying.

Jo would step too far forward, Harley would stumble back. Jo would jerk Harley's arm, and he'd stumble a step forward. Harley would twist his neck around and sidestep by accident, and Jo would stagger his next step. Harley kept apologizing, Jo kept laughing and brushing it off, "Hey, my bad, my bad." They couldn't call it dancing, but it was still kind of fun. Harley giggled against his shoulder as he stumbled into Jo again, whispering a breathy apology that made Jo's spine tingle. If this was dancing, he'd two-step whatever tango Harley wanted.

Before they knew it, the music stopped, the soft lighting faded to black, and both Harley and Jo made noises of protest, a groan from the former, a complaint from the latter.

"Hey, we'd barely gotten started!" Jo hit the mute button on their new instructions, but Harley took the remote and rewound the tape.

"Really, the song was tiresome anyway. Why don't I put some music on that'll have the right beat and just leave the video running on mute?" Harley plugged his phone into their stereo and turned it on, a slower song that opened with strings but a very strong four-count beat:

"I believe- you've had some- thing of mine- all this time..."

Harley took Jo's hands again, moving them into position in a snap. "Let's try it again, from the top." He smiled, and Jo knew he was smiling back when Harley's thumb brushed the inside of his wrist.

Jo tried to make his feet sure, landing in the same place with each side step and rock-step, but though his feet were falling closer and closer to where they should have with each bar of music, everything above the waist was cooperating less. His stomach felt funny as he watched Harley's long eyelashes batting towards the ground, watching their feet, watching the video, watching his face as they moved. His mouth was open, just a little, the way he usually forgot about his jaw when he was thinking, but Jo was fascinated with his lower lip and tongue. His heart was doing flip-flops, and it throbbed in rebellion when Harley adjusted his grip and brought him just a little closer. His balance trembled, and he found himself grabbing Harley tighter. Harley, too, had stepped closer, and was landing closer and closer with each step back. Before Jo had even realized it, he and Harley were nose to nose, and Jo lost the beat and tripped over Harley's foot, falling into him. Harley stumbled back, but grabbed Jo's arms and dragged him with him.

Jo managed to turn their fall in the direction of their sofa, and Harley's backside just hit the cushion with a WHUMPF, his glasses flying up his face and settling askew against his hairline, and Jo planted his knees on either side of his Harley's legs and his hands on his shoulders. Harley blinked in astonishment, and Jo, after catching his breath, bawled with laughter. "Holy shit, that sucked!" He let his head fall against Harley's shoulder, howling. "Oh, oh babe, are you okay?"

Harley didn't answer him. Not out loud. Jo caught his breath again and managed to stop laughing, as Harley's smooth palm landed on his cheek, and Jo realized, faintly, that his heart was still racing and his stomach was coiling tight. Something lower was coiling too. Harley was close, so close, and looking down into his eyes again made that funny spark of heat catch blaze. Harley, too, had a strange look coming over him, as if he, too, was aware of how close their bodies were and how good that felt. Jo couldn't help himself. He craned his neck down and kissed him. Harley made a strange, desperate noise as he kissed back, then slung his arms around Jo's waist and pulled him the rest of the way onto the sofa. Jo hovered over him, nipping at Harley with kisses and bites at his lower lip, then cocked his head and nibbled his way down his neck.

"Love you," he breathed into his breastbone, and Harley touched his cheeks again. His fingers were freezing, or maybe his face was burning, and he'd never felt this way before in his entire life. Harley swallowed and licked his lips.

"I... I'd like to... Can we?"

"Oh, God, yes." Jo closed his eyes, his face buried in Harley's shirt, and Harley touched his chin. Jo straightened his back, his face over Harley's again, and Harley motioned for the hem of his shirt. Jo yanked his tee off and flung it aside, then worked all the buttons on Harley's shirt loose in record speed. Harley popped Jo's belt buckle, then his button and fly, and Jo smothered him with another kiss as he worked Harley's khakis loose. Suddenly, their dicks were out and it was all too real, and Jo had never wanted a dick so much.

Harley's dick was in his hand, and Harley shuddered. Then, he wrapped his fingers around Jo's shaft. "Yes?"

"God, yes."

Harley squeezed his fingers, the pressure undulating from the base to very near the head, then stroked in a moderate rhythm with the beat of the music. Each upstroke had Harley's thumb teasing his slit, and the downstroke had him flicking the head, and Jo growled a frustrated moan at the sensation. He gave as good as he got; he'd gotten a lot of practice jerking off for the last two years, and Harley deserved all the fruits of his experience. He tried to match Harley, not too fast, not too slow, squeezing as he got to the bottom and again at the top. He couldn't help himself, though; he liked it quick, and he sped up as heat built in his head and gut. Harley's enthusiasm, too, burned like fever in his face, and he surged forward into sucking on Jo's neck and nipping for his lips, then sucking his tongue. Jo leaned right back in, mouthing at his ear and cheek, but finding himself swept up in Harley, lost and groaning his pleasure.

Harley was, somehow, lucid enough for words still. "I'm going to come." Then, Jo felt Harley's fingers curl over his, and felt his dick touch Harley's. It was satin-slick, glass-hard, and star-hot, and Jo was seeing white and black spots. He managed to adjust his grip to grab his own cock, his fingertips brushing Harley's palm, and kept up the pace. Miraculously, he could still speak too:

"Yeah, m'right there."

Just looking at Harley, pale against the black fabric of the cushion, his long lashes fluttering, his face so bright in Jo's view, and feeling his warmth and heat, the soft skin of his hand, it was like being plunged through pleasure itself.

There were a few more heated kisses, desperate moans and groans, hot palms on hotter pricks and then Harley did something with his thumb and twisted his wrist and Jo came harder than he had in years all over Harley's chest and stomach. Harley's tongue flicked out against his lips, as if he had rather it landed there. Then, he put his hand over Jo's and guided himself to a finish with a long, slow pull, his spend joining Jo's in senseless patterns of white on white. Jo lost himself in the hormone rush, gasping for air, dizzied from effort and ecstasy.

When the fuzz cleared from his mind, he was still straddled over Harley. His dick had gone soft, his breathing had slowed, and Harley still had his hand clasped tight under his and was weaving his free fingers through his hair over and over, gazing at him with rapt adoration. His glasses still sat askew on his forehead, and Jo moved to fix them, but Harley bumped his hand away.

"Leave them." He smiled vacantly. "I can see you perfectly." He edged up from his prone position, and Jo met him in the middle with another kiss. Harley's kiss was soft and sweet, but his prick still twitched in reaction. Jo knew; no more, not now. This was enough.

They held each other for a while longer, ignoring the blue and purple of the DVD still flashing on the screen behind them and the music thrumming from the stereo. Jo finally broke away to kiss his cheek. "You oughta let me clean you up, or you're gonna be a sticky mess." Harley glanced down, and Jo chuckled as his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, oh my." His cheeks pinked, and Jo rolled to a stand over him, still chuckling. He looked over his body, debauched and dirtied, and ran a hand down his face. "But... then you will sit with me, and we can cuddle?"

Jo had never thought he'd heard Harley say "cuddle." It seemed too soft a word for him, too childish for his smart mouth, but it seemed that all of the blood had left his brain and took his sharp edges with it. "We can cuddle, babe."

"And then, I want frozen yogurt." Harley blinked stupidly, then beamed at Jo. "Do you want frozen yogurt?"

Jo bit down on a laugh. "Fro-yo sounds awesome. Are we done dancing for tonight?"

"For tonight," Harley agreed, then lounged against the sofa, looking like the cat who got the cream and more than he'd bargained for.

Jo cleaned the both of them off with his shirt, turned the DVD player off and turned the music up, and when Jo sat down beside him, Harley curled into his lap and Jo caught him around the waist, and they stayed that way, talking vacantly and casually for a long while, until Harley finally remembered that he wanted frozen yogurt, and the specific lactose-free frozen yogurt that he could eat, and now, please. As Jo went to find a clean shirt and his shoes, he finally had another cogent thought.

Couple stuff was awesome. He definitely wanted to try it again.