a/n: This is my adult-only account. I do not take unsolicited fic requests.
If you enjoyed this unedited fic, try reading the ones on my general account that are under the name displayheartcode.
The title is from a letter Allen Ginsberg wrote to Peter Orlovsky. Parts of this was inspired by Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston and by an episode of Parks and Rec.
Disclaimer: Ha, ha, no.
Title: shine back honey & think of me
Word Count: 1K
Summary: Five times Harry initiated stages in their relationship. [Gender AU – M/M]
i.
Rain dripped in the spaces between bleachers. Harry and Gawain had stayed behind, talking about the best way to utilize their Chasers for the next game against Ravenclaw. Their other teammates had already left once practice was over, and Ronnie had Prefect duties with Hermes.
It was perfectly natural after most practices that Harry found himself spending time with Ronnie's younger brother. It was perfectly natural how Gawain's smile always gave him a strange jolt. Perfectly natural that Harry wanted something other than friendship with him… The knowledge was securely tucked inside Harry's heart, and he was determined to not let it show until he had some idea of what to do next.
Maybe it was why a number of things happened as they talked. A shy smile shared between comments. A compliment clumsily given about landing a new technique. The back of Harry's hand brushed against Gawain's, shoulders touched, their bodies moving closer and closer, like whenever they flew together, there was always a chance they would be side-by-side.
"Can I?" Gawain whispered against Harry's jaw. He was warm and smelled like leather and broom polish.
Harry reached for his hand and kissed him first.
In other worlds, their first kiss was amidst the cheering crowd of Gryffindor winning or full of lament about the war outside their door, but here it was, quiet. The moment tugging like the pull of the tide, sincere and all-encompassing.
ii.
"You look like a ghost when you brood like that," Gawain commented in the summer after the war. He was sitting at the foot of the bed, idly flipping the pages of an old issue of Quidditch Monthly. Neither of them could sleep. Harry was secretly fine that Hermes usually spent his nights either in one of the spare bedrooms in the Burrow or discretely with Ronnie. It was usually easier to share these insomniac moments with Gawain.
"Are you asking me to haunt you? Because that almost sounds like fun," Harry said, voice dry. He looked away from the window where the sunrise had begun to creep over the horizon. His eyes itched from the lack of sleep, but he was still expecting something to show in the shadows of the bedroom. Even though this was the place Harry had spent his summers sleeping in—Hermes included even though he couldn't bear the late Quidditch talks that ruined his sleep—it was hard for him to remember that same feeling of peace.
Almost unconsciously, Harry touched the bruised lightning-shaped scar over his heart. The nightmares rarely changed.
Gawain nudged Harry's thigh with his foot. The humour about hauntings had left his voice. "Does it hurt?" He reached over to place his freckled hand on Harry's chest. His face was half-lit in shadows, his dark eyes serious.
Moments like this reminded Harry of seeing a Snitch dancing in the air, the casual intimacy despite Harry breaking Gawain's heart was what he wanted most of all since returning from the Forbidden Forest. He shouldn't let this go.
Harry brought Gawain's hand up to his mouth and kissed the edge of his palm. "No, nothing hurts. But haunting you wouldn't be as interesting as, well, you know…"
Gawain made a sound.
iii.
Harry caught a flash of red hair in the changing rooms. Heard Gawain's voice before seeing him undress by his locker.
"I thought you were going to try to meet me at the Three Broomsticks?" Gawain had pulled one of Harry's old Christmas jumpers over his head, standing in just the bottom half of his kit, leathers and all. Harry admired the way Gawain's broad shoulders tapered into the strong lines of his hips and thighs, the way the light reflected in the red-gold highlights of his hair. Desire thrummed in his veins, much like taking a sharp descent on a broom without any warning. It was the exhilaration, the excitement of living fully in the moment.
Touch-starved was a phrase Harry had heard in passing. He guessed it made sense whenever he could sneak into Hogwarts when letters weren't enough. (I think of you often, Harry had written. Your annoying smile haunts me in dreams and frustrates me when I'm unable to see you. I need to see you before I go mad and risk saying something in front of your sister and then dying from embarrassment. Gawain had responded: then save me from the NEWT study sessions Hermes has me trapped in. Three Broomsticks this weekend?)
Harry shoved Gawain against the nearest row of lockers. "And ruin the chance to surprise you?'
"You just want me to compromise your virtue." He gave Harry a filthy grin as he slipped a hand beneath the waistband of Harry's jeans.
iv.
In a way, Harry had expected his boyfriend's Easter Holiday to end up like this. Gawain's green Harpies shirt being tugged off, fumbling on the floor in Harry's new flat, taking advantage of the rare alone time they now had.
"Wait, Weasley. Quidditch—Burrow—" panted Harry. He leaned over Gawain's lean body. Harry made a desperate sound when Gawain traced the edges on the scars of his chest with his mouth. There was the occasional healed burn from his Gringott's break-in and escape from Fiendfyre, cursed injuries from the Horcrux, and the mark left by the encounter in the Forest. But all thoughts of trying out his new Firebolt fled his mind. His hips moved involuntarily. "Fuck."
Gawain nipped at Harry's jaw. "I want to use a different broom."
Harry almost laughed as they made work of their clothes. The world was blurry without his glasses, but he knew the topography of Gawain's body like the back of his hand. Everything about his world narrowed down to the hot kisses Gawain placed down Harry's chest, the muffled laughter when they fumbled over the necessary spells, and then settled into a rhythm that was more enthusiasm than actual skill. Harry kept his grip on Gawain's hips steady as their movements became more erratic and the release came over him with Gawain close behind.
It took Harry several long moments to come to his senses.
Gawain kissed him lazily on the mouth. "You're not the only one with a thing for quality Quidditch supplies, old captain of mine."
Harry brushed the long hair out of Gawain's face. He took a deep breath. "Hey, do you see yourself living here. After Hogwarts, that is."
"Hmm, depends on how much room you have in your shower…" Gawain stretched languorously and got to his feet. He offered a hand to Harry and helped him up. "But fair warning, I've been accused of hogging all of the pillows."
v.
Harry opened another box and started to pick through the tangled mess of Ronnie's jewellery. Most of them were orange. "Any luck?"
"Yeah, Hermes thinks we're mad."
"As long as I'm still the best man," muttered Hermes from the corner of the room. Out of everyone in the group, he was merely tipsy. "You two can get married in a chicken coop and exchange flower crowns for all I care."
"At least have a cake," Ronnie said. She was taking careful sips of water in an attempt to sober herself as she looked over Harry's shoulder. "What's a wedding without a cake? No!" She slapped Harry's hand away. "You're not getting married to my brother by transfiguring those earrings into rings."
Harry found a Cannons' pin and Ronnie guffawed with laughter when Harry charmed it to look like something from Puddlemere, Gawain's team as their starting Chaser.
"Can we make it Quidditch themed?" Gawain asked. He reemerged with rosy cheeks and the necessary paperwork. He handed it to Hermes to act as the notary.
With a mighty sigh, Hermes plucked a self-inking quill out of nowhere and began marking the forms.
"There's one more thing," Harry said. He dropped down to one knee and presented the pin to Gawain. "Hi, will you please marry me? It'll be a ringing endorsement for whatever Seamus put in those drinks we've been having for the last few hours."