Daryl clutched his stomach and crossed his legs, bowing half-over in an attempt to contain himself.
His raucous and rollicking laughter, that is.
Harry's mischief that they'd been so resigned to turned out to be them tagging along on his Thursday afternoon duties…which happened to be teaching practical lessons to the estate kiddos.
A.k.a., Merle Dixon's personal version of hell on earth.
It wasn't that his brother was bad with kids, he'd done well enough teaching Daryl all he knew after all both when they were growin' up and after he returned for the Marines.
Kids just made Merle plumb uncomfortable, for several reasons that Daryl had figured out over the years.
For one, they had giant ears that heard everything and loose lips that repeated everything. To a rough-talkin' and foul-mouthed man like his brother that meant he'd been scolded, more'n a dozen times, by irate mama's over what their "angels" had picked up from the man. Lori only bein' the most recent in that long, long parade.
Two, Merle was a large, tough, physical man. You put one of the tea-cup kiddos, under say five foot, anywhere near 'im and he was afraid he'd break 'em. Put a baby in his hands and he 'bout turned to stone, afraid if he even breathed wrong they'd start screamin' or he'd hurt 'em.
And if there was one thing neither of them abided, it was someone that hurt kids after all they'd been through with their da.
Weren't fans of wife-beaters either, but at least with grown-folks Merle wasn't scared of breathing wrong in their general direction the way he was with kids.
And here, Harry had the two of them lined up right next to him, wanting them to help teach the kids survival skills.
Today the lesson was, apparently, how to set traps for small game.
Even the littlest kids were outside in the courtyard, Carol and the foreman's woman Sarah helping wrangle them, not that they needed to much of that.
Based on how Harry'd been tackled, a pair that looked awfully like his dads leading the charge, these kids universally adored the ebony-haired man who wasn't afraid to wrestle in the dirt with them.
"Attention my army of minions!" Was how Harry called the kids to order after fielding a signal from Sarah. At that, the tea-cup midgets all lines up against one side of the courtyard, in what Daryl and Merle could tell was a pre-established order, the older kids all paired up with a younger one, but all of them the twelve-and-under set, the older teens likely having different lessons elsewhere or chores to see to. "As you can see," he waved to the petrified Merle and amused Daryl. "We have some new helpers today. The taller one is Sgt. Dixon and the younger one is Mr. Dixon."
"HI Sgt./Mr. Dixon!" Many of the kids said/shouted/and/or waved at them.
Daryl leaning over and saying: "Sgt. and Mr. Dixon?"
"Being firm about discipline and manners is vital to keeping them from running wild." Harry explained out of the corner of his mouth while the kids quieted back down. "Up until I brought y'all in we were seriously outnumbered with able-bodied adults versus kids. It was needed and it works, since none of them want extra chores or to be excluded from privileges." He paused a moment, giving the silent-and-stiff Merle a quick frowning glance in concern before his face smoothed out as he turned back to the kids. "And it gives them the stability they desperately need. So, yes. When you're dealing with the kids in any kind of official capacity, it's Sgt. Or Mr. Dixon."
"Today, my minions." The kids all giggled at Harry's mocking impression of a supervillain. "You have a treat: Sgt. And Mr. Dixon are hunters and trackers who are going to help teach us all how to set traps for small game." He gave the brothers a blinding smile and ushered them over to where Sarah had set the supplies for the traps near the shade trees. "Now, everyone gather around one of us and we'll get started!"
Merle's eyes shot wide with panic at that, breaking his statue-like petrification. Harry wanted him to help teach…okay he could probably muddle through that with his sanity intact. Harry wanted him to teach kids alone…?
Aw, hell naw.
Unfortunately, before Merle could stutter out an excuse and make a break for it, pride be damned, they'd already circled him like piranhas sensing his fear, led by a smiling little demon…er…mite with black hair, amber eyes, and an all-too-familiar devilish grin.
"Hi, Sgt. Dixon!" The mighty mite piped up, the rest echoing him. "I'm Raz, Harry's broder!"
It was official.
Merle had died and this was hell, staffed by evil little creatures with bright eyes and charming grins.
"What's up with Merle?" Harry asked Daryl, utterly lost as the other man high-tailed it out of the courtyard after the lesson was over and the kids had been dismissed as their parent's trickled in to collect them while the older Vatos kids led the younger ones back, being old enough to navigate the estate without getting lost.
Harry and Daryl each had a minion of their very own, Jaime having taken to the quiet, shy Dixon brother that led her group and had attached herself to his hand like a limpet the moment class was dismissed by Harry.
Raz on the other hand, taking well after his fathers, had had a look that screamed up to no good, resulting in being tossed over Harry's shoulder before the nearly four-year-old could make a break for it.
With his brother hanging upside down and giggling while Jaime skipped along at an amused and discomfited Daryl's side, they made their way along in Merle's dust up to the castle to drop the kids off with either dad for a quick clean-up before dinner.
"He's scared of kids." Daryl said with a snicker, watching Merle stumble all over himself trying to not set a foot out of place had been the highlight of his month. "Doesn't know how to talk to 'em, always afraid he's gonna break 'em. That's Merle."
"Really?" Harry asked, brows shooting up to his hairline in surprise. "I never would've guessed, he did fine today, even got this monkey," he shot fingers into sensitive ribs, sending up another peel of laughter from his little brother. "To pay attention long enough to set a simple trap. Better than most would do if you set them in a group that diverse." And Harry knew from experience as all the able adults had taken rotations with teaching the kids hands-on skills sooner to later.
"Oh, ya don' need ta tell me that." Daryl said with an expressive roll of his eyes. "I know who taught me well enough. But if you asked 'im if he'd rather take on walkers bare-handed or be responsible for a group of kids? He'd take the walkers any day of the week."
"Huh." Harry shook his head, boggled over the very idea. "The things you learn…"
"Tell me 'bout it." Daryl concurred with a meaningful look at Harry's clothed back, the other man looking away at the reminder.
They'd only been around each other a month, give or take.
And most of that was spent watchin' each other and tryin' to survive, not exactly filled with heart to hearts.
There was still plenty more to learn, and now that they didn't have to constantly be on the run for their lives, they actually had the time to do it.
Harry and the Dixons joined his dads and little siblings for dinner that night, Harry watching closely as Merle kept trying to avoid Raz, the two playing a hilarious game of musical chairs until Remus eventually took pity on him, having heard about Merle's kid-phobia issues, and called Raz over to sit down on his booster seat next to him, letting Merle take the spot beside his brother safely on the other side of the table from the munchkins and their "evil" ways.
Ignoring that all the other men at the table were visibly biting back their amusement at his expense – something Merle wasn't known for taking well – he sat down giving Remus an honest and heavy 'thank you.'
They were eating in the dining area of the master apartment, the family rarely using the formal dining room and seeing no reason to start now when a flick of a wand would have the round table expanding to fit two more with ease. The kids were sandwiched between their parents, so the seating went: Harry, Siri, Jaime, Raz, Remus, Daryl, Merle, and back to Harry now that the kids were strapped into their seats and unable to stalk the elder Dixon around the table.
"He's really taken to you Merle." Harry teased lightly, meaning no harm. "I think someone has a crush."
Sirius groaned, throwing his head back. "Please for the love of Merlin stop aging my babies. It was bad enough when you started in on the crushing and the angsting and ugh! I am not ready to go through that again."
That brought up a question that had been bugging both brothers since they'd seen Harry's family pictures the night before.
"When you say your babies…" Merle trailed off, not wanting to ruin the good thing they had going here, Harry's evil horde of minions aside. "How…?"
"Why do they look like us, you mean?" Remus took pity on the poor man Harry and Raz had double-teamed from the moment they figured out his weakness.
"Yup." Daryl said with a nod. "Woulda said ya used a bought mama or somethin' but…y'alls kids look like both a ya."
"Well…" Sirius joked, having the time of his life with new targets that weren't wise to his ways yet. "When two men love each other very much…"
"Naw, man." Merle rolled his eyes, exasperated. Harry's family was exhausting. "We know how that all works."
"Really?" Sirius arched a cool brow, his mood changing on a dime. "Have a lot of practice do you?" He muttered under his breath: "Better not be practicing with my innocent pup…"
"Siri." Harry hissed, hiding his mortified face in his hands after Merle swung his head around to stare between him and his dad. "I'm not fourteen anymore… If I want to practice with one of them or both or the whole bunkhouse that's my call!"
"Really, now, Pretty?" Merle asked, voice low and gruff as he leaned in close, Daryl watching them with hot eyes. "Do I get a vote cuz if so…"
"Male pregnancy." Sirius blurted out, eyes narrowed on the man leaning way to close to his little Prongslet. "Remus got me up the duff, twice, and Harry delivered them. They're ours in every way they could be."
"Still, way too much information about your relationship." Harry's eye twitched, as he reached out and dished himself up from the platters Remus had retrieved while Sirius was making him wish he was an orphan all over again, just to avoid these kinds of scenes mind. "Kids should not know those kinds of things about their parents, no matter how old they get or degrees in medicine they earn."
"So make sure you use protection." Sirius continued on, oblivious to the wide-eyed looks he was getting from his mate. The only thing keeping him from a head-slap being that their two youngest were way too into their cheesy potatoes and cubes of chicken with crisp carrot sticks to hear what he was saying.
"Siri…" Harry groaned, sure he was going to be permanently red after this one dinner.
"Because muggle or not, my Prongslet is powerful…"
"Padfoot…"
"And all of you smell fertile…"
"Pads…"
"And I'm too young and good-looking to be a grandfather yet…"
"Sirius Orion Black!" Remus nearly barked out the name, all his previous tried to grab his mate's attention falling on deaf ears.
Sirius definitely had a bad case of canine-selective-hearing, especially when he got caught up in something like the obsessive mutt he was at heart.
And this time it was sure to get him in the doghouse, both with his mate and his eldest, as he blinked, snapping out of his hazed-rant-spiral, seeing Harry attempting to melt into his chair, face beat red and Remus's eyes nearly glowing with irritation.
Meanwhile in Dixon-land, they were alternately caught up in oddly-arousing pictures of Harry swelling ripe with their children or in very-arousing fantasies of the act that would plant them there, making them both seem rather out of it as they stared in a distinctly predatory fashion at a deathly-embarrassed Harry Black.
"Oh." Sirius said in a small voice, looking over at Remus with his infamous kicked-puppy eyes. "Too far?"
"You might as well be in another galaxy, yes, Padfoot, too far." Remus said, voice ripe with loving vexation. "And you've wondered why Harry never brought any of his boyfriends or girlfriends home? I think we have the answer, besides which, they're not even in any kind of romantic relationship, Pads! Bad! Bad parenting!"
"So…" Daryl drawled when they'd finally escaped the Sirius-and-Remus show, aka dinner with the Blacks.
"Not talking about it, ever, the last hour never happened." Harry bit out waving his hands in a clearing motion in mid-air.
The mortified man was sprawled on his stomach across the couch, Daryl having once again lit the fire and taken to laying out on the rug, leaving Merle to raid the chill cabinet for drinks and pick one of the two empty arm chairs in the communal living area of their shared apartment.
"I dunno." Merle said, more than ready to tease after the heck he'd taken over his kiddie issues. "It's engrained pretty well in my memory. I didn't even know people could turn that color-a purple."
Harry whapped him half-heartedly on the leg as he leaned down to hand over the bottle, another one of Harry's ciders, Merle just chuckling at the feather-light hit as he tossed the other bottle to his brother before manhandling Harry into lifting his legs before letting them fall back over his own, sitting in a sprawl now with Harry lying a third over him.
Lifting himself up onto his elbows, Harry turned and craned his head to stare at the man who just lifted his legs and made himself right at home under him.
"Comfy?"
"Yup." Merle took a long pull outta his cider. "Think I'll stay righ' here." He tossed a leer up the length of Harry's prone form. "It has one helluva view."
Groaning at the bad line, Harry flopped back down onto the couch with a twist, making it so he was lying on his back instead of showing off his ass to the jackass, taking what little sips of his drink that he could without picking himself back up and subjecting himself to Merle's jokes and smirking leers, eyes shut firmly.
A dangerous grin on his handsome face, blue eyes flashing darkly, Daryl came slowly over onto his hands and knees, setting his bottle aside, Merle watching him with a knowing smirk. Crawling over quietly with the same stealth he used to stalk prey – he supposed Harry was at the moment – Daryl loomed over the oblivious form of his target, Harry continuing to sulkily take little sips and making quite the picture. The next thing Harry knew, his bottle was being jerked quickly out of his hand, his eyes flying open to the sight of Daryl having planted his hands on either side of his head, all he could see was flashing hot blue eyes and then his eyes fell closed again as Daryl stole his mouth in a burning, possessive claiming of a kiss.
It was conquering, a ravishment, and completely aggressing, no sign of Daryl's natural shyness anywhere in evidence as his lips silently demanded Harry's acquiescence, which the younger man gave, mouth opening to the forceful thrust of a hot, sweeping tongue that entered him like an invading general invent on claiming new territory for its own.
Harry gave a quiet moan, lips pressing back against Daryl as the shock gave way to pure heat, strong arms wrapping around taut shoulders, callused hands burying in short, choppy strands of nut-brown hair.
His moan was answered by a deep subvocal growl, Daryl moving to pin him down firmly, bringing himself down firmly over his prey, moving his hands to one wedge under Harry's neck and hold his head firmly in place for his ravishment, the other sweeping over firm, ridged muscle before coming to rest on one tight hip, his thumb caressing the sliver of flesh bared between leather pants and a soft cotton shirt that had ridden up with Harry's twist onto his back.
Merle watched, eyes blazing and hands clenching on either his cider bottle or Harry's ankle where he'd clamped down on when Daryl had made his move, but made no further advance of his own, letting Daryl make his claim undisturbed while still keeping Harry aware of his presence – more that Merle was allowing Daryl to stake first claim but not bowing out either.
Hands holding him at neck and hip and ankle, mouth under siege, Harry found himself never happier to be wrong as he gave way with nary a whimper under the sudden aggressive onslaught.
Apparently, Harry thought amused in the back of his mind, Daryl at least had figured out what his friends at Hogwarts had known for years – Harry was the most oblivious male to inhabit any planet.
If you wanted him to know and understand you were interested – you had to make it plain, and more than just a little flirting.
Well…
You couldn't get much plainer than the pounce-and-kiss.
Being a good kisser didn't hurt either, and for all that Daryl was a little rough around the edges, he certainly knew how to kiss a bloke senseless.
Finally, the need for air won out over their heated battle of lips and teeth and tongues, Daryl ripping away from Harry's drugging lips and burying his face in the silky curve of his neck, letting his hand move back to lift him up a fraction from pinning his partner down completely as he had before. Panting harshly, Harry moved to run one hand up and down Daryl's spine soothingly, both of them were quite wild at the moment, their lust and vest for survival rapidly turning into a different kind of lust and a desire for another base drive. His other hand held on to Daryl's shaggy hair strongly, his eyes opening, green irises blow wide as he pinned the hotly-watching Merle with a lust-filled look that would break a weaker man.
But neither of the Dixons could ever be called weak, Merle merely allowing his hand to tighten minutely on his captive's ankle, not showing any other sign that the debauched vision before him moved him at all, let alone set fire to his very core, a fire that had already been banked a burning by a scene playing out beside him hotter than any skin-show or porno he'd seen in his life.
Uncoiling like the human viper the elder man was at heart, albeit a hot-blooded one, Merle shifted and dragged himself up the side of his Pretty, rubbing every inch of Harry from foot to head with his strong, tough body, coming down in the crack between Harry and the back of the plush couch, effectively pinning the younger man between himself and his brother as he propped himself over the flushed and panting man.
The two Dixons, each now propped on an elbow with a hand either under Harry's head or neck as Daryl had shifted to allow his brother access to their prize, ran hot eyes up and down the clearly aroused and fidgeting form oh-so-gently pinned under their combined strength. They knew that the wizard beneath them could get himself free with his magic…if he really wanted to. That was the key. They held the dominant position – but only because at the moment at least, Harry didn't want to fight them for it or force them away.
Merle lifted his free hand – which had been busily exploring the slabs of muscle that was carefully concealed by Harry's often looser over-shirts, tunics, and jackets – and rubbed one callused thumb gently over a plush and pouty kiss-reddened lower lip, Daryl taking a turn at watching while petting Harry, learning every dip and curve of the tight, lean body under them.
Time passed in a white-hot haze before a rather-squashed wizard struggled to sit up and nudge his new…lovers? Boyfriends? Friends-with-benefits? Off of his extremely-compressed chest, Daryl rolling onto the floor with an irritated grunt allowing Harry to wiggle out from under Merle and take a deep breath, thankful that his lungs didn't seem permanently damaged from having a pair of massive rednecks constricting them from expanding. Merle just threw out one hand and hooked his arm around Harry's waist, towing him back into his body before he could get far as Daryl cranked open an eye and gave Harry a half-pissed half-bleary glare.
"Wha' was tha' for?" Daryl growled as he shifted and sat up properly, rubbing one hand against his shoulder which had borne the brunt of his collision with the wooden floor, the impact only mildly cushioned by the rug warming the living area.
"Couldn't breathe." Harry explained, reaching over and gently combing the fingers of one hand through Daryl's hair in apology. "Sorry. But whatever they fed you two to get you this big wasn't kind to my ribcage…especially with both of y'all all limp and boneless on top'a me."
"Hmm." Was all Daryl had to give in response to that, his expression melting from cantankerous into soft concern as his gaze tracked over the disheveled wizard, looking to see if they'd caused any actual injury.
Watching and flirting with Harry over the last couple weeks, then seeing how that hand responded to him…then Sirius's rant…well…
It hadn't set them up for the gentlest method of making their intentions known.
But while Daryl could plainly see that Harry was covered in marks – from both of them – and had the bruised-lips of someone well-fucked, even without actual fucking being involved, he was clearly fine with what had gone down.
Daryl would even say more-than-fine considering the pleased, cat-that-drank-all-the-cream look on his pretty, stubble-burn-reddened face.
A nudge from Harry had Merle – still mostly dozing in his post-sex-high – releasing his hold albeit with a grumble or two, allowing the wizard to stand up and stretch, his still-open leather pants and cotton shirt doing more to frame his body than conceal it as they were almost falling off of his arms and hips.
"We all need to get some sleep." Harry said around a wide-yawn, lowering his arms back down from his stretch, back popping obligingly. "And not on a couch or on the floor."
Daryl nodded and climbed to his feet, an uncertain look on his face. Did Harry mean together or…? He got his answer as the other man extended his arm out, hand open and palm up in a silent offer. A shy blush – his innate quiet nature reasserting himself now that his aggression, generally roused by either his temper or desire, had calmed back down – dusted the tops of his ears and cheekbones.
Linking their fingers together with a soft smile and a small lowering of his lashes, Harry kept hold of him as he leaned over and shook Merle awake with his free hand, the older Dixon peeling open one dark blue eye in question as he quickly noted the stances of the other two.
"We're going to bed." Harry explained gently. "You coming with us or…?"
Merle got to his feet, one hand rubbing at the side of his jaw as he yawned himself, jaw making a quiet popping sound, then gestured for Harry to lead the way, the oldest of the trio padding along quietly behind the other two, eyes focused and considering on their linked hands as he followed along.
Harry left the light off as they entered his room, heading straight to the bedroom and his massive four-poster with heavy light-canceling hangings. Peeling the covers back, he dropped Daryl's hand and shucked his clothes, before motioning for Daryl to climb in first before joining him, already knowing that Merle – being Merle – would want the side closest to the door. Turning to first one and then the other, he gave each a soft goodnight kiss in turn before snuggling down between the two hot-blooded men, all three of them rapidly surrendering to the night's dark embrace.
His internal clock woke Harry as it had since he was four and deemed old enough to do chores at the Dursleys at the unholy hour of six am.
It had never mattered how good or bad his sleep was, he always woke at the same time like clockwork after spending years being woken at that hour by either Petunia or Vernon, though if the nightmares were bad enough, he would wake even earlier than normal out of grief or rage or terror, not even bothering to return to sleep.
He took stock of his position and that of his companions, the three of them having moved and shifted some during the night, bodies moving closer together so that they fit one to the next like puzzle pieces. Harry at some point at turned so that he was half sleeping on his side but mostly leaning on and snuggled into Daryl, his face tucked into the curve of the other man's shoulder and one arm slung over his waist. Merle was sprawled on his stomach, one arm bent under his pillow and with his other hand clasped possessively on Harry's bared hip, one leg tucked between the wizard's.
It would be a losing proposition to get out of bed without waking them, especially with their battle-hardened survival instincts.
But Harry's active nature wouldn't allow him to simply lay there and be either, his brain kicking into gear before his eyes even open, going over all the things to get done that day, and what needed doing the next day and next week, next month to keep everyone relying on him safe and healthy.
"Too early." Merle muttered into the pillow, able to hear the differences in Harry's breathing and it bringing him far enough out of his sleep to comment. "Go back 'a sleep."
Harry merely leaned up and kissed a sleepily-watching Daryl, light blue eyes barely cracked open and visible in the dark of the shadowed bed, on his scruffy jaw before turning and doing the same on Merle's stubbled cheek.
"You go back to sleep." Harry told them quietly. "You could do with some more rest, we were up late last night." He blushed thinking about what had transpired in the living room to keep them "up" before they retired to his bed and slept.
"You too." Daryl responded gruffly, leaning up on one elbow as Harry climbed over the still-sprawled out Merle after prying the man's hand off his hip, careful not to hit anything sensitive with his knees. "'Sides," the more-awake Dixon shot him a rakish smirk. "Bed's not as comfy without you."
The wizard just shook his head regretfully, laying one finger over his lips in a shushed motion before pointing to the once-more-unconscious Merle who let out a breathy snore.
Daryl shook his head, eyeing his idiot brother – that noise was damn fake – before turning and slipping from his side of the bed, completely unabashed over his naked form as he padded over to stand before a blushing and heatedly-staring Harry. Crooking one index finger under his wizard's chin, Daryl stole his breath with a sensuous good morning kiss. Nipping lightly at the full lower lip with strong white teeth he pulled back before grabbing hold of one of the hands hanging loose by Harry's side and towed him out of the bedroom, correctly guessing which door led to the attached bath.
Harry winced as the bright lights kicked on at their entrance, Daryl letting go of his captive long enough to move over to the shower and play with the settings until steaming-hot-but-comfortable water was pouring down from the trio of shower heads. Turning back to Harry, Daryl gave a brief frown as he noticed Harry arms had come up to shield several of the worst scars he carried on his body, one hand covering – or trying and failing to cover – what looked like the marks left by a pissed-off animal with nasty claws, the other tucked behind his back. That wouldn't do, not a'tall.
Walking back to stand toe to toe with the other man, eyes both fierce and gentle, Daryl lifted and spread his arms up and open, then began to turn showing off each and every mark on him in a display more blatant than he'd ever made before.
He wasn't ashamed of his scars, not even the ones from pure stupidity on his part or that were mementos from his dumbass father, but neither did he show them off either.
In this case, he felt the cause was worth the minor discomfort he felt over making a spectacle of himself.
"I ain't got nothin' to be shamed of." Daryl said once he'd completed his circle and was facing Harry, the other man having lowered his eyes at some point. Cupping his cheek gently in one callused paw, Daryl forced Harry's green gaze to lift and focus on him. "An' neither do you. Will ya tell me 'bout 'em?"
Teeth clamped firmly between white teeth, Harry nodded hesitantly, allowing Daryl to tug him under the ache-soothing water.
Daryl started him off easy, with the ones he was pretty sure he knew the story behind, at least in general terms, moving around to the back of Harry and brushing a finger down the whip marks and cigar burns.
"These?"
"Gifts from my loving uncle." Harry said with a slight sneer. "After my parents died I was sent to live with my mum's sister, her husband and son."
"This one?" Daryl leaned over to rub a burn scar on Harry's thigh.
"My aunt. Tossed a frying pan filled with grease at me when I was nine for burning breakfast."
Limber fingers traced the nasty claw marks on Harry's rib cage, Harry supplying the answer before he could ask: "Dragon caught me with her tail when I was fourteen."
"Dragons are real?" Daryl leaned back, focusing on Harry's water-dappled face.
"In my old world, yes. Here?" He shook his wet head, slicking his long tangled hair back off his face and neck. "Not so much." He pointed to a round puncture scar in his upper arm that Daryl had confused with a gunshot wound. "Basilisk fang at twelve, rare but real." And then a vicious slash on his hip. "Acromantula fang…also fourteen, think Shelob from Lord of the Rings. All magical creatures that existed in my original world."
Catching his arm, Daryl turned it so the inside – and the thick wounded from an edged weapon – was revealed, arching a brow at the sudden haunted look on Harry's face.
"A coward with a knife." Harry said quietly. "Who served the madman who killed my parents."
Leaning down, Daryl pressed a soft kiss to the wound, unknowingly soothing an ache inside Harry that flared to life every time he saw or thought of that scar – and the hell that followed its creation. Turning, Daryl showed his own back once more, paying back Harry's confidence in kind.
"My dumbass da." Daryl told him, watching Harry's wet face – though from the shower or tears he could only guess – over one tanned shoulder. "From thirteen to eighteen after Merle left and before I took off once I was legal."
A bitten-marred pair of lips pressed butterfly kisses from one end of a lash mark to the other, casting up and down, not leaving a single silvery line untouched. Spinning around once Harry'd finished his work, Daryl scooped the wizard up in his strong arms and backing him up against the wall, settling in between Harry's legs that'd wrapped around his hips and nestling their arousals together that had started to rise with Harry's lips on his back. A thumb traced the zig-zap on his forehead, a question in blue eyes.
"The madman to killed my parents." Harry said with a bitter twist of his lips. "When he tried to kill me and failed."
Sun-chapped lips brushed over the faint line that had faded almost to nothing on entering this new world and helped along in fading with both time and scar-fading cream that Sirius had brewed up with what ingredients they could find.
"Any more?" Daryl asked, one hand braced against the water-warmed shower tile while the other clung onto Harry's scarred hip.
"Just one." Harry admitted with a sigh, lifting his hand and showing the clear back, much to Daryl's confusion before Harry started to rub at the back with his opposite hand, words showing pinkish-silver after he was done.
This single scar Harry covered with a permanent glamor that he had to consciously remove. While he had other cursed scars – the AK scar, Pettigrew's knife, the Basilisk's puncture – only the one from the Blood Quill had proven resistant to the combination of time and potions. Remus had speculated that it was due to the scar being from constant reapplication over a series of months – cutting deep into his hand almost to the bone.
An eternal reminder of the year from hell – and what that year almost cost him save for a pure moment of serendipity and a thankful Seer.
"I must not tell lies?" Daryl read off the words, a consternated look on his handsome face. "Wha' the fuck?"
"Magic isn't all shrinking charms and rainbows." Harry told him with a crooked – if bittersweet – smile. "It can do horrible things just the same as wonderful things. It just matters how you use it. You yourself have already used what caused this. But to have the same effect you would've had to spend hours upon hours over a series of months writing out the same thing in an effort to make sure 'the message sank in.'"
"Someone did this to ya." Daryl snarled, eyes flashing in realization as he recalled the stick – quill – that Harry had had them use to sign that contract of his. "Yer aunt…naw…" His eyes narrowed, thinking of what he knew about Harry's life. "Someone else…"
"A teacher." Harry told him, shifting a bit against the wall and wrapping his arms around Daryl's shoulder to help hold himself up a bit more. "Who tried everything she could to cow me or shut me up."
Daryl snorted derisively. "Ain't no way that woulda worked." He said knowingly, hitching his hands under Harry's hips before walking them directly under the spray of the shower heads so that they could actually set to cleaning up. "Ain't no how. She musta not known who she was fuckin' with." He snorted once more shaking his head. "Stupid bitch."
"I couldn't have said it better myself." Harry said with a brilliant smile, leaning forward to steal a kiss before hopping down now that Daryl had given up on getting lucky in the shower, having clearly seen that the talk of his scars had put him right out of the mood.
No matter.
There would be other mornings.
Thousands of them if Harry had his way, and he intended to.
Cuddling under the steamy water with one – or both – of his lovers after a night of intimacy was Harry's idea of heaven on earth.
One he planned to enjoy as often as possible.
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