So, I have the work ethic and posting schedule of a sloth, and once again have work I did last month and only just got around to editing today. Good news? I have another couple of things I wrote last month which should be up soon. Title from Interpol's Slow Hands.
Beta'ed by Raven (thanks for calling me gay for writing these garbage boys).
Harry was quite possibly the pinnacle of man, a Greek statue Tom felt he couldn't compare to. His body seemed carved by Michaelangelo himself, a Da Vinci drawing based on man's greatest features. His curls were inky black, pooling indistinctly on the pillow. He wasn't broad or strangely triangular (much like Lestrange). Instead, his body was a long line reaching from the point of his shoulder to his foot, the soft, subtle dips and rises of his waist, hips and legs hidden by the thick blanket.
The smell of generic 'hiking trail rainfall' soap surrounded Harry, cementing, in Tom's primal, very homosexual mind, how casually masculine he was. Alluring, charming, Tom would describe it. The scent was tempting, begging Tom to sink his teeth into Harry's neck, to bury his nose in Harry's hair as he touched him.
Harry was stirring, finally, waking with the dawn to keep Tom and his insomnia company until the day actually began.
His eyes were always bright and a smile lived on his ridiculously handsome face (when he was around Tom anyway — he regarded this with a particular feeling of accomplishment). Those brilliant eyes looked at him, the gold around his pupils hidden in the dimness of the early morning light.
"'Morning," Harry said, his voice gravelly with sleep, reaching blindly at the bedside table for his glasses. Tom's chest ached in that familiar way he'd come to associate with Harry's existence.
"Aphrodite would weep at your beauty," he said, revelling in the embarrassed smile Harry gave him.
"That's a new one."
"Only the best for you, of course."
Harry loved touching Tom's face, finding amusement in connecting the horrible freckles sprinkling his cheeks, light enough to look like specks of dirt. He did it now, thumb running under the permanent blue stains under his eyes, pressing hard enough on each freckle he could see in the dull light to pink Tom's cheeks.
"Your stray curl is back," Harry said, fingers moving to his forehead, tugging on the lock gently.
"At this rate, I don't think it'll ever leave." For years, since he grew his hair down to his ears, it had sprung right out of his careful styling to the point where he'd stopped trying altogether.
"Finally admitting defeat?" Tom knew better than to answer such a trap. The blow to his reputation wasn't worth it, and he said as much.
The sky lightened in silence, Tom leaning on Harry's shoulder, burying his head in Harry's neck to breathe in the irresistible scent of his cheap soap. Harry's fingers ran through his hair, fingernails the perfect length to scrape his scalp satisfactorily.
Sunlight broke through the insidious, unfixable gap in the curtains before Tom spoke again.
"I made a new plan for world domination while you were asleep."
"Yeah?" Even hidden behind glass Harry's eyes were so very green, and his lips so red Tom couldn't help but steal a kiss.
"Yeah, with flow charts and bullet points too." Harry laughed, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. God, Tom loved him. "Thought you'd like that."
"Wanna write it out later? I'll see if it's as plausible as the stock exchange one."
Stubble lined the cut of Harry's jaw, thick and black like the rest of his hair and as stubborn as a mule, shadowing his cheeks insistently. It was prickly but tempting to run his fingers over. Tom rubbed his nose against it and ducked his head a little, biting the flesh of Harry's neck.
"Hey, no, I've got work," Harry half-heartedly complained, the hand in Tom's hair pressing him harder against Harry's skin. A sigh slipped through Harry's parted lips.
"Of course," Tom said, leaving the skin a dark purple not even Harry's tanned skin could hide. "Don't let me keep you."
Harry sat up and prodded his neck, wincing as he poked his new bruise. "I hate you."
Tom watched as Harry got up and started his day, his stomach aflutter. Harry was a liar and a terrible one at that.
Harry's back looked unbelievably strong in the aggressive shadows and Tom bit the inside of his lip as Harry slipped his underrobe on, muscles flexing. Knowing Harry willingly let him take control flooded him with desire and he turned away, watching shadows dart past the thin yellow curtains. He entertained himself counting the bird blobs until the rustle of clothes stopped.
A palm turned his face firmly and lips brushed against his, wet and lazy, disappearing the moment Tom reached his hand up to bury it in Harry's curls. Harry winked and slipped out the door with an easy smile on his face. Tom threw on his clothes with half as much care, hoping to get into the kitchen before Harry drank the whole pot of tea.
And maybe to steal another kiss before Harry left for work.