Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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. The paint has peeled, pulling away from metal and wood slats like an old lover. Along one side of the building, patchwork whitewash reads “Expédier et Recevoir. Porte Arrière Seulement.” The building, which had been abandoned for years after the last skirmish, had been purchased two decades previous by a wealthy businessman who specialized in clothing, sailing materials and furrier works. Instead of using the warehouse to expand production into an area of the poorest working class where wages could be kept low and hours long, the owner had leased the space to a club owner. All records for the business described it as a repository for sail cloth run by Rideau Enterprises, but in actuality, it was known both by its fans and its detractors by the name slowly peeling from its long, street-facing wall: “Porte Arrière Seulement” – that is “Back Door Only.”

Only a small subset of people knew of this place before homosexuality was legalized only a few years previous. Before legalization, visitors would be met with a gruff employee who would ask “Do you have a delivery?” via a sliding window in the large metal door leading inside.

Those who answered “May I bring it around back for Peverell?” were let in to a large area where music was played. Dances were held here, and drinks were poured generously. It was a safe space for members of the homosexual underground to congregate safely, to dance with their partners or to find new romantic possibilities. Recent renovations had added an outdoor balcony that sagged into a dingy courtyard, and an indoor balcony that overlooked the main dance floor. It was still mostly frequented by the outliers of society, but a few brave souls who did not fit the intended demographic also visited there for the heavily-poured drinks, loud music and areas of the building where no one cared what sort of debauchery a person got up to.

Inside, Kim Kitsuragi was dancing.

He ran his hands over his netted shirt, sighing as his fingers splayed across his stomach, down to the tight faux leather pants he was already sweating in. Music pounded through his chest, bass notes setting the pace of his heartbeat as his eyes dilated, bright lights flicking through the club in time with the lurid lyrics booming from the speakers. Another man was behind him, pressing his body against him and he allowed it, turning his head to the side so he could get a glimpse of the stranger. He was taller than Kim, wider, lighter skinned with blonde hair. His paisley shirt failed to conceal a hint of belly, but Kim didn’t mind; he liked bigger, huskier men that made him feel small.

The music changed, turning to an even more erotic beat than before, sending a streak of lust through his usual self-control. He was indulging his wants tonight. This club was a safe place, somewhere he could cut loose and enjoy himself, somewhere far from Precinct 57. It was not the type of club that would appeal to his co-workers.

The man behind him put his hands on Kim’s hips, pulling him backwards to grind into him, and Kim obliged, looking back at him, putting his own hands on his knees so he could bend down gracefully and then pull himself back up, letting his mouth hang open slightly in what he hoped was an alluring expression. The larger man coaxed him back to his chest, running a hand up his side, over to his neck, leaning in.

“I fuckin’ love your outfit,” he said in a much more tenor voice than Kim had been expecting given the man’s size.

“Thank you,” he said back politely. He knew he looked good, he didn’t need to pretend he didn’t. His netted shirt was a dark purple, torn in a strategic way to expose his navel, and both points of his narrow hips. It was tucked down into his pants, which were black, shiny faux leather that extenuated his leanness. The stranger ran his hand down to Kim’s ass, groaning into his ear as he danced against him. Kim could feel the hardness in the stranger’s jeans. It was not what he wanted, if he was being honest. Sure, this was a club, but he still wanted to be wooed, not groped.

Pulling away, he turned and looked at the stranger. The man grinned widely, showing large teeth that glowed purple in the black lights and flashing strobes of the club. His eyes were completely dilated, his hazel irises a dull ring around his expansive pupil. He was high, probably on speed. Kim kept his face neutral, but put more distance between them.

“This was fun. Thank you.”

“Wait,” the man said, grabbing at his wrist. Kim raised one perfectly kohl-darkened brow. The man released him instantly. “I thought things were going…”

“Too fast,” Kim told him, speaking loudly to be heard over the music. “Have a good evening.”

“Stop, stop for a second, wait, let me buy you a drink,” the man insisted, pawing at Kim’s shoulder. Kim whirled.

“No. I am not interested. Go dance with someone else.” He stared the man down, willing him to leave him alone.

A racial slur poured out of the man’s mouth with too much ease, a knee jerk response.

Kim’s jaw ticked, but he forced himself not to respond, not to react. Instead, he turned away, pressing into the hot crush of bodies, turning and pivoting to gracefully flow through the warm press of humanity that sighed and gasped and grunted as he pushed through. He’d rather lose that stranger’s gaze. He crossed the club, but still felt like the man’s blown pupils were staring a hot line between his shoulder blades. He shuddered, and shook the sensation.

Making his way to the bar, he leaned his hip against one of the stools and waited to be noticed.

The bartender was wearing a brilliant green bow tie that made him think fondly of Harry.

“What can I get you?” They asked with a broad smile; their lips were panted green to match their tie, their jawline touched with viridescent and gold glitter in the shape of a chinstrap beard.

“Vodka soda with lime, please,” he said. “I have a tab open – Kitsuragi.”

“I’ve gotcha. One sec.” The bartender smiled at him, flipping the bottle in a fancy maneuver that was impressive and practiced. They flourished the shaker and smiled at him with wide lips, their tongue visible with a cleverly-placed piercing as they spoke. “Come here often?”

“Occasionally. Not frequently.”

“You should come on Fridays. We have a drag show. Hey, and I like your glasses.”

Kim adjusted them self-consciously and gave a small, closed-mouthed smile.

“Thank you.” He knew better than to think the bartender was actually interested in him. Friendly conversation probably made for big tips. He accepted his drink and took a sip, looking out over the crowd. There were easily two hundred people crammed down on the main dance floor, most of them dressed in either fluorescent colors that would glow under the lights, or dark colors that made their skin and makeup stand out starkly.

“How do you like it?” the bartender asked, gesturing with their dish towel at Kim’s drink.

“It’s good,” Kim responded, amused to find that the drink was nearly pure liquor with the barest splash of soda. The bartender grinned.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

Smoke flowed out of machines off the upper balconies, giving substance to the laser lights. Most of the dancers were in their twenties or thirties, but there were a few men and women his age enjoying themselves. He felt his ears burn as one of the flickering lights revealed someone sucking off their partner on the edge of the dance floor. He wasn’t a cop tonight, it was none of his business. Plus, no one else seemed to notice or care. He finished his drink, feeling more relaxed. He had a few friends here at the club tonight, but they had paired off or otherwise vanished.

Pressing past yet more lithe, gyrating bodies, he made his way into the bathroom. From behind his glasses, his kohl-lined eyes looked back at him a bit unfocused. He was buzzed. Tonight was a celebration of himself. He wanted to find someone to take home, to take his mind off other, more off-limits people he absolutely shouldn’t keep thinking about tonight. His transfer request had gone through and come Monday, he’d be working with Harry. He had to do something about the way he couldn’t stop thinking about Harry’s thick fingers wrapping around his throat, had to stop himself from imagining Harry’s big arms bulging as he picked him up and threw him around like a doll.

From behind him, there was the sound of retching from one of the stalls. He peeked just under the door and saw a pair of bright blue suede boots that had seen better days. The person sniffled and Kim heard the sound of them blowing their nose before they stood and flushed the toilet. They didn’t come out immediately, probably needed to collect themselves.

Kim decided if they needed assistance, they could come out and ask for it. They were standing, from what he could tell. He busied himself with mussing his hair just right, making it look scruffier than he kept it for work. He had dusted his upper eye lids with orange eye shadow and it had smudged a bit. He licked his thumb and tamed the edge of it before pulling chap stick from his pocket and reapplying it to his lips.

Kim was not the sort of person to make a big deal out of his appearance. He knew that he was largely average and many people would judge him for being Seolite, but he cleaned up nicely, and he knew that his confidence is what made him attractive. He took a deep breath, nodded solemnly at his touched-up look and stepped back into the fray.

The next few men who danced with him were more polite than the first, a couple of them even asked his name, and another slid him their number at the end of the song, but none of them really struck his fancy. Still, he was enjoying himself. He couldn’t entirely turn off his cop instincts, kept noticing track marks and blood shot eyes and dilated pupils, and goddammit, why did that make him feel a little lonely?

Because you’re missing Harry, supplied an extremely unhelpful and incredibly smug voice in his mind. He scowled.

No, Harry was a walking disaster and he did not want to get involved with that. It would be a mistake. He danced with a few other men before he got himself another drink and stepped out onto the outdoor balcony of the club, enjoying the cool night air. He became acutely aware of his nipples visible through his net shirt and smirked at himself. It was ridiculous, but he liked it, liked becoming a different person when he wasn’t in uniform. He was sure Harry would tease him about it, or try to cajole him into dressing this way at work if he saw him like this.

Stop thinking about Harry, he thought.

He failed.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, pulling out a cigarette out of the slim case he had in his front pocket, his second of the day. He sighed at himself. He should know better, both about Harry and about the cigarette, but if he couldn’t have one, then he could at least have the other. Besides, he’d been drinking and nothing made drinking better than smoking too. He nursed the cigarette with his drink before finally turning back inside, feeling chilled and attracted to the crowd of humanity warming the building inside.

The music in the club had been turned up louder and some of the gathered crowd cheered as a particularly bass-heavy popular song began to play. Kim found himself pulled into the excitement, felt his heart beating fast. He bounced and twisted with the crowd, letting people jostle against him, felt hands flutter across his shoulders, his waist, pressed deeper into the crush of bodies. At last, he found a dance partner with playful energy, who kept his hands above his waist. The man had long black hair, a thick, well-groomed beard and a bit of a belly. Chest hair stuck up past the unbuttoned collar of his blue shirt. He had a broad smile and was fun to dance with. Kim thought maybe this was the man he would spend the night with, but motion caught his eye. He looked toward the bar, seeing sudden motion in his periphery. His stomach dropped.

It was Harry. He was dressed in a peacock-colored shirt with a long collar and had completed the look with a gaudy red tie, black boot-cut pants and…bright blue suede boots.

It didn’t matter, it was a big club, they didn’t have to see each other. Kim kept moving with his dance partner, but he was distracted. Harry was facing a man who was gesturing and smiling. The man Kim had danced with first, the touchy, overly pushy one. The man passed his hand over Harry’s beer with a large smile at Harry and Kim saw something drop in, fizzing in the glass.

Fuck.

He had really hoped that Harry would stay clean, but Harry was smiling as he knocked back his drink, no doubt excited for the high he was constantly seeking to find him again.

Ideally, Kim had hoped that Harry would stop drinking too, but that was perhaps too much to expect from him. Of course he would come to a club in search of drugs. Kim forced himself to turn away and gave his dance partner a smile, letting himself be pulled close, letting the larger man kiss his neck and murmur filthy ideas in his ear. Half of Kim wanted to leave the club now, let himself fuck six ways to Sunday, but the other part of him was having a good time just dancing.

Lying to yourself now?

You aren’t just having a good time. You want to check on Harry.

Shut up, he told his mind, feeling frustration and anger rise. He wasn’t sure if these feelings were directed at himself, or Harry.

He glanced toward the bar and Harry was no where to be seen. Maybe he had imagined him? Maybe it was someone who looked similar? But really, how many mutton-chopped, muscular men with such unique fashion sense were there in Revachol?

Regardless, his partner was still dancing enthusiastically, pulling him close and declaring excitedly with each new song “oh my god, I love this song,” so Kim had plenty of opportunity to scan the bar for Harry. By chance, he ended up somewhere nearby, because he could hear Harry, could hear his rough bass voice, his raucous laughter. He tried to distract himself with the music, with his partner’s hands on his waist, his lips on his jaw…

“Now hang on,” he heard in a loud, gravelly voice, “stop, I don’t fucking like that.”

Kim scanned the club, looking for Harry. His date frowned, tugging at him, trying to pull him back in as he strayed.

“Just a moment,” he said dismissively, pushing away. Sure enough, there was the man from earlier, and there was Harry, propped against a wall, his face red, his eyes dilated, the man’s hands groping at his crotch.

“Come on, amour, it’s not as though anyone else here will want you. Come to my MC. Come on. Don’t fight it.” The man was tugging at Harry, who was limp, stumbling.

“Stop it, let go of me, you fucking bastard,” he growled, but he was obviously having a hard time staying upright, his eyelids flickering, his crooked jaw working. His hand was pushing weakly against the man’s chest, but he didn’t seem to have the strength to push him away. He was drugged, but not by choice, Kim realized. The pills dropped into his drink hadn’t been offered, but sneaked into his drink.

Rage made Kim tremble as he approached. He reached up and grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him back and to the side. He couldn’t contain it, he slammed his balled fist into the bastard’s jaw. His RCM badge was clenched in his other hand.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing? I saw you drug his drink and now you’re trying to take him with you?” Kim spat, furious. He knew he had probably cracked a couple of his finger bones, but he was so angry he couldn’t even feel the pain.

“Oh, shit, you’re a cop?! Fuck!” With that the man tore himself away from Kim’s grip and fled out of the club. Kim was momentarily torn between chasing him down and staying with Harry. Harry leaning heavily against him sealed his decision.

“Hey, hey, are you alright? Harry? Harrier?” To call him such so casually made Kim’s face get hot. He should have called him “detective” or “yefreitor,” but the name was already released into the blaring pulses of the music, carried away by bass waves and rapid techno notes assaulting them from every speaker.

Harry was breathing heavily, his pupils were blown open and he flopped back against the wall when Kim pushed back against him, holding him so that he didn’t fall.

“I’m…tired. Kim?” Harry blinked slowly, as though he didn’t believe what he was seeing. He reached a big hand up and touched Kim’s face. His large fingers were warm, gentle. His thumb drug along Kim’s narrow jaw. He moved his face away from the touch subtly, uncomfortable. With his free hand, he straightened his glasses.

“Yes, Detective, I’m here.”

“Not a detective tonight,” Harry grumbled with a humorless laugh. He frowned, giving a weary, owlish blink. “Neither are you. Why do you have your badge?”

“Never know when you may need the authority of the RCM,” Kim admitted sheepishly, thinking of the couple of times he had needed it to protect himself or others, like tonight. “Wish I could have taken that salaud in. He’s going to do that to someone else.” Kim was peering around the club in search of the man. When he looked back, Harry’s face had gone blank, a helpless, childish smile on his lips. Kim swallowed, allowing himself the indulgence of using his name. “Harry. Harry? Hey,” he reached his hand out and gently popped his palm against Harry’s cheek, “stay awake. Come on. Let’s get you some water.”

Kim half-dragged, half-carried Harry toward the bar. The larger man’s feet were sliding across the floor as if in molasses. Suddenly the darkness of the club, the flashing lights and loud music didn’t seem so appealing. Instead, it felt like he was an island surrounded by a hot, over active ocean of humanity, oblivious dancers bumping into both him and Harry. When he finally reached the bar, Kim got Harry propped up onto a stool and let him sag there while he addressed the bartender.

“That blonde man in the paisley shirt, have you seen him in here before?”

The bartender shook their head.

“Give you problems? I saw him run after you punched him.”

“Yes, drugged my friend here. Could I get a water for each of us?”

“Shit. I’ll let the bouncer know. And you got it,” they said.

“And I’d like to close out, please.”

“What was the name again?”

“Kitsuragi.”

Harry was slumping forward against the top of the bar and Kim gently turned the stool toward the one he perched on now.

“Hey, can you drink some water, Harry?” Harry shook his head obstinately.

“Wanna go home.”

“I will get you home. But you need to drink some water.” Harry still didn’t respond, pushed the glass away with a shaky, feeble hand. Kim decided to experiment with something, a thing he suspected that made his feelings regarding Harry even more dangerous – he was fairly certain they were returned. He was a detective, after all. “Please, Harry,” he said in a soft, almost pleading voice. “For me?”

That did the trick.

Harry pulled the glass toward him and sipped at it. Kim nodded with satisfaction and drank his own, signing a receipt and leaving a large tip.

“I’m leaving you my card. If you see that man in here again, please, call me.”

“Will do,” the bartender said, tucking Kim’s card away.

“Harry? How are you feeling?”

“Not very disco, that’s for fucking sure,” he mumbled.

“Let me take you home.”

“You don’t know where I live,” Harry pointed out.

“No, I don’t. And it should probably remain that way. I’m going to let you stay at my apartment.” Harry half-smirked through his haze.

“You didn’t buy me a drink first.”

Kim resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I will call us an MC. I have to get my things. Do you have anything at the coat check?” Harry looked dazed, half asleep. Kim gently patted his cheek again, less a slap and more a caress. The larger man leaned into the touch, almost nuzzling into Kim’s hand. “Harry,” he said loudly, “come on, stay with me. Do you have all of your belongings?”

“Yeah… yeah… got ev’rything,” Harry slurred through his tight, crooked jaw.

“Alright. Come on.” Kim lifted Harry to a standing position, sucking in a self-conscious breath as Harry swung partially around him, his mouth ending up next to Kim’s ear while his wide, dimpled chin rested on his shoulder. He could hear the man’s ragged breathing and reached up to feel his pulse. A little fast, a little thready, but nothing too dangerous. He handed his number to the coat check and collected his black wool pea coat before using the payphone to call for an MC.

“Hey, he’s not gonna fuckin’ throw up in my MC is he?” asked the grouchy driver when he pulled up to the front of the club. Kim looked at Harry with a worried expression. He looked shit faced and Kim had no idea how much of his demeanor was the effect of the drugs and how much of it was, in fact, drunkenness.

“I’ll pay you double if he does. Drive slow and avoid potholes, please.” Kim said this with a serious tone and expression, but the driver sneered.

“Address?” the man snapped. Kim rattled it off and then pushed Harry into the MC taxi, taking care to buckle him in. Harry leaned heavily against him, mumbling something.

“Are you alright?” Kim asked him softly as the MC began to move.

“Better… now you’re here,” Harry forced out with a half-smile that probably would have looked better if his face wasn’t slightly green with nausea. “The fuck are you wearing?”

Kim felt his ears go red and he cleared his throat, pulling his peacoat more tightly around his chest.

“Believe it or not, I do have a social life outside of work,” he snipped, more than a little annoyed that Harry had seen him like this. He would probably never hear the end of it it, if Harry remembered when he woke up tomorrow morning. That lead to another thought – what on earth had Harry been doing at this club? “What were you doing here?”

“Dancing. Getting my groove on. Why?”

Kim thought of the usual patrons of the establishment – it was a safe haven for same-sex dating and dancing, a place to (usually) avoid harassment and stares. Heterosexual people were, of course, not restricted from the place, but they didn’t often frequent it for fear of being associated with the so-called “underground.”

“I did not think it would be your kind of…place,” Kim ended lamely.

Harry looked at him with an expression of deep seriousness.

“You know I like to suck dick, right?” Harry told him, bloodshot eyes making his earnest face a little unsettling.

“Harry, don’t,” Kim spluttered, putting a hand out to cover Harry’s mouth as he glanced at the driver, but the man must be used to hearing that sort of thing, because he didn’t respond at all. Kim lowered his hand and sighed, adjusting his glasses again out of nervous habit. “I…suspected, but then you had your ex-fiance and I saw you flirt with the woman at the pier, and, I don’t know. It was wrong to assume, perhaps.”

“Like both. All of it,” Harry grumbled, fighting to get his neck to keep his head upright. His eyelids were drooping again. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“You were drugged. That asshole in the paisley shirt.”

“Fuck. Been clean for,” he paused and tried counting his fingers, gave up after a moment and shrugged. Kim collected his thoughts, looking out the window as the MC drove them toward their destination.

“It’s alright,” he said after a moment. “I will get you some medication to help at my apartment, and some water. Harry?”

Harry had fallen asleep, and was breathing loudly, a sound that would inevitably develop into a heavy snore. The mass of his body leaned as the MC took a sharp turn and Harry ended up with his head resting against Kim’s shoulder.

Kim stiffened, his mouth opening slightly, brows drawing together. Temptation after temptation.

Well, he had already had two cigarettes today, what was one more failing to his usual self-control?

Kim turned his head and allowed himself to sniff Harry. He convinced himself this was to determine if he was clean or not, but that was a lie. He wanted to know what he smelled like when he was put together, cleaned up and dressed to go to a club.

His hair smelled like a familiar cheap shampoo that was no doubt marketed as smelling like “mountains” or “wolf packs” or “testosterone” but more realistically had citrus, coriander, sandalwood and cedar oils in it. The hair had been neatly brushed and recently trimmed.

Harry had been out trying to find a partner as well, Kim surmised.

Harry was wearing a heady cologne that wasn’t unpleasant, or it wouldn’t be if he hadn’t drenched himself in it. It smelled of amber and oakmoss with a hint of musk and vetiver. Kim would eat his shirt if it hadn’t been pilfered from somewhere on a case – it smelled expensive. Far too expensive to have been purchased with a detective’s salary.

Beneath it all was the clean scent of a flowery soap, one of the popular brands that could be bought at any store. Harry smelled nice when he wasn’t on a who-knows-how-many-days bender.

This assessment done, Kim brushed the back of one knuckle across Harry’s trimmed muttonchops with a shy motion, his heart thundering at the thought that Harry might wake up during this, or in response to it. Harry did not react. A shuddering breath poured out of Kim and he felt his chest clench – it was softer than he had imagined it would be.

He had imagined it. He wouldn’t lie to himself about that. He had imagined how it would feel against his cheeks if he kissed Harry. He had imagined what it would feel like tickling the insides of his thighs as Harry sucked him off. He had imagined running his fingers through it as he gasped and trembled beneath Harry’s weight.

Abruptly, he collected himself, pushing Harry gently so that he leaned against the door of the MC instead of against his shoulder.

This was inappropriate.

Especially given that, come Monday, they would be working in the same precinct. He doubted they would be partners – Harry already had one, but that was still a close enough association that he should not be imagining how Harry’s beard, or any other part of him, would feel pressed against his skin.

Still, Kim looked over at the other man a little miserably. He couldn’t put his finger on quite why he had developed such an infatuation with Harry. Perhaps it had something to do with how they were both a little strange, well, really strange, and their strangeness complimented one another’s. Maybe it was the way Kim saw the same loneliness he had felt for years reflected back at him from Harry’s soft gray-green eyes. Or maybe it was just the fact that Harry was big, and husky and strong and funny and… and maybe it wasn’t just one reason, or a dozen reasons, or infinite reasons, maybe it was just that Harry was Harry.

Harry was safe.

Harry was good.

Harry was about to throw up in the back of the MC, Kim realized with horror.

The larger man had suddenly come to consciousness with a groan and a burp and then a retch and Kim shoved the MC’s side window open and directed Harry’s face out of it. A shocking cacophony of liquid shot from Harry’s mouth and Kim heard the driver cursing, but there was nothing to be done for it except grab a handful of Harry’s thick mahogany hair and keep him aimed out of the window.

When Harry finally stopped retching and shuddering, Kim let him bring his face back in. He fished about for a handkerchief, but Harry pulled one from his breast pocket, hesitating for just a moment before he wiped his mouth with it.

Kim recognized it – it was the handkerchief he had given Harry when they were on the Hanged Man case. His heart did a funny little flip flop at that, but he forced himself to ignore it. It was likely Harry hadn’t owned a handkerchief prior to being offered that one, there was nothing special about the fact that he had kept it.

“Are you alright?” Kim asked. “We are almost to my apartment. I can get you some water there.”

“Feel a little better,” Harry mumbled, his voice thick with mucus and misery.

“That’s gonna be double,” the driver snapped.

Kim fixed him with a look in the rearview mirror.

“He did not throw up in the back of your MC. He threw up outside of it. He did not even hit the paint. So no, it will not be double.”

The driver scowled, but did not argue. He pulled up to the outside of Kim’s apartment complex and Kim handed him the fare, plus a generous tip. He opened the door for Harry and confirmed that the driver’s MC had gotten away unscathed by Harry’s oral purge.

“Come on,” he coaxed, tugging Harry out of the MC.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Harry grumbled, patting for something in his pockets.

A cigarette, Kim realized, though he wasn’t sure if Harry would be cogent enough to actually light and smoke one.

“You can have one on my balcony. Come on, let’s get out of the cold.”

“M’kay,” Harry agreed, almost child-like in his suggestibility and Kim felt more cold rage course through his veins at the thought of what might have happened to Harry if he hadn’t intervened. He also felt a sharp jolt of terror as he realized that he could just as easily have been the victim if he had accepted a drink from the man.

He would be adding tracking down that asshole to his list of cases, he decided.

Leaning heavily against him, Harry slung his arm over Kim’s shoulder, under the collar of his pea coat.

Their stances made the size difference between them apparent.

It was almost comical, Kim’s small form struggling under the mass of Harry’s tall, broad physique. Harry’s hand hung down to Kim’s chest and he felt himself sharply suck in a breath as Harry’s fingers brushed against his pectoral muscle and across his nipple, which was exposed through his ridiculous netted shirt.

He deeply regretted wearing such a thing at the moment as the cold had his nipple standing starkly erect and the proximity of Harry’s hand wasn’t helping.

“I’ve got a shirt like this,” Harry informed him.

“I know,” Kim said in the most neutral tone he could summon. He forced his face to stay expressionless and adjusted his glasses with his free hand, the one not wrapped around Harry’s belt to hold him upright.

“You look good in it.”

Kim chewed on the comment for a moment before finally responding.

“Thank you.”

“You always look good, Kim,” Harry mumbled hazily. “Wanna suck your…” His words trailed off, but not in time for Kim to miss what he had said. His ears had gone nuclear, fairly aching from the rush of blood from the embarrassment and arousal that shot through him. He cleared his throat and collected himself as he drug Harry onward, deciding not to say anything in response this time.

“Up here,” Kim said, apologetic as he hauled Harry up four flights of stairs.

“Do you fucking live in a damn bird’s nest?” Harry rumbled, breathing in deeply through his mouth. He was tired, eyes still bloodshot, pupils still blown. He was sweating too, and Kim realized his body odor smelled different since he hadn’t been doing drugs or drinking as much recently. He cataloged this information for later and nudged Harry up onto the landing.

Like a warm blanket, Harry clung to Kim as he pulled his keys from his pocket and opened his apartment door. Flipping on the lights, he guided Harry to the couch.

“I’ll get you some water.”

What are you doing?

Kim really hated this little internal voice that sounded just like him, but threadier, more nasal, a nagging part of himself that questioned every decision he made.

I’m helping Harry, he can’t be alone, he thought at himself, feeling like an idiot.

You should have taken him to his own house, made sure he was alright and then left. Now he’s going to be here all night, and it’s a weekend, you don’t have the excuse of work to make him leave.

Decisions could be made regarding Harry and how to get him to leave later. For now, he needed help and Kim wanted to make sure he was alright. He grabbed a little tin packet of tablets he kept on hand for emergencies such as this – they counteracted most of the more dangerous drugs that teenagers would get their hands on, so Kim always kept some in his medicine cabinet and in his MC in case he found someone who needed the help. The medication caused a hell of a hangover, but it was better than dying of an overdose, certainly.

“Take this,” he ordered, as he returned to Harry and dropped one of the tablets into his palm. “It will help.”

Harry didn’t argue, swallowed the pill effortlessly without the water, but Kim nudged the glass into his hand anyway.

“Drink,” he said, putting an edge of authority into his voice. “You’ll feel worse if you don’t.”

“I feel like shit now,” Harry grumbled.

“Go on,” Kim pushed and Harry finally obeyed, knocking back the water in three gulps.

“So, what were you doing at that club?”

Kim stared at him for a moment, deciding if the question was a trap.

“Trying to find someone to bring home,” he said, deciding to be honest. Harry would know if he wasn’t, even in his hazy state.

Harry gave a broad grin.

“Well, you succeeded.”

“Not in the way I wished,” Kim informed him with a sharply raised brow. Harry looked cowed and his cheeks mottled with red.

“Sorry. Guess that was a little inappropriate.” So his self-awareness was getting better, apparently.

“A little,” Kim allowed, but he was offering a small smile, the secret one he only gave Harry. “It is late, but would you like something to eat? It helps with the medication. You seem more awake now.”

“Climbing a hundred stairs in this cold would wake any poor bastard up,” Harry griped. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“It will hurt worse in the morning, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, yeah, some food would be good,” Harry finally allowed, leaning back into the couch cushions.

Kim pulled his pea coat off and hung it in his hall closet before adjusting his heater. It was cold in his apartment. It usually stayed that way in the winter. Meager RCM salaries required spreading one’s reál as thin as possible. He turned toward Harry, about to ask him what he wanted to eat, but he realized that the larger man was gaping at him. Feeling suddenly very self-conscious of how visible his body was, of how form-fitting his pants were, Kim sort of shuddered in place, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Kim… that outfit…”

“I’m going to change,” Kim interrupted, feeling flushed at the way Harry’s eyes had lingered over his body, taking in the whole of him. It felt a bit like being a mouse in a field, watched by a large hawk that was just waiting to strike.

The less controlled, depraved side of Kim wished Harry would strike, wished he would come grab him by the neck and force him down onto the ground, wished he would grind his hips against his ass, wished he’d use the heft and weight of his belly to hold Kim still as his big hands–

Enough.

That was enough.

Kim stepped into his bedroom and stripped out of his outfit, pulling on a baggy cotton shirt and a matching pair of sweatpants instead. He came back out and started working in the kitchen, deciding that he shouldn’t interact with Harry more than was absolutely necessary if he couldn’t keep his thoughts controlled.

He shredded a potato and squeezed the starchy liquid out of it before flopping the mass onto a hot skillet, pushing it around with a spatula as it sizzled and hissed. He added a couple of eggs and dashed salt and a few other seasonings on it before he folded the eggs into the hashbrowns. Searching his fridge, he found some ham and cubed it, tossing it into the fray.

The whole mess looked atrocious, but smelled delicious, an amalgamation of potatoes, eggs, meat and seasonings. He topped it off with some homemade mustard and scooped the food onto two plates.

Returning to his living room, he found Harry snoozing and hesitated before finally nudging him awake, offering him the plate and a fork.

“Shit, thought you were going to open a tin of mystery meat, not make a feast. Thanks, Kim.”

“You are quite welcome,” Kim told him, sitting next to him on the couch. They ate in companionable silence, Kim occasionally glancing at Harry to make sure that he was more alert and that the medication he had been given was doing its work. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot better after this,” Harry answered, mouth still full of egg and potato, a smear of mustard on the side of his lips. Kim ignored the impulse to wipe it away with his thumb. Harry paused for a long moment to think about what he was going to say next, a behavior Kim recognized and had begun to admire. It was the one time Harry demonstrated self-control. Finally, he wiped the edge of his mouth with his thumb, pressed his lips together and then took a breath through his nose before he spoke. He looked out into middle space instead of directly at Kim, but his body was leaned toward him, like he wanted to say his piece directly, but it was too intense to look at Kim as he spoke.

“Hey, um, thank you. For getting me away from that guy, I mean. He seemed alright, maybe a little pushy, but I can be pushy, so I didn’t think…” He shook his head at himself. “Anyway, I let him buy me a drink, which I definitely shouldn’t have done since I had already puked once already. Fuck, I’m a mess,” Harry muttered, wiping a hand wearily over his face. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You would have done the same for me,” Kim said, tone earnest. He knew for fact that Harry would have. Hell, Harry probably would have beaten the shit out of guy if their roles had been reversed. Kim allowed himself a brief imagining of Harry picking him up and carrying him protectively before he reigned in his mind.

Harry looked at him for a moment.

“Yeah, yeah, I would have,” he said softly.

“But you would do that for anyone,” Kim went on, pushing away any feeling of being ‘special.’ Harry would have rescued anyone from those kind of advances, and so would he. It didn’t mean anything to offer something that was basic human decency. But then again, how many people had offered Harry basic human decency in his life?

Kim was still pondering this as he realized that Harry’s face had loomed close. Lips pressed against his own and he stiffened, and then relaxed.

In the moment, he found he didn’t care that Harry had thrown up tonight, didn’t care that there was still a blot of mustard on his lip, didn’t care that this was wrong, that it was inappropriate.

He hummed in his throat, reaching up a hand to cup Harry’s cheek and then whimpered and pulled away. Pain in his knuckles reminded him he had injured himself and hadn’t addressed it yet.

“Hey, you alright?” Harry asked, brow furrowed with concern.

“I am fine. We… we shouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because we have both been drinking. Because you were drugged. Because we will be in the same precinct come Monday.”

Harry shrugged.

“It’s not Monday yet.”

“No, it is not. But it is late. You should get some rest. I have a spare toothbrush.” Kim grabbed their plates and fled to the kitchen, using his uninjured hand to touch his lips as he processed what had just happened. His right hand was aching and a sharp pain went through his knuckle when he pressed it experimentally. Probably cracked.

He ignored Harry as he darted into the bathroom, pulling out a new toothbrush and a little travel tube of toothpaste.

“Here. I can sleep on the couch, you should take the bed.” He fidgeted with the end of his shirt and stepped to the closet door to fish out some blankets. Behind him, he heard Harry stand. The expression on Harry’s face when Kim turned to face him again seemed angry, frustrated, ashamed, but his brows pulled together as he took a step forward, holding a hand up as though beseeching.

“It’s fucking freezing in this apartment, Kim. We can both take the bed. I…I promise I won’t make a move or anything. And I won’t kiss you again, don’t worry,” he said, averting his gaze, his voice thick with regret and embarrassment.

“Kiss me again in the morning if you still want to,” Kim blurted, his own voice sounding strained, but hopeful.

It poured out of his mouth before he could filter it, before he could consider, from half a dozen angles, whether or not it was an appropriate thing to say. None of the handful of mewling voices that spatted and argued in his mind had a thing to say now except FUCK. I should not have said that.

Harry took a breath and a step toward him.

“Alright,” he breathed, eyes scanning Kim’s face, searching for something. Kim swallowed, adjusted his glasses with his uninjured hand. After a moment, Harry relaxed and asked, “Can I use your shower?”

“Are you steady enough not to fall?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” Harry said, shifting from one foot to another as though to demonstrate that he was fine now. He was speaking softly, the way one would when trying not to frighten off a deer or some other wild, frightened thing. It was like he thought if he talked too loud he would shatter whatever they had agreed to here, this temporary excursion into romance that would end at eight a.m. sharp on Monday.

They fell into an old routine from two months before at the Whirling-In-Rags – Harry went into the bathroom first, scattering his clothing on the floor before climbing into the shower. Kim went in as well, brushing his teeth and gargling at the sink. Harry’s showers took far too long for Kim to wait to get ready for bed, so they had shared the bathroom space multiple times when working on the Hanged Man case.

Initially, it was like any other interaction between two men, all professional, just two guys sharing a space because it was practical, but after Kim had admitted he was gay, he had noticed the way Harry would avert his eyes when he was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He had noticed how Harry was more cautious not to show Kim a glimpse of his own nakedness once he knew. At the time, Kim had thought it was because Harry was bothered by it.

He now realized that Harry was doing it to show him a modicum of modesty in the face of a mutual crush.

The water turned off amid his reverie and the towel draped over the curtain rod was yanked downward. Harry was humming something to himself as he dried off. When Harry pushed the curtain back, the towel was wrapped around his waist and he had a hand on it to prevent it from falling. Kim caught his eye in the mirror, tracing over toned chest, soft, curly brown hair that smattered his front, the expanse of belly that had already begun to soften since he had laid off the drugs and hadn’t been drinking as heavily.

“Your turn,” Harry said and Kim nodded. They switched places and Kim left his glasses on the counter, forced himself to look straight at the wall as he pulled off the cotton shirt and stripped off the pants. He didn’t want to know if Harry was looking this time.

Fortunately, Harry had left him plenty of hot water. It helped to cut the miserable chill of Kim’s small, poorly-heated apartment. Kim scrubbed himself clean, using a cloth to rub the eyeliner and brow makeup off, wiping away the glittery eyeshadow as well. When he stepped out of the shower, he was Lieutenant Kitsuragi again, all stoic grace, no makeup, no netted shirt, just a quiet, unassuming professional. Harry moved, but he couldn’t tell what he was doing, his eyesight without his glasses too blurry.

Kim startled slightly before he realized that Harry was putting his glasses back on his nose, sliding them up gently and letting the bows settle over his ears.

“Thank you,” Kim murmured. He padded out of the bathroom, clutching the towel like a lifeline before he pulled on a pair of shorts and found a baggy pair of sweatpants someone had left at his apartment ages ago. “These should fit you,” he said as he offered them to Harry.

Harry took them without comment and pulled them on, turning away to preserve some level of decorum.

Kim put in his mouth guard, set his alarm, took off his glasses and pulled the thick layers of blankets back before climbing into his bed. Harry didn’t wait for a cue, but slid beneath the covers and fluffed the pillow on his side of the bed before he stilled.

The room was bathed in darkness as Kim switched off the lamp and for a long time, there was silence. Kim wasn’t sure what he wanted more – for Harry’s deep breathing to turn to snores so that he would know he was asleep, or Harry to turn toward him, pull him close, maybe kiss him again.

It wasn’t Monday yet.

Maybe they could have this brief moment, and then perhaps they could pick up again when they retired, or one of them quit. He argued with himself back and forth, his mind recoiling from the idea of maintaining any sort of relationship with a co-worker, but the longing, soft part of him that he so frequently pushed to the bottom of his mind ached to touch Harry.

Kim had no idea how much time passed, but he felt the bed tremble and heard the mattress protest as Harry turned over.

“Hey, Kim?”

“Yes, Harry?” Kim said, lisping slightly around his mouth guard.

“It’s after midnight, right?”

“Well after, yes.” It was much closer to three a.m. than midnight at this point.

“So, then, technically, it’s morning.” Kim rolled onto his side, facing Harry in the darkness. The barest sliver of light peeked through the cheap plastic blinds on the window, causing a minute glitter in Harry’s eye, blurred in Kim’s poor vision.

“It is,” Kim agreed, tone neutral.

Like lightning, Harry’s arm wrapped around behind Kim’s neck and yanked him forward, fingers moving up to the back of his head to draw him in.

Soft, plush lips pressed against Kim’s again, and this time he didn’t resist, didn’t pull back. Harry’s lips were more talented than he would have thought. They slotted between his own, Harry’s tongue carefully touching his bottom lip experimentally. Meanwhile, his hand caressed the back of Kim’s head, the other cupping his jaw. A small, satisfied sound hummed in Harry’s throat and he pulled back slightly, a little out of breath.

Kim used the moment to pull out his mouth guard and toss it onto his nightstand, knowing that if the lights were on his ears would be maroon.

“Is this okay?” Harry asked, hands still touching him, resisting him pulling away. Kim thought for a moment before responding.

“Are you fully sober?”

“Sober enough,” Harry hedged. “I wanted this well before some asshole spiked my drink, Kim.”

Kim was silent, mulling it over, torn, trying and failing to control his urges. Harry made the decision for him, grabbing him and rotating them so that Kim was sitting on top of him, hips perched on Harry’s.

“Just enjoy it. I know you can’t stop thinking, can’t stop weighing the pros and cons.” Harry stroked Kim’s cheek gently. “I know you can’t turn your brain off. I can’t either. But just enjoy it.”

“Alright,” Kim allowed, taking a shaky breath.

Harry was warm. Above every other sensation, his skin was hot as though he was a living heater. Kim cuddled into him with a small sigh. His belly was soft and fuzzy, his chest firm, but comfortable. His big arms encircled Kim’s ribs, drawing under his arms and holding him close.

“Kiss me,” Harry rumbled, his whole chest vibrating with his deep voice.

“Harry,” Kim started, still fighting the urge to flee, to insist he should go freeze to death on the couch.

“Kim, kiss me.” Somehow, without light to show Harry a skeptical, brow-raised look, Kim lost all authority and found he was compelled to obey.

With a timid motion, uncertain exactly where Harry’s face was in the blurry darkness, Kim leaned forward. Their noses bonked together and he yanked back, again flooded with embarrassment.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Harry reached a hand up, cupped Kim’s jaw to guide him close. Kim pressed his lips to Harry’s, allowing himself to languor in the moment. Harry’s beard tickled, but was soft. He buried his fingers in it and lapped his tongue into Harry’s mouth experimentally. To his shock, Harry immediately sucked on it, his own tongue pressing against his. It tasted like mint toothpaste, astringent, but pleasant.

Their foreheads rested together as their hands roamed, Harry’s fingers squeezing one of Kim’s nipples, making him suck in a hard breath. Kim kept his hands above the belt, the fingers of his uninjured hand massaging over Harry’s belly and chest. His injured hand he kept still, leaning on his right elbow carefully as he kissed Harry.

Harry pushed gently on his chest, just enough to push Kim away from the kiss.

“Kim… you’re shaking.”

“It’s cold,” Kim lied. It was more than warm enough beneath the blankets with Harry heating the space. Harry’s hands moved down to his waist, fingers pressing into his skin.

“Kim, we don’t have to…do anything tonight. We can take things slow.”

Fingers stroked up his waist, and Kim realized Harry was right. He was shaking and he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the night, but his heart was racing and he felt panic rising, felt a sense of impending doom he couldn’t shake.

“I’m sorry. I think maybe I just need some rest. And…I believe some of my fingers are broken.”

“Shit, Kim,” Harry sat up, Kim now sitting firmly in his lap. He realized that there was no indication of sexual interest pressing against him. “You should have said something.” Harry took his injured hand carefully, his own fingers stroking the back of Kim’s. Kim hissed a small sound of pain and he felt Harry lift his hand and press a soft kiss to his injury. “Ought to get this wrapped up.”

“It is just a few cracked knuckles. I’ll wrap them tomorrow, go to the lazareth on Monday.” Kim slid off Harry’s lap and laid back next to him, waiting for him to settle into his pillow. He let out a huff of surprise as a big arm wrapped around him and pulled him close, making him feel like a small kitten manhandled by a big, friendly dog.

Kim felt Harry’s heart beating behind his back and tried to calm, to focus on the gentle lubdub lubdub rhythm. He wasn’t really sure why the thought of being with Harry made him so flustered, so nervous, but Harry wasn’t pushing him, just held him close. Kim had no idea what the morning would bring, but he touched his kiss-swollen lips before he turned his head.

“Kiss me again when we wake up. And don’t stop.”

“You got it, Kim,” Harry murmured, a smile in his voice. He pulled him close and Kim finally felt himself calm, felt his muscles relax. His hand was throbbing, but nonetheless, sleep came quickly.