Chapter Text
They had been up for hours.
Arguing, not lovemaking.
Kim massaged his temples, ignoring the thickness in his throat, ignoring how he would really like, for the first time since Eyes died, to just sit and cry.
“Are you fucking kidding me? ‘Wait until retirement’?” Harry repeats, hand up in a gesticulation of anger.
“Harry, please,” Kim says for what feels like the hundredth time.
“No, stop, Kim,” Harry demands, stepping forward, grabbing Kim’s shoulders and shaking him slightly. It was not a rough movement, but still intimidating. Harry is much larger than he is. His brain automatically calculates risk, whether or not he’s in danger. Of course he’s not. This is Harry. Big, passionate, sometimes overbearing Harry.
Kim raises his head, meets Harry’s eyes. Harry’s eyes are red rimmed. He has already cried tonight, and it looks as though he is fighting tears off once more.
“You and I both know most RCM officers don’t make it to retirement, Kim. I won’t – no, I can’t just wait to be with you until we retire. Come on. It’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”
Kim sighs heavily, frustrated.
“It is unprofessional,” he repeats, feeling like a warped, broken record, “the RCM has guidelines, bylaws…” Harry releases his shoulders with a wet-sounding scoff.
“I don’t give a fuck about guidelines or bylaws. There's...fuck, protocols, it's...dammit, I care about you. We can hide it if you want. Nobody has to know, nobody has to…”
“Harry,” Kim says sharply, raising one brow. It had lost much of its efficacy once they had made love, but it still makes Harry go silent for a moment. “I spent the first half of my life hiding who I am, what I am.” He reaches out a hand, heart twisting when he sees Harry flinch as though he’s expecting a blow. He cups his cheek, thumb rubbing against his facial hair. “I won’t hide who I love.”
“Even if it means we can’t be together? Because you don't want to be associated with me publicly or something?” Harry chokes out the question bitterly and Kim sighs, moving his hand to the place where Harry’s shoulder and neck meet, massaging the flesh to soothe him.
“Harry, I love you–”
“So then be with me,” Harry begs, cutting off the “but” Kim had been about to say. “Kim,” he forces out, his jaw clenching hard. His nose is growing red and his eyes are watering. He is obviously fighting back tears, but the dam breaks and he lets out a hard sob. “Kim,” he cries again, and Kim feels his own heart break.
“Shh, shh, come here, come here, Harry,” he murmurs, trying to pull the big man closer, but Harry resists, squirming in his embrace.
“No, no, you don’t get to do that, get the fuck off of me, get off.” Harry stood, stumbling away from Kim. “I need a drink,” he mumbles, but he stays, doesn’t go looking for one.
Still, Kim’s chest feels like someone has reached in and carved it out. Cavernous, aching.
Harry is facing away from Kim and he’s holding his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he cries. Loud, wrenching sobs that make Kim’s eyes water hearing them.
Without looking at him, Harry asks, through clenched teeth and a tight throat,
“Then why did you do this to me? Why did you let me stay this weekend?”
Kim blinks in surprise when something wet falls onto his hands where they are folded in his lap – a tear. He takes a shuddering breath, wiping his cheek.
“I-I shouldn’t have.”
Harry’s knees hit the floor. He curls in on himself with a loud, wrenching moan of pain, and Kim knows he is the one responsible for it and his own breaths are shaking and he hates this.
Kim hates talking about feelings.
Kim hates feeling feelings.
But he can’t stop now, he has to undo the damage he’s done.
Kim goes to the floor as well, pulling Harry into his chest despite his struggling against him weakly.
“I'm just a mistake. A bad one,” he whispers, shuddering with miserable sobs. "Every one I touch regrets it."
Kim wasn't sure what exactly had happened between Dora and Harry, but he was certain he was seeing some of the damage here. Kim pulls Harry in tighter, holding him fiercely so he can't move away.
“Listen. Listen to me. That is not what I meant, Harrier,” he tells him gently. “I mean I should not have been so familier before we could discussed what would happen next. I am not saying ‘never.’ I am not saying ‘I do not love you.’ Harry,” he forces out sternly, grabbing his chin and raising it so that Harry has to look into his eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Harry mumbles, but his voice is dull, lifeless. It scares Kim a bit.
Is this what he looked like when Dora told him she was leaving?
Was this why she left? Could she not deal with the pure, concentrated force of Harry’s earnestness?
Well. Kim has no intentions of leaving, he just needs some sort of structure, some sort of rules. He doesn’t want this to impact their careers, but at the same time he desperately wants to be with this ridiculous, passionate man who is crying softly in his arms. They’ll figure it out. He strokes Harry’s back, rubbing soothing circles over the muscle there and then bumping their foreheads together affectionately.
“We have been having this discussion for hours. We should go to sleep. We don’t have to decide now,” Kim points out, though he hates leaving important things unfinished. “We just have to make it through the day tomorrow, then we can talk about it again.”
“I’ll cmp mmhh jub,” Harry mumbles into Kim’s chest, sniffling wetly.
“What?”
Harry looks up, his expression uncharacteristically stoic.
“I’ll quit my job. I’ll stop working at the RCM, go somewhere else. Then we won’t be co-workers. Maybe I’ll go be a gym coach again, or bag groceries at Frittte or… or something. Anything, Kim.”
Kim rubs his thumb along Harry’s bottom lip and sighs.
“Let’s get some sleep, Harry.”
-
Eight a.m. Monday morning arrives sooner than either of them can stand. They had spent nearly the entire weekend making love. They touched, and caressed, and traced one another’s flesh, having found in one another all the things that no one else could ever give them.
But then they argued.
And now eight a.m. Monday morning has arrived.
They have ridden the bus to work together, quiet, unsure.
There are dark circles under Harry’s eyes.
There are blotches of purple lovebites along Kim’s collarbone, only just concealed by his shirt and jacket.
They walk just a little too close together, move just a little too comfortably next to one another.
They know, Kim thinks as a few officers smile at him, greeting him on his first day with the 41st.
Harry takes Kim’s hand under the pretense of asking what happened to it when Jean walks by, giving them a suspicious look when he notices them standing too close. Harry wrapped Kim’s injured hand again for him before they came to work, kissed each knuckle, bound his fingers carefully as though each is precious.
Kim meets his eye and there is glittering mischief there.
Oh.
Oh no.
What is he planning?
“Hey, Captain Pryce!” Harry hollers across the bullpen milling with officers of the RCM. In his office, Pryce doesn’t look up from the paperwork he’s going over.
“The hell is it, du Bois?” he asks, voice raised but tone bored.
“Is there a form I can fill out so I can date another officer or do I have to quit?”
Oh shit. Harry was serious about that. Kim feels his whole body go rigid and he knows he'll pay for it later - he froze so abruptly he's pretty sure he pulled something in his back.
Nearby, Jean Vicquemare watches with an unreadable expression, his gaze pointed directly at Kim.
Kim wants the ground to rise up and swallow him. His ears must be the color of fuel oil. He cannot even bring himself to look at Harry, but he notices that no one seems to have batted an eye at Harry’s yelling. This must be the norm in the 41st. It occurs to Kim for the first time that the 41st may be an entirely different experience from the more uptight 57th. It might explain why Harry had never been fired and had been, instead, promoted because weird behaviors be damned, the man gets results and he does it with a modicum of bloodshed.
The worry in Kim’s chest uncoils just slightly.
In his office, Pryce heaves a sigh.
“Get in here, du Bois. And bring whatever unfortunate schmuck you’ve managed to trick into thinking you’re a functional human being.”
Kim thinks his ears might throw a blood clot at the rate they are reddening. He thinks maybe he is actually blushing this time. He thinks perhaps he has been lit on fire as Harry takes his hand and drags him toward the office of the legendary Captain Ptolemaios Pryce.
“Oh, Kitsuragi,” Pryce greets, eyebrows raising, sounding half way to amused. “I thought it’d be Vicquemare. Anyway.” He sighs and leans back in his office chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks Kim over. “Have a seat.” He waits for both of them to do so before he points at Harry and asks Kim, “Is this why you transferred?”
“Erm, no, sir, I truly do wish to work with the 41st. Your reputation is legendary and I understand that there are many opportunities for advancement. I know this may seem unprofessional,” Kim says, feeling like he can’t stop talking, like there aren’t enough words in the world to explain to this man who he admires and respects that he is not just some love struck idiot who transferred to be with his boyfriend. “I had not decided how to broach the situation, but I am willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor du Bois’ and my continued success within the RCM. If I need to transfer back to the 57th, or perhaps work in a different task force, I am more than will–”
Pryce cuts him off sharply with a raised hand.
“Alright, alright, I just had to ask.” His gaze flicks to Harry. “Seriously? Our new recruit?”
Harry has the decency to look sheepish.
“You’re a bad influence,” Pryce tells him, pulling a form out from his desk drawer.
“And he’s a good one,” Harry answers, jutting a thumb toward Kim and beaming at him. Kim is seething with rage, wants to berate him for making such a scene, for outing them like this, but he can’t bring himself to be gruff or aloof in this moment. Instead, he lets his uninjured hand fall between their chairs and their pinkies lock together, Harry squeezing his affectionately.
They have fallen in love over the weekend.
Eight a.m. Monday morning means nothing anymore.
-
That evening, when it is time to go home, Harry approaches Kim, a bit hesitant now.
“Hey,” he greets, scrubbing a hand at the back of his head and smiling nervously. They had not spent much of the day together. Kim had been busy with a mountain of paperwork regarding his transfer, and he’d had to add one more form – Declaration of Personal Relationship with Fellow Officer. There had been half a dozen things to check mark – same precinct, check, same unit, check, partners… he’d had to pause, stepping into Pryce’s office when the man wasn’t busy on the phone…
“What is it, Kitsuragi?” Pryce had asked, not impatient, but clearly distracted.
“Sir, the form asks whether or not Harry is my partner, and I, erm, I was uncertain if…”
Pryce looked up at him seriously.
“Can you handle him being shot in front of you?” Kim flinched. He had done it before, he could do it again.
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm. Are you willing to make him choose between your safety and his own every single day? It wears on a man.” Kim swallowed.
“I–”
“Kitsuragi, we have to make tough decisions every damn day. The decisions only get harder. It’s not actually my job to comment on whether or not I think the two of you can hack it as partners. You two are the only ones who know that. That said, I’ve never seen a more loyal man than du Bois, at least when he’s not strung out on drugs. And he hasn’t been since you showed up. You take that however you like. If you want to be his partner, be his partner. If not, then don’t. The 41st is going to be getting a new Kineema in a few weeks because of you and that…bonehead. As far as I’m concerned, you can do whatever the hell you want, Lieutenant. Is that all?”
“Yes. Yes, sir.”
“Kim?” Harry’s voice pulls him from his reverie. “Are you mad at me?”
Kim chuffs an annoyed sound and pulls out a cigarette as they walk out of the precinct and to the nearby bus stop.
“I am furious.”
Harry sinks his hands into his pockets.
“I’m sorry.”
“No,” Kim blows smoke out of his nose and looks at Harry sternly, “you’re not. Not yet.” They stand in silence after that, Harry fidgeting. Kim finishes his cigarette just as the bus pulls up. They stand next to one another, but are still distant. Kim is angry. He is practically vibrating with rage. Harry starts to get off at the stop that will take him to his apartment, but Kim grabs his wrist, holds him on the bus so he can’t escape. Harry smirks. Kim thinks maybe Harry wouldn’t be if he knew what he had coming.
They finally make their way up the four flights of stairs, and Kim unlocks his apartment door with practiced ease, only half-listening to Harry who is now chattering away about his day. He seems to think that Kim allowing him to come to his apartment means that everything is perfectly fine.
As soon as the door is closed, Kim grabs Harry by the lapels and turns him, flinging him backwards so his shoulder blades hit the door hard enough to rattle the pictures on the walls.
“What you did was very bad.”
Kim's fingers are gripping the cheap material of Harry's suit jacket and Harry has tucked his chin against his neck protectively, staring down at him, face paling. His happy expression has wilted, giving him the visage of a profoundly sad bloodhound.
“Kim, I was just, I thought that–”
“Enough. I don’t want to hear it.” Kim changed his demeanor, relaxing slightly. “I want you to show me how sorry you really are. Your punishment depends upon how well you do.” Harry smirks again, clearly relieved. He shouldn’t be.
Harry waggles his brows.
“What did you have in mind, lover?” He says it with such robust and absurd lasciviousness that Kim has to bite back laughter, clenching his jaw hard, but he knows the crinkling of the crow’s feet around his eyes is giving him away. It makes him even angrier. His gloves squeak as he clenches his fists.
“Strip. And kiss my boots.” Harry is already half-way out of his shirt when Kim adds, “If anything gets to be too much, say ‘phasmid.’” He can’t help a bit of whimsy when he’s with this ridiculous man.
Harry gets down on his knees to kiss Kim’s boots, but Kim stops him long enough to slide his tie back around his neck to leash him, pulling it tight.
“Down,” he orders, and Harry obeys, kissing his boots and grovelling. “Good dog.” Kim grabs himself through his pants, unbuttoning them and pulling his cock out. Harry is looking up at him, mouth open with excitement. Kim cups his chin, dipping his gloved thumb past Harry’s lips to pin his overactive tongue in place. Kim slings his leg over Harry's shoulder, forcing him to carry most of his weight. “Show me how sorry you are. Suck.” He shoves the head of his cock into Harry’s mouth, but he hardly needed to, Harry was already reaching for it with greedy lips. Kim is only half-hard, but that changes quickly. Harry grabs his hips, slurping and moaning, working up saliva in his mouth as his tongue runs rhythms over the bottom of Kim’s dick. He starts to pull back, but Kim uses the moment to shove his hips forward, gagging Harry on his cock.
Harry’s eyes are watering as he looks up.
“I will admit, I did not know the 41st was so much more casual about this than the 57th,” Kim tells him a little shakily, arousal sending adrenaline through him, making his knees weak, “but it doesn't mean I'm not still enraged that you did that, Harry. Don't you ever do something like that again without talking to me first, or we're done.”
Harry moans fretfully at that, glucking and gagging as Kim holds the back of his head, not allowing him relief from his cock pushing down his throat. Kim’s fingers tangle in Harry’s long hair, pulling him forward and his other hand tugs on the tie, pulling him up. Harry whimpers, choking until he finally pats Kim’s thigh – a tap out. Kim releases him immediately, moves his leg and pulls him up for a wet kiss.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you, I thought you knew there was a form for it, I thought you were just trying to get rid of me–”
Kim shoves him down to interrupt the babbling stream of explanation, forcing Harry back to his knees and then pushing his cock into his mouth again.
“Then perhaps, in future, we should work on our communication skills. You tell me that you are feeling abandoned,” he thrusts his hips forward hard with a strained grunt, making Harry gurgle around him, “or that you’re unsure if I want to be with you. Don’t,” he punctuated this with another mean thrust, and Harry coughs around him, “assume the worst without asking. Khm. My career is important to me, you knew that. And yet you placed it in jeopardy today, without my consent.” He grabbed Harry’s chin, pulling his hips back slightly to give Harry relief. “And I will not tolerate things being done without consent. Am I understood?”
Kim allows his cock to fall from Harry’s mouth.
“Yes, yes, I understand,” Harry wheezes, coughing and wiping a gob of drool off his chin with his arm.
“Good. Now come.” He tugs Harry’s tie and the bigger man follows on his hands and knees, allowing himself to be pulled up onto the bed. “Bend over.”
Kim helps Harry arrange himself with his ass in the air, then he pulls his belt off, letting the buckle jingle for dramatic effect. Harry glances over his shoulder, looking uncertain again. Kim knows he is experiencing a roller coaster of emotions, trying to figure out if Kim is actually furious with him, or just a bit annoyed. Keeping Harry on his toes is half the fun.
“Kim?”
“I said I was going to punish you. I’ve told you before you won’t like it. So. Now I am going to spank you. You have your safety word. Repeat it back to me.”
“‘Phasmid,’” Harry says, voice subdued. Kim raises his chin imperiously.
“Good. I think you’ve done well enough. Ten should be more than adequate.”
“Oh, ten’s not bad,” mutters Harry, wiggling his ass in the air. Kim raises a brow and he stills.
Taking his time, making a show of it, Kim strips off his orange jacket, hanging it neatly on the back of a nearby chair. He pulls off his gloves and adjusts his glasses. Then, he steps behind and just to the side of Harry’s bent over form. He puts one hand on Harry’s ass, and then lifts his folded belt with the other.
THWAP!
“Oh fuck!” Harry cries, head thrown back. Before he has a chance to recover, Kim swings it again, then again, then again and again and he can hear Harry crying, but he’s moaning too, begging, “More, more, punish me,” like the masochist Kim knew he was and they are both enjoying this despite its utilitarian function: to remind Harry not to do stupid shit like what he pulled this morning. He won’t be able to sit comfortably tonight, Kim knows, and it’s why he intends to take him out for dinner after this – make him squirm in public, make him gasp and huff while trying to sit still, tell him that if he can't be still he'll get more when they get home...
Kim swings a final, tenth time and watches Harry, who is a sobbing mess on the bed, the sheets fisted in his hands, his knuckles white. Welts are beginning to raise in neat, evenly placed lines across Harry’s ass and the backs of his thighs. Kim kisses his hip and looks down at the bedspread. There is a wet stain across it.
“Harry,” he says evenly, disappointed, but also pleasantly surprised.
“Don’t be mad, don’t be mad, please Kim, please,” Harry is begging, but Kim is busy collecting himself because holy shit, no one has ever come for him like that and it sends a twitch of arousal through his neglected erection.
“I didn’t even touch you,” he breathes.
“Yes, you fucking did, you spanked me,” Harry points out, a little indignant. Kim chuckles lowly.
“Come here.” He drags Harry to the edge of the bed after he pours some lube into his hand. Carefully, he slides his cock between Harry’s thighs, using his belt to bind Harry’s knees together. The head of his cock slides against Harry’s balls and the other man moans deep in his throat. Kim only has to make a few short, fast thrusts between Harry’s welted thighs and then he’s coming too with a hard breath, his hands tracing over the marks he had left, making Harry whimper and gasp.
“I’m sorry,” Harry murmurs again and Kim climbs onto the bed with him after kicking off his boots, kisses him.
“You’re forgiven.”
-
Two left turns and a right off the main avenue in the seediest, poorest part of Clémence-sur-Vermillon there is a large, olive green warehouse.
Inside, undercover RCM officers are dancing.
Kim is wearing a black vest covered in turquoise feathers with nothing under it. He has taken the time to carefully draw constellations jutting off the edges of his sharp black eyeliner and has anointed his eyelids with metallic turquoise shadow to match his vest. His herringbone patterned charcoal pants fit him loosely around the thighs and look stately with his cognac leather boots, which are laced up to his calves, pants tucked in to make him appear larger than he actually is.
Harry is behind him, and looks marginally more put together than usual mostly because he allowed Kim to dress him. He sports a mauve paisley-printed shirt with navy suspenders that are holding up khaki slacks. He’s got on his green alligator skin shoes because Kim couldn’t persuade him otherwise and his lips are shining with glittery pink lip gloss. Behind star-shaped yellow glasses, rose-colored eyeshadow and navy blue eyeliner has been expertly applied to his face by Kim. His hair has been pulled back into a neat bun. Harry pulls Kim in close as they dance amid the churning crowd of faceless, nameless strangers all moving together in time. His lips are next to his ear and Kim feels more than hears his heavy breathing; it raises the hairs on the back of his neck.
“You’re the hottest fucking thing in here,” Harry growls. Kim smirks, knows it’s a lie, but it’s nice to hear. Harry thinks he’s the hottest, coolest, most interesting person in the world when the truth is he’s just a quiet, confident man who reads way more science fiction than a normal person and likes working on cars. Still, it’s nice to be seen as something more than he is, it’s nice to be known and appreciated despite the knowing.
Kim grinds his ass into Harry’s hips, running his hands down himself, over the soft feathers on his vest, feeling Harry grab his pelvis, pressing a hard length against his left ass cheek through layers of material. He looks over his shoulder, pulls away so he can turn and whisper up into Harry’s ear,
“Want me to suck you off in some dark corner like we’re teenagers?”
“Oh fuck yes.” Kim takes his hand, leading him to an out-of-the-way corner of the warehouse where they won’t be seen. Kim takes Harry in his mouth, keeping his head close to his hips, working him fast with his mouth, moaning and humming around him, meeting his eyes with mischief. This is not what they are here for, but why not? Why not enjoy himself with his partner now that he’s got an opportunity?
“Are you fucking kidding me?” hollers an irritated voice and both Harry and Kim jump into action to hide what they’re doing.
Jean Vicquemare is dressed in a collared black see-through shirt and dark, tight-fitting jeans with polished black riding boots. He categorically refused to allow Kim to put makeup on him and he still looks an awful lot like a cop despite his outfit. He appears perpetually exhausted, but more so than usual tonight. Kim notes with amusement, however, that there is a large, fresh hickey on the side of Jean’s throat, so this evening can’t have been all bad for him.
Wiping his mouth, Kim tries to regain some semblance of professionalism, glad that Jean is such an understanding work friend, and that he was willing to help them find the asshole who roofied Harry.
Jean seemed genuinely relieved that he no longer has to bear the emotional burden of holding Harry up anymore now that Kim is with him. He was happy to be able to assist with something manageable and more closely resembling actual police work than preventing Harry from drowning in a toilet or taking his clothes off in public during a bender. He and Kim had formed a careful, hesitant friendship built on venting about Harry’s relentless nonsense to one another.
Jean huffs an irritated noise at them, crinkling his face with distaste as Harry turns away to tuck himself back in his pants. Kim gets the feeling this is far from the first time Jean has seen Harry's erect penis.
“Ugh. You two were made for each other,” Jean observes dryly. “I’ve been looking for you. Our perp is over by the bar right now. Come on.”
A few minutes later, a blonde man is walked out of the club in handcuffs, cursing and raving. Jean excuses himself stiffly, the job done. He climbs up on his horse, shivering in the cold night air despite pulling on his RCM-issued overcoat.
“Good night, Jean!” Harry calls.
“Good riddance, tête de noeud!” With that, Jean lights a cigarette and nudges his horse forward, saluting Kim as he goes.
Kim and Harry climb into the front seat of the Kineema after shoving their suspect into the back. Kim drives. Harry traces his finger across the back of the his glove where it rests on the gear lever, a promise of what they’ll be finishing later.
-
They make it work.
They watch one another’s backs, partners in more than one manner.
Only a few months later, they move in together.
They try to keep their relationship a secret from most of the other officers in the 41st but everyone knows and no one really cares, especially since Harry is actually functional with Kim around.
Eight a.m. comes every Monday morning, and satellite officer Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi and Lieutenant double-yefreitor Harry du Bois press a brief, sacred kiss to one another’s lips before getting off the bus and then walk side-by-side into the old silk mill that houses precinct 41.
At work, they let the backs of their hands collide while listening to witnesses speak. One guards the crime scene as the other takes copious notes. They brush shoulders while inspecting bodies and they sit on one another’s desks to discuss theories and go over details. They do this every day until it is time to go home.
Then they fall in love, again and again, over the weekend.