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Harry wasn't sure how he ended up in Dan's apartment, though he was pretty sure he knew why.
Absolute certainty right now was hard to come by. First of all, he was drunk. Oh, not so drunk that he didn't know which way was up, but drunk enough to be hazy on some of the events of the evening. He thought Bull might have composed an ode to Dan's beard, the scansion marred a little by the occasional beer belch. It's possible Christine never completely stopped crying. And it's better than even odds Harry spent the two hours at the bar repeatedly trying to reassure himself that he wasn't dreaming.
Embarrassingly, he'd done this by putting his hands on Dan every chance he got. And when he'd noticed it and tried to get a hold of himself, he'd still ended up watching Dan like he would disappear if Harry so much as blinked. But even after several hours of indisputable evidence that Dan was present and accounted for, Harry was no closer to peace. There was an itch under his skin he couldn't name, didn't want to name, and maybe, just maybe if Dan didn't stink like five fish processing plants in the hot August sun, he'd –
No. He wouldn't.
Harry liked to think he was in touch with himself; that's how he could admit he'd thought about it, sure. There'd been plenty of times he'd found other guys attractive in an aesthetic kind of way, and a handful of times he'd wondered what it would be like to do more than look. He never had, though, partly because he'd always preferred women, and partly because the career path he had mapped out for himself made it impossible to live his life that way, at least honestly. And Harry refused to live with anything less than complete honesty.
The hell of it was, Harry'd always had a savior complex, and Dan Fielding brought it out more than anyone he'd ever known. From the day they'd met, Harry had been trying to bust through that callous outer shell and help Dan to believe the man underneath could be something better. It'd paid off: these days Harry thought Dan was closer than he'd ever been to happiness. Harry liked to think he'd played a small part in that, along with Mac, Bull, Christine and Roz. It was one of the things he was proudest of.
But since Dan had quit being such a – well, such an unremitting bastard – every waking minute of the day, it'd been getting harder for Harry to keep himself from wondering what it might be like to do more than look. Not that there was any point in that, he reminded himself. It was still as impossible as it had been back when he landed his first job as a public defender. And although Dan returned his platonic gestures of affection in ways that still surprised him, Harry wasn't under any illusions that Dan's rampant womanizing was an overcompensation for anything. There was no reason to believe that Dan was anything but straight.
Of course, that didn't stop Harry from nearly making a total fool of himself a few hours ago. And he wasn't showing any sign of breaking this newly acquired habit, sitting there on Dan's couch while Dan was in the shower scrubbing the evidence of his ordeal off his skin. Harry knew he should leave, but for some reason he couldn't make himself get up, couldn't make his feet move. Grief and its sudden, shocking abatement had exhausted him, and he couldn't bring himself to let go of Dan quite yet.
It was a consolation that Dan didn't seem any more willing to part with him. In fact, Harry thought Dan had been the one who suggested he come back to Dan's apartment, but there were whisky-flavored gaps in his memory. For all he knew, he'd followed Dan home like a stray puppy.
Harry ran a hand over his face. Where the hell was his hat? He should –
“Well, it look a while, but I think I might just smell vaguely human again.”
Harry started and twisted to look over the back of the couch. Dan was standing just outside the door to the bathroom, his face clean shaven and a towel wrapped around his waist, revealing what seemed like miles of winter-pale skin. While he'd always had a certain solidity to his frame that Harry liked, the years had added a few extra pounds. His time in the Reserves has clearly turned most of that to muscle, and dear God, Harry had to stop staring.
Springing to his feet, Harry attempted a smile that he knew would look fake as hell. “Good to hear it. Because I was worried you were gonna need that belt sander after all.”
Dan chuckled as he stroked his chin. “That would have made shaving easier. It feels like I took a machete to my face.”
Stepping closer, Harry peered at Dan, hoping his interest would come across as clinical. “I can see the evidence. You must be scraped raw.”
“Yeah,” Dan conceded, “but I was pretty eager to –”
His words cut off abruptly, whatever he was about to say dying in his throat when Harry touched a place on his neck where the razor clearly hadn't done its job. There was a sandpaper roughness under Harry's fingertips, and he knew this was a mistake of epic proportions but he couldn't make himself stop.
“You, uh,” he managed, his own throat suddenly tight, “you missed a spot here.” He trailed his thumb a couple of inches to the left, and the reassuring thud of Dan's pulse hit him like a one-two punch to the gut.
Dan swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed under Harry's fingers. Harry jerked his hand away as though he'd been touching a red-hot stove and started to turn without meeting Dan's gaze. “Listen, I should let you get some rest,” he said. “I'll, uh, call a taxi, and –”
“You just got here,” Dan murmured, his own hand catching Harry by the wrist to keep him from fleeing. Harry risked a glance at Dan's face and wished he hadn't, because Dan was far too close. “And I've removed the grounds for your primary objection.”
Harry's heart cartwheeled in his chest.
You really – you really stink. Harry had pushed Dan away with those words, Dan chuckling at the insult. Harry thought he'd gotten away with it, that Dan hadn't noticed Harry had been about six inches and five seconds from kissing him.
In retrospect, he'd probably thought wrong.
“Are you, uh,” Harry said slowly. “But you don't. I mean, you've never.”
Dan smiled with feral smugness, clearly enjoying Harry's tongue-tied state far too much, and Harry, to his mortification, went slightly weak at the knees. It was ridiculous considering that his knees, not to mention the rest of him, were pushing forty.
“You're right. I don't. And I've never,” Dan admitted, cocking his head slightly as though he were working out the mystery of Harry Stone. “But that doesn't mean I've never considered the possibility.” He cleared his throat, and for a moment Harry picked up on a flash of nervousness. “What about you?”
“Same,” Harry managed. “It's – never been a good idea.”
Dan's eyebrows shot up. “I have news for you, Harry. It's still not.” That startled a quick laugh out of Harry, and for a moment they both grinned at one another goofily. Sobering, Dan raised his other hand to curve possessively around the back of Harry's neck, and Harry sucked in a shocked breath at the contact. “But maybe this is the night I don't care anymore.”
“Dan...”
“Nobody,” Dan said heatedly, “has ever looked at me the way you do. Did you know that? I have been searching for years for a woman who would look at me in exactly the way you're doing right now, and tonight I have literally returned from the dead and realized that maybe –” he swept his thumb over the knobs of Harry's spine, making him shiver “– I've been searching for something I could've had all along.”
And that was when the voice in Harry's head finally quit screaming at him, or at least it was when he quit listening. He put his hands on Dan's bare chest and slid his palms up to his shoulders, satisfied at the way Dan's eyes widened at the contact. “When I thought you were gone –” He blew out a breath, watched his fingers digging into warm muscle. “The regret walloped me hard. I didn't expect that. And then when you were here and you were alive, it made me crazy. Made me want to take chances I shouldn't, because living with the regret had been a lot worse.” He looked up, trying not to appear as terrified as he felt.
Dan held his gaze for a long moment. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and Harry saw that familiar determined look in Dan's eyes that always appeared right before he was about to bust out of that shell, take the risk of exposing his heart to the world. Harry loved that look, always had.
“Here's hoping you're still at least a little bit crazy,” Dan growled, just before he closed the last few inches between them.
If there was one thing the last week had taught Dan, it was that life could be full of surprises.
But then maybe it wasn't all that surprising that sex with Harry was full of laughter and a long-ago memory of blushing innocence. Oh, and elbows in all the wrong places.
“Ow!”
“Sorry,” Harry said for the fifteenth time. “It's just that – there's a lot of you.”
Dan waggled his eyebrows. “You say the sweetest things.”
“Funny,” Harry drawled. “but I mean that I've never been with someone who takes up this much space in bed.” Harry shoved at Dan's leg, which was still splayed, making it a bit of a gymnastics maneuver for Harry to manage what he was attempting. “You could help a little.”
Dan locked his hands behind his head, looking up at Harry with a smirk. “It's more fun to watch you trip over yourself.”
“Great, then you won't mind when I knee you in the groin.”
“Moving,” Dan said hastily, rearranging his limbs so that Harry could straddle him more easily. When Harry had successfully completed his maneuver, Dan let his gaze travel appreciatively up the long line of Harry's body.
“Hey,” Harry murmured, “my eyes are up here.”
Dan's hands closed over Harry's hips, adjusting the way he fit in Dan's lap until Harry's eyes fluttered shut. Bingo.
“If you didn't want to be objectified, you picked the wrong guy,” Dan retorted, then blinked. There was more bite in it than he'd intended.
Harry studied him for a moment, seeing right through him the way he always had, then leaned forward and ran his fingers over Dan's cheek. “Is that what you're doing?”
Dan's answer was to surge up and catch Harry's mouth in a hard, filthy kiss. Harry melted into it, burying his hand in Dan's hair, pressing closer. Dan had no idea what he'd been expecting, but considering their past sexual histories and personal rivalries, a battle for dominance hadn't been out of the question. Instead, he and Harry seemed to trade off effortlessly, ceding control and taking it back in a perfectly timed dance.
It was hot as hell, Dan realized as Harry bit down gently but insistently on Dan's lower lip in the same moment he wrapped his other hand around Dan's cock.
“Hng,” Dan managed, and Harry broke the kiss to gasp, “You gotta tell me if this is – okay, or –”
“It's okay, it's terrific, it's goddamned sensational,” Dan gushed, and wonderful, now he was the one babbling like a horny teenager. Thankfully, Harry went back to kissing him, conveniently shutting him up, and after a minute or so Dan scraped together just enough brain cells to return the favor, until they were both breathless and straining.
Harry's head fell forward to rest on Dan's shoulder. “Oh. Oh, wow.” His hips, which had been thrusting steadily, suddenly stilled, and Dan realized Harry was watching himself come all over Dan's fist and fuck, fuck -
“Harry,” Dan ground out. Harry's hand tightened on him briefly, and his teeth grazed Dan's collarbone, and that was all it took. And then Dan was falling back, exhausted in every possible way, Harry following him down, a warm blanket of soft, chaste kisses and murmured endearments that lulled Dan to sleep in about six seconds flat.
Harry awoke to an empty bed.
It wasn't much of a shock, but it was surprisingly disappointing. Harry had hoped – well. To tell the truth, he hadn't gotten that far. For once, he hadn't given a single thought to the consequences or even the morning after, and while he might have regrets later, they hadn't managed to creep up on him yet.
Either way, there was no sense in lying around here any longer; it would only be awkward if Dan returned before Harry left. As it stood, they still had the chance to pretend this never happened and hope they could go back to the way things had been. Reaching his arms over his head, Harry stretched, wincing as a muscle or two protested the action. He rolled to his side, then nearly fell off the bed at the sight of Dan leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed. He was wearing one of his silk dressing gowns and a small, private smile.
“Oh,” Harry said stupidly. “I thought you'd –”
“Worked myself into a gay panic and run screaming into the night?” Dan drawled.
Harry propped himself up on an elbow. “No, of course not.” Dan raised his eyebrows. “Maybe.” They climbed higher. “Fine, it did – cross my mind.”
“O ye of little faith,” Dan said, placing a hand over his heart. “I'm hurt, truly.”
Harry rolled his eyes as he moved to sit up. “Dan, up until last night you had the longest running heterosexual streak since Casanova. You can't blame me for assuming you might've had second thoughts.”
Dan tipped his chin down, his gaze turning predatory. “Trust me when I say that the only thought in my head right now is how good you look in my bed.”
Harry snorted. “I've been watching you practice your sleazy seduction techniques for years. They won't work on me.”
“Then why are you blushing?” Dan asked, smirking as he pushed himself off the door frame and walked toward the bed.
“M'not,” Harry groused, folding his arms.
Dan dropped to his knees beside the bed and trailed a finger down Harry's chest. “You are. All over.”
Harry squirmed when Dan reached his belly. “Oho!” Dan crowed. “Ticklish, are we?” His hands were suddenly everywhere, and in spite of a valiant attempt to retaliate, Harry ended up on his back, Dan on top of him. Harry's giddy, helpless laughter trailed off abruptly when Dan pinned his wrists to the bed and leaned in close.
“Listen,” Dan said earnestly, “to me. I'm not going to panic. I'm not going to disappear. And I'm not ever going to lie to you to get you into bed. I'm trying to tell you how you make me feel.” He paused, then leaned in until their lips were almost touching. “Harry, you make me feel.”
Harry could only stare up at him, his heart in his throat.
Dan freed Harry's wrists and moved away to sit on the edge of the bed and glare at the floor. “And honestly? There is a part of me that's panicking, but not for the reason you think. Take it from me, it's easy to go through life as Pinocchio. Being a real boy is scary as hell.” He turned to look at Harry. “But I can't change back now.”
Cautiously, Harry moved to sit beside him. “Does that make me Jiminy Cricket?”
“No, that makes you the dweeb who walked out of an Andy Hardy movie and into my life six years ago,” Dan said.
“Hey!”
“I'm not saying it was a bad thing, am I?” Dan leaned closer, his gaze dipping to Harry's mouth. “As it happens, I've developed a soft spot for old-fashioned idealists who don't have a clue that fedoras will never, ever come back in fashion.”
“Just because you'd look like a porcupine wearing a seat cushion doesn't mean that the rest of – mmmph,” Harry said, because Dan was kissing him. Not that he minded: given the choice, he'd take kissing Dan over arguing about hats any day.
He knew that eventually they'd have to figure out what the hell they were going to do when they left this room, but for now, this was enough.
This was more than enough.