[ Naivete's carried him this long, which is why it's so ridiculous. The balance of cynicism and naivety is so precarious that it's no wonder a little bit of alcohol loosens his tongue, and his emotions with it. Just don't ask him how he feels about Helen Beckitt, John. You confuse him enough already, and that topic isn't something he needs to start running his mouth about. ]
What the fuck else is there? [ He gets a forearm between them, balancing his weight across John's chest, barring himself from getting any closer, from being pulled any closer. He wants to be able to see that man's eyes. Not because he'd rather wax poetic in his thoughts about them, but because they're the only warning bell he gets before John goes off like a serpent. He's fast. He's in control. That's what he's created for himself, and regardless of age (how old is he, anyways?), he's always been physically superior. Hey, he's really warm too and kind of sturdy. ] No, really. Tell me, John. Losing someone you like is like losing parts of yourself. Kill them, you're killing yourself. How much of you have you lost and killed?
[ But Harry doesn't freeze when he feels fingertips curl so close to his throat. The throat is vulnerable, it's a hotbed of sensation and he's had necklaces made of bruises so often that he once could count where old layered over new. But he'd reached for John's throat as well, and in that, he can understand why his advance had been refuted. For a moment, he contemplates biting John's hand in retaliation. Instead, he leans back a little, arching his spine over his heels to see if he can catch sight of what that too-warm hand is planning on - which must have looked like a goddamn invitation, because it's what gives the other just enough room to bury into his chest. ]
[ And he should shove John off. That's what he thinks, but he leans back along the carpeting and laughs with him because everything is ridiculous: John's ridiculous and being drunk with him is ridiculous and liking the contact but maybe-not liking the company but wanting to be touched anyways is ridiculous, but Harry laughs under his breath until he whimpers. Tries to cover it up by pressing at John's shoulder, his voice a hiss: ] All right, all right, now get off me. Morbid and creepifying, just shut up about it.
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timeasmymeasure
kill what you love, kill love itself I BLAME YOUR FANMIX
Date: 2012-11-02 03:32 am (UTC)What the fuck else is there? [ He gets a forearm between them, balancing his weight across John's chest, barring himself from getting any closer, from being pulled any closer. He wants to be able to see that man's eyes. Not because he'd rather wax poetic in his thoughts about them, but because they're the only warning bell he gets before John goes off like a serpent. He's fast. He's in control. That's what he's created for himself, and regardless of age (how old is he, anyways?), he's always been physically superior. Hey, he's really warm too and kind of sturdy. ] No, really. Tell me, John. Losing someone you like is like losing parts of yourself. Kill them, you're killing yourself. How much of you have you lost and killed?
[ But Harry doesn't freeze when he feels fingertips curl so close to his throat. The throat is vulnerable, it's a hotbed of sensation and he's had necklaces made of bruises so often that he once could count where old layered over new. But he'd reached for John's throat as well, and in that, he can understand why his advance had been refuted. For a moment, he contemplates biting John's hand in retaliation. Instead, he leans back a little, arching his spine over his heels to see if he can catch sight of what that too-warm hand is planning on - which must have looked like a goddamn invitation, because it's what gives the other just enough room to bury into his chest. ]
[ And he should shove John off. That's what he thinks, but he leans back along the carpeting and laughs with him because everything is ridiculous: John's ridiculous and being drunk with him is ridiculous and liking the contact but maybe-not liking the company but wanting to be touched anyways is ridiculous, but Harry laughs under his breath until he whimpers. Tries to cover it up by pressing at John's shoulder, his voice a hiss: ] All right, all right, now get off me. Morbid and creepifying, just shut up about it.