Once more, thanks to my awesome beta. Without her, this chapter wouldn't be half as good!
Feedback is always nice; questions, comments, and suggestions are always welcome.
Warnings: More slash! And drug mention. And more slash!
Chapter 9 - In His Arms
Harry woke up some time later in his bed with a throbbing headache. He groaned. He remembered busting his head on the desk. There was no doubt that his parents had found him. Once more, he was going to have to listen to suggestions that he needed help. Half-heartedly, he wondered if he could make a break for it out the window before one of them came back.
His father came in before he could act on his impulse. James smiled at his son. "Feeling better," he asked.
"Just a bit of a headache," Harry replied.
"I'd imagine so," James said. "Cracked your head pretty hard. You must've caught the desk on your way down, then the edge of those little glass stairs that were in your floor."
He looked over at his desk. Lying beside it were the glass stairs in question. They were a decorative paperweight Hermione had bought him a few years prior. There had been some meaning to them (Harry was sure it was something about completing tasks on time, knowing Hermione) but he had forgotten what it was. On accident, he had sent the stairs toppling over onto the floor a week or so back and had forgotten they were there. Now, he wished he had picked them up. His head felt like it was split right down the middle.
"I tripped over my jeans," Harry said before James could even ask. His temper started to flare as his father eyed him with a skeptical look. "I was in a hurry, I forgot my apron downstairs, and my foot got caught in the leg of those jeans on the floor and I tripped. You can stop looking at me like I'm crazy."
"I'm not looking at you like you're crazy, Harry," James said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside his son. "Your mother and I are just concerned about you. You keep having those nightmares, and this is the second time you've blacked out."
"I didn't blackout," Harry argued. "I told you, I tripped."
"Harry... Your mother and I just want to know that you're all right. Now, there's this great doctor in London, he's really experienced with dream psychosis and things like that. Maybe you should -- "
"No," shouted Harry, cutting James off. "No, I'm not going to see a doctor! I'm not crazy!"
"Stop shouting, Harry," his father said in a stern voice. "We've already told you that we don't think you're crazy. It just wouldn't hurt to know what these kinds of things mean."
"I'm not going," Harry said, determined.
Lily came in before James could argue wtih his son. She sat down beside James on Harry's bed, stroking her son's hair. Harry knew she would be all for him going to the crazy doctor. They probably had a padded room booked for him. He glared at his parents.
"Harry, we'll make a deal with you," she said, her voice soft. She was playing the diplomat. "We won't make you go to the doctor now. But," she went on before he could say anything else, "if you keep fainting all over the place, then we will make you. Does that sound fair?"
'No,' raged Harry's indignant mind. But he replied in the affirmaitve. His good sense told him that it would be the only deal his parents would make with him. He continued to stare at his parents with angry eyes as they smiled at him.
"What time is it," he asked. "I've gotta work today."
"I don't think that's a good idea," his mother said.
"Well, I have to work. I'm not going to go fainting in the foam, okay?" He looked up at his alarm clock. "Shit," he shouted, not listening to his parents yelling at him for his language, getting out of the bed, shoes in hand and running downstairs for his apron. He was two hours late. Running out the door, he pulled on his shoes and moved as fast as he could to the coffee shop.
Marcus was behind the counter taking and filling orders when Harry rushed in. He smiled at Harry. He wished Marcus would leave. He was not too fond of him. In fact, Marcus had a tendency to make Harry sick to his stomach. He would come to work burnt out some days, and drag ass around the shop until he went to the back to pass out. Other days, he would show up positively buzzing. He had a tendency to get a little handsy on those days. The quality of the days work was affected by Marcus's state - if he even bothered to show up at all. If only Remus could have hired someone else...
"Having a busy day," Marcus asked Harry, still smiling, as Harry came around the counter. Harry sighed as he pulled on his apron. Marcus was floating in the stratosphere.
"Yeah," Harry answered, going up to the counter to take orders as the customers came in. Every nerve in him was standing on end, monitoring Marcus's every move. Today was not the day for Marcus to cop a feel of any of Harry's goodies.
Harry resisted the urge to jump everytime he felt Marcus walk past, or when Marcus accidentally brushed against him, or when their hands accidentally touched when Harry was taking the cups from him. He was completely on edge. Marcus happened to sneeze and Harry threw the pastry he was handing to a customer into the air. It landed cream-side down in another customer's coffee cup, splashing coffee all over her and the table. Harry turned a deep crimson and hurried to clean up the mess.
"Why so jumpy, mate," Marcus asked as Harry's nervous state continued throughout the day.
"No reason," Harry said. He was about to have a breakdown.
It seemed to Harry that throughout the day, Marcus moved closer and closer into his personal space. When he would move to one side of the counter to another, he would squeeze past close to Harry's back while Harry stood at the register. Harry's breathing would stop when he would do that. The space behind the counter was a little close, but Flint was exaggerating it. Marcus would lean over Harry's shoulder to check something, every time closer and closer against Harry's back. Harry tried to keep as close to the register as he could, but Flint would just come closer still.
Mid-afternoon, the customers started to trickle down until there were only three or so in the shop, and it did not look as if anymore were coming. Harry was restocking the paper cup dispenser when the bell on the door rang. He made his way past Flint, who was taking up most of the door way and forced him to turn sideways so he could squeeze out, his bottom lightly brushing against Flint's hips, and tried not to jump right out of his skin. Ron was standing at the counter, hands shoved in his pockets, staring down at the clean wooden surface. Harry's heart beat a little faster.
"Can I get you something," Harry asked, restraining himself from leaping across the counter at Ron and snogging the other boy senseless, regardless of the presence of others.
"A good kick in the pants," Ron suggested. He looked up at Harry from under those ginger lashes, then, seeing Harry was not horribly angry with him, brought his eyes up to meet Harry's. "I'm a git. I can understand if you never want to see me again. I just... came to apologize for being so bloody stupid." He looked down at his shoes, addressing them instead of Harry's face. "There was more, I had it planned and everything, but I forgot it all as soon as I came in the door. I guess I'll just go before I muddle things up again."
"Ron," said Harry, his voice a whisper. Ron looked up at him again. "I forgave you the moment you walked in that door..."
"Really?" Ron was trying to keep his voice from sounding too hopeful, but Harry caught the glimmer of it shinning in his eyes. He nodded at Ron. Ron gave him a relieved smile in return.
The truly beautiful moment that was passing between them skidding to a crashing halt as Harry went completely rigid. Marcus Flint's hand was gliding over Harry's buttocks. It was moving slowly in feather-light caresses. Harry did not know what he should do, so he just stood there as his person was violated, rigid and silent. Ron was looking at him confused. Flint was playing it off like he was checking the dials on the coffee machines, his back to Harry.
Marcus soon seemed to tire of just examining the good. His hand closed around one of Harry's buttocks and squeezed, none too gently. Harry yelped. Ron had realized what was happening by then. He leaped across the counter at Marcus. His attack was wholly unexpected by the other and Marcus went crashing, face first, into the wall. Harry managed to get between them and push Ron back around the counter, keeping a good hold on him before Marcus could retaliate.
"Keep your bloody hands off of him," Ron shouted at Marcus. The few customers in the shop had their eyes glued to the scene.
"And who are you to boss me?" Flint had his hand to his nose. Blood was running down at an alarming rate. Harry supposed that Marcus should have been used to his nose gushing blood all over him.
"He's mine," growled Ron, looking as if he would rip Marcus limb from limb if he could only get to him. It did not seem to bother Ron at all that Marcus was twice as wide as he was or that he had nearly a full head over Ron. Harry was having a hard time pushing the redhead towards the door.
"I'm taking off, Flint. Clock me out."
Harry did not wait for Marcus to answer him. He shoved Ron outside and did not stop pushing him until they got two full blocks away. Ron was still seething in fury. He could not quite make out all of the various insults Ron was muttering under his breath. Harry grabbed Ron's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. Ron did not pull away. Quite the contrary, he gave Harry's hand a little squeeze.
"Feeling better," Harry asked him.
"Yeah... I don't like him groping you like that... If I ever catch him touching you again, so help me, I'll rip his hands off and cram them up his ass."
Why? Because I'm your's?"
"Damn right," Ron said, his voice still a low growl. Harry smiled up at Ron, who was slightly taller than he was. He raised an eyebrow when Ron peered back. "That is, if you want to be, you know."
"Hmmm," said Harry, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'll have to think about it..."
Ron smiled down at Harry. He pulled him up against him and kissed Harry. He leaned back against the brick wall of the alley they had ducked into, Harry melting against him, exploring Harry's mouth at his ease. Harry made little passionate noises in the back of his throat. Ron groaned as the noises reached him. He had never heard anything more exciting in his life, aside from when Harry had demanded that Ron fuck him in the middle of the concert parking lot.
He pulled back, hands holding Harry's face lovingly, exploring every detail of the other's face. His thumb ran over Harry's pouty, kiss-swollen bottom lip. He watched as Harry's lips parted slightly, as his tongue slipped out to tease at Ron's thumb. His eyes traveled up to meet Harry's. He could see the intense emotion reflected in the emerald eyes. The emotion was for him. Gently, he pushed the raven-colored fringe away from Harry's forehead, looking at the white bandage there.
"What happened," Ron asked. "You didn't... Did you..."
"I just fell..." Harry looked down. He could not look Ron in the eyes and lie to him. "It's nothing. Caught the desk and a paperweight. It might scar, I guess. I haven't seen it yet, dunno how bad it is."
Ron kissed Harry again. Harry tucked his body against Ron. He sighed contentedly as Ron swept over the backs of his teeth. There was just something so right about him being in Ron's arms. Nothing could worry him at all while he was close to Ron. Nothing could touch him while he was lost in his arms. He could not have been happier as Ron walked him home, their hands intertwined.