Undone
by Maya Tawipart three
"And if I threw you off, I didn't intend to
I just wanna know, do you feel it too?
Do you wanna know what I'd do to you?
Do you? Do you?"
--Tapping the Vein, "Falling In"AFTERWaking up hurt. The darkness had been warm and floaty and comfortable, and then light started to filter in, and with the light came pain.
"I think he's awake," a familiar voice said, and suddenly Harrison didn't care about the pain after all, because Tru was there and Tru always made everything better.
It took a great effort, but Harrison managed to crack his eyes open. The sudden stab of light made him think better of the idea, and he closed his eyes again and groaned.
"Harry?" He felt Tru leaning over him, felt her hair brushing his face. "Hare?"
"Hi," he croaked, and tried to wet his lips. His mouth felt like a desert.
"Want some water?"
"I love you," Harrison said frankly.
She sounded amused. "Love you too, Hare. Here." A straw bumped against his lips.
Harrison sucked greedily, and felt fortified enough to try opening his eyes again. He squinted, having learned from his earlier mistake.
"How's Fraser?" His voice sounded better. Less rusty.
It wasn't Tru who answered, but Ray; Harrison hadn't seen him standing by the door. "He's good. Bullet didn't even hit him." He paused. "You saved his life."
"Aw, shucks," Harrison said, feeling a silly, sleepy grin spread over his face.
Another thought occurred to him, and he tried to sit up. Tru's hand on his shoulder held him down. "Don't try to move," she warned.
He ignored her, asking Ray, "What about Ali? She okay?"
Ray's eyes narrowed. "She's fine," he said, though he didn't sound happy about it. "Someone spotted Harper's car, and we found her at a friend's place in the area. The other girl was holding the H for Garvey. We got her to a hospital in time." He smiled grimly. "And now she's in a holding cell. Attempted murder and all."
Tru sighed. "Great. We saved her life, and now she's going to jail."
"She'll cut a deal," Ray said. He looked disappointed at the idea. "The SA, he wants Garvey. He don't care about her."
"And Jack?" Harrison asked, with a sick feeling in his stomach.
Tru's grim look told him all he needed to know, but Ray answered anyway. "Gone."
He struggled up again, and Tru laid a warning hand on his chest. "Careful, Harry. The bullet didn't hit anything major, but you don't wanna move that arm."
Harrison looked down at the cast on his right arm and sighed. Broken. Great. That was his dealing arm.
"Get some rest," Ray said abruptly. "We'll get some doctors to look at you. You should be outta here this afternoon."
"And going home?" Harrison wasn't particularly pleased by the idea, though he wasn't sure why.
"Not if you're not up to it," Tru said. "We can stay here a while, get a hotel--"
Ray cleared his throat. "He can stay with me."
Harrison looked at him in surprise, and felt something warm uncurl in his belly.
"Are you sure?" Tru looked wary.
"Yeah," Ray said, and jerked his head at the door. "I gotta get back to work. Call me when yer ready."
He left, and Harrison and Tru looked at each other.
"We gotta talk," Harrison said finally.
Tru sighed. "I know."
He reached for the water with his left hand, and Tru pushed it away and held the straw up to his lips again. "Not a lot," she said, as he drank. "Don't wanna make yourself sick."
Harrison let the straw slip and wiped his mouth. "So," he said, and paused. "What exactly happened?"
She sighed again. "Well, you didn't give me all the details-- which I'm grateful for, by the way. But...." She swallowed. "It happened after-- after Constable Fraser died. And you wanted me to tell you, because... because you wanted to do it again."
"Oh," Harrison said, uncertain how to react to that.
"You said it was awesome," Tru added, with a faint smile playing about her lips.
Harrison groaned and covered his face with his left hand. "I said that?"
Tru leaned forward and pried his fingers off his face. "Listen to me, Harry. It doesn't matter if you like boys, girls, sheep, or anything in between." She paused. "Well, I might take issue with the sheep. Point is, if you want to do this, you should give it a shot."
"I'm not gay," Harrison said. It sounded weak.
She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to be. There's a whole scale, you know?"
He frowned. "A scale?"
"Forget it," Tru said. "Look, do what you want." She smiled. "I mean, you always have, right? Why stop now?"
"Point," Harrison agreed. "You do have a point."
Her face turned serious again. "But I mean it, if you want me to stay here, I will. It'll be a nice break, we can see the city--"
"Forget it," Harrison said. "You got school, Tru, you can't miss your classes. Or work. Or all the dead people askin' for help."
"I'm just auditing," she said. "I can miss a few days. And I'm due vacation time at work. And there are plenty of dead people in Chicago."
"Two less, now," Harrison said, and smiled at her.
Tru looked pleased. "Thanks to you."
"Go," Harrison said, and gave her a light shove. "Say hi to Avery, and smooch Jenny for me."
"His name," Tru said, "is Jensen," but she was grinning as she said it, and she stood and moved to the door. "I'll get the doctor."
She left, and a moment later she opened the door and stuck her head back in.
"Smooch Ray for me," she said.
"Tru!" Harrison howled, and she laughed.
He threw a pillow at the door, but she was already gone.
"Looks like you worked all that out, then."
Benton didn't look up from his paperwork. "Is that what it looks like?"
"Sour grapes are very unbecoming, son," Robert said.
"Then it is a good thing," Benton said, reaching for a fresh sheaf of printer paper, "that I have no such fruit."
"You survived, the young Yank survived, and the young lady with the exceedingly bad taste in recreational activities survived as well. You should be proud of yourself!"
"Well, I didn't exactly do anything to help, did I?" Benton said tartly. "Unless you count just standing there and letting myself get shot at."
"That's hardly fair, son. Even the best of men are occasionally shot."
He sounded so offended that Benton immediately felt guilty. Instead of apologizing, he just said, "Yes, well, I am happy, so I fail to see why we're having this conversation."
"You don't look happy," Robert said dubiously.
"Well, you're mistaken."
He expected his father to press the issue, as he always did, and was surprised and a little disappointed when Robert just said, "All right."
"All right?" Benton repeated.
"All right," Robert agreed.
Benton frowned and shook his head. "Well, good. I'm glad we agree."
His father gave him a long, sympathetic look, before turning and walking pointedly back into the closet.
Benton kept his head bowed and tried not to think about what that look meant.
"You sure you want to do this?"
"Positive," Harrison said, but he looked a little green.
Ray drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and glanced out the window. "You can wait, you know. It's only been a few days since you were shot and all. You did lose a lotta blood--"
"I'm doing it," Harrison interrupted. He opened the car door and got out.
"Want me to hold your hand?" Ray called after him.
"Bite me," Harrison said, and slammed the door.
Ray watched him cross the parking lot to the Ink Shack with mingled annoyance and affection. Harrison hadn't even told him what tattoo he was getting. "It'll sound stupid, describing it," was all he'd say.
"Your face'll look stupid, you don't drop the cryptic act," Ray replied, but Harrison had just grinned at him and lifted his middle finger.
Ray kind of missed the way Harrison used to actually take his threats seriously.
The kid had turned out to be a surprisingly undemanding houseguest, though he was still having trouble getting used to using his left arm for everything. Ray, who'd broken more bones in the past than he could count on one hand, was sympathetic, and didn't even make him do the dishes or anything. Yet.
Harrison had been nervous that morning, when he'd asked for the ride to the tattoo parlor. It was kind of adorable, in a really freakish way.
But not that freakish. Because Harrison was starting to give him these looks-- different than before, less nervous, more determined and openly appraising, and okay, Ray was getting hard just sitting there in the car and thinking about it, and he pressed the heel of his hand into his groin and willed it to subside.
But it was starting to seem less and less like an insanely bad idea as time passed. He'd managed to work his way down his mental scale, from No fucking way to Kind of inappropriate, and at this rate he'd be hitting Jump him, you dumbass before the end of the week.
Ray glanced at his watch. Ten minutes had passed. He sipped his coffee and sat back with a sigh.
Harrison was in there right now. J.J. was leaning over him, one hand flat against his body as the needle went in and out of his pale skin, marking it indelibly. The blood was welling and J.J. was wiping it away with a paper towel; Harrison was wincing with the pain....
Ray dug his hand in harder, because he was not going to jerk off in the car.
He could wait till he got home.
Harrison clenched his teeth, trying not to make a sound. After the first few minutes, it hadn't hurt all that much; now it was more uncomfortable than anything. But every once in a while the needle would hit something that made his fingers twitch with pain.
"Sorry," J.J. said, pulling out the needle and wiping away the fresh wells of blood.
"No problem," Harrison managed to say through his teeth.
He stared at the image on his arm, the black outline now half-filled with white. It looked almost ghostly, a creature half-formed, not yet fully brought to life.
J.J. set the paper towel aside and replaced the needle, and Harrison kept staring, transfixed by the rapid up-and-down glint of the metal as the tattoo formed in front of his eyes.
Ray managed to think about at least ten things that didn't involve Harrison Davies, including the six open cases on his desk and what kind of pizza he was going to get for dinner, and how Fraser was holding up with Turnbull and the Ice Queen, and before he knew it the door of the Ink Shack opened and Harrison stood there, looking pale and giddy.
He raised his hand in a wave, and Ray saw that he had a fresh white bandage on his left arm to match the cast on his right. Ray leaned over to unlock the door, and Harrison crossed to the car with quick, long strides.
"Holy shit," was the first thing he said when he slid into the passenger seat. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
"Well?" Ray demanded. "Let's see it."
Harrison held out his arm without opening his eyes, and Ray slowly peeled away the tape from the bandage, hyperaware of the heated skin beneath his fingers. The smell of blood and fresh ink assaulted his nose, and he saw Harrison swallow, felt the arm twitch in his grip.
On the inside of his left forearm, just below the elbow, was an expert rendition of the ace of spades.
Ray said the first thing that came to mind. "Wow."
Harrison's left eye cracked open, and a sliver of bright blue regarded him hopefully. "You like it?"
"It's perfect," Ray said, carefully replacing the bandage. "Why?"
Harrison shrugged a little, looking pleased. "It's dumb, you know, it's just, I like the idea of always having an ace up my sleeve." He paused. "Usually Tru's it."
"It's perfect," Ray said again.
There was a silence, during which Ray felt an unexpected, overwhelming rush of gratitude for one Tru Davies, and then he shook his head and turned the key in the ignition.
"You like pineapple pizza?" he asked.
Harrison grinned. "Who doesn't?"
Dinner was uncharacteristically quiet, as Harrison tried to figure out how to eat his pizza with one arm immobilized and the other throbbing like a motherfucker. He'd taken the bandage off after an hour, like they said, and run hot water over it, and now he felt like he'd been punched repeatedly in the arm.
They sat in front of the TV now, watching a hockey game. Harrison kept stealing looks at Ray in between bites of pizza, and a couple times caught Ray looking back at him.
This is how it started with Lindsay, he thought. First those looks, then the unexpected camaraderie, and then with the two of them pawing each other all over Tru's couch. He felt permanently flushed, heat pouring off his body like it was a radiator. He wondered if maybe he was coming down with something.
Probably not.
Harrison reached for his beer and drained the last of it, feeling the added warmth spread through his stomach. The alcohol was making him reckless, and right now that was a good thing. If he was gonna do this, no way was he gonna do it sober.
He held the bottle upended for a few more seconds, letting the last of the beer trickle into his mouth, and then set it aside on the coffee table and stood.
Ray looked up at him from the couch. His eyes glittered. The game droned on in the background, unheeded.
"Look," Harrison said, running his hand through his hair, "I just, there's something I gotta do," and he thought about how Ray had looked at his tattoo in the car, about his voice when he'd said It's perfect, and leaned over and braced his left hand on the back of the couch.
At the last second, he closed his eyes.
For a second Ray's lips were still beneath his; but just as Harrison started to panic, they moved, opening up and pressing back urgently. Ray's lips were rough and chapped, his stubble scraping across Harrison's face, and Harrison thought, Weird, and then Ray's tongue slipped into his mouth and he thought, Oh, okay, this is good.
And then Ray's hands were gripping his head and Ray was practically devouring him, pulling him into that wet heat, and Harrison lost his grip on the couch and fell forward onto Ray's lap.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but Ray flipped him over lengthwise on the couch and started kissing him again, and Harrison couldn't think of anything to say at all.
Ray wasn't sure how they made it to the bedroom, but the next thing he knew, Harrison was sprawled across his bed, breathing hard and staring up at him from beneath heavy eyelids, and he was bent over frantically trying to undo his boots.
This was past Kind of inappropriate, this was even past Jump him, you dumbass; this was totally post-verbal, some animal part of him that just wanted to be naked with Harrison right fucking now. It was days of sexual tension suddenly bursting the dam, and Ray thought that if this was how it was with Harrison, if he ever got Fraser in here he wouldn't be able to think, he wouldn't even be able to find his fucking feet.
And then he stopped thinking at all, because thinking was overrated.
Harrison had given up waiting and was struggling left-handed with the buttons of his jeans. Ray finally got his boots off and shucked the rest of his clothes, and then crawled onto the bed with Harrison and pushed his hand away.
He pulled Harrison's shirt off first-- Harrison hadn't brought any clothes with him, and his button-down shirt wouldn't fit over his cast anyway, so he'd been wearing Ray's T-shirts, and the thought of that sent a fresh surge of heat through Ray-- and tossed it aside, then started on his jeans, ignoring for now the tempting swath of bare chest that had been exposed. There'd be time for that later.
Harrison was bare underneath his jeans, and Ray felt his lips curve in amusement. "Laundry day?"
"Laundry week," Harrison said, the first words he'd spoken since that first kiss. He gasped and bucked up underneath Ray's hand, and his cock sprang out of his jeans, red and leaking.
Ray pulled the jeans the rest of the way off, and they joined the growing pile on the floor. Then Harrison was completely naked beneath him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared up at Ray. The cast and the fresh tattoo were starkly visible against his pale skin.
Ray ran a light finger over the tattoo, the perfect ace of spades, and Harrison moaned low in his throat. Ray glanced at his face.
Harrison's eyes were dark with lust, his pupils wide and bottomless, but there was uncertainty there too. Ray narrowed his eyes. "First time?"
"With... a guy," Harrison panted. "Yeah."
"Mine too," Ray said, and smothered any response he might have made with his mouth.
Harrison's lips welcomed him, those ridiculously red, wet-looking lips that seemed almost too small and delicate for the rest of his face. Ray reached down and gripped Harrison's cock in his hand, and Harrison surged beneath him again, breaking away with another moan.
It felt hot in his hand, and familiar, different from his own but not overly. Fraser would be uncut; Harrison wasn't, just like him.
And for once, he didn't want to think about Fraser, so he turned his attention back to the slender, sweat-slick body beneath his. He bit and sucked his way down Harrison's chest, from his collarbone to those two small pink nipples, down the young, taut stomach that heaved at his attentions, and finally reached Harrison's dick.
He licked it first, experimentally, and was rewarded with Harrison's hand clutching at his hair. Ray saw the tattoo out of the corner of his eye, raw and fresh, and doubled his efforts, reducing Harrison to a panting, writhing mess before slowly taking the thing into his mouth.
Okay, now that felt weird-- hot and slick against his tongue, slipping back and forth between his cheeks. It tasted salty, not exactly unpleasant, but... weird. But Ray knew how he liked it, and if the sounds Harrison was making were any indication, he liked it that way too. The hand flexed in Ray's hair, opening and closing, and the pressure and the slight pain made Ray suck even harder.
He gathered Harrison's balls in one hand, gripping the cock above his lips with the other, and Harrison swore and released him, hand scrabbling instead at the sheets. Ray was oddly disappointed, but he didn't miss a beat; he ran a thumb over the lightly furred balls in his hand, then stroked harder, and Harrison yelled and arched up into his mouth.
Ray pulled away just in time-- he didn't think he could manage to swallow, not on his first attempt-- and Harrison's come spattered on Ray's hand and his own stomach.
Harrison lay limp for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling. "Wow," he said finally. "Dude."
Ray leaned over and sucked at the juncture between Harrison's neck and his shoulder, feeling the stickiness between their bodies, tasting the sweat under his tongue. He wanted to leave a mark of his own. This one wouldn't last as long as the tattoo, but it would be long enough.
Harrison moved lazily beneath him, a low, appreciative murmur rumbling in his chest. Then Ray felt him swallow, felt his throat bob, and he reached up and lightly pushed Ray's head away.
Ray sat back and looked at him, questioning. Harrison sat up and reached for him.
"I want," he said, and cleared his throat and tried again. "I want you to fuck me."
Ray shuddered.
"I want you to," Harrison repeated, and winced at the crack in his voice.
Ray gave another sensuous, full-body shiver. His eyes blazed and his voice was rough, but he asked anyway: "You sure?"
Which, he wasn't. But he also kind of was.
Which he couldn't explain, really, so he did his best to grin. "Hey, this might be my only chance. I gotta try it, you know?" And it was true; he just couldn't see himself going back to Boston and hanging out at the Paradise or ManRay, picking up some guy. Major life revelation or not, he'd be too afraid someone he knew would see him.
He had to do everything now.
"I want it," he said again, and was pleased to hear his voice was steadier this time.
In response, Ray leaned over and kissed him, hard.
Harrison closed his eyes and felt himself melt into it, letting the hard, demanding tongue push into his mouth, feeling the teeth close over his lip when the tongue withdrew. He could get addicted to this, this delicious sense of surrender, of throwing caution to the wind; it felt like skydiving, like bungee jumping, and for the first time he understood why people did jumped off buildings and shit just for the adrenaline rush. Even the stubble burn wasn't so uncomfortable anymore. It was just part of the whole, part of Ray, and already he couldn't remember what it was like to kiss without it.
I could be in serious trouble here, he thought, but at the moment he really didn't care.
Then Ray pulled back and pushed his knees slowly, gently, up to his chest, and Harrison clutched at the sheets with his left hand and closed his eyes. Somewhere over his head, he heard a drawer open and close.
The first finger that pressed against him, cold and slick, wasn't much of a shock. He'd had a couple girlfriends who liked to do that, pressing right there, maybe sliding in a little; Harrison didn't know why the hell they'd want to, but he didn't mind. So the first finger was fine.
Then a second one pushed in, and he started to feel the stretch, an uncomfortable burn just on the edge of pain. He exhaled sharply and felt his thighs twitch.
Ray stopped. "Okay?"
"Fine," Harrison said through gritted teeth, "keep going," and Ray didn't ask again.
He was fine. Four days ago, he'd been shot; just that afternoon, he'd gotten a tattoo. Compared to those, a couple fingers in his ass was nothing. He could handle this, no problem.
The fingers pushed in further, and he said "Nngh" and tried to remember why he thought he could handle this.
Then he said, "Gah," because those fingers had bent forward inside him, hitting something that sent waves of pleasure through his body and made his dick try to stand up again.
Oh. That was why.
"Gotcha," Ray said. Harrison could hear the smile in his voice.
A third finger slid in, and Harrison didn't even notice the pain; he was too busy waiting for that burst of pleasure. When it came again, he arched up with a moan.
Then the fingers slid out, and he heard himself protest, "Hey!"
He heard Ray chuckle. "Chill. We're just gettin' to the good part."
There was the sound of something ripping, and Harrison opened his eyes just in time to see Ray rolling the condom on his dick.
"Gah," he said again.
Ray shuffled forward on his knees and gripped Harrison's legs. "Ready?"
"Hell yes," Harrison said, and braced himself.
Ray slid in with a groan, closing his eyes. Harrison grunted beneath him, and Ray felt him tense.
"Relax," he said, digging his fingernails into the soft skin of Harrison's thighs. "It'll hurt less."
"You relax," Harrison muttered, but he took a deep breath, and his muscles immediately loosened. Contrite, Ray eased his grip.
"Okay," Harrison said, "go."
Ray pushed in the rest of the way, not stopping until his balls were pressed against Harrison's ass. Harrison moaned and pushed back against him, meeting him halfway.
Ray forced himself to stop and wait; he had to take a minute, or this'd be over before it began. He stared down at Harrison's face, tight and strained and damp from sweat, and dug his fingers in hard enough to leave bruises.
"Go," Harrison whispered again.
Ray went.
You said it was awesome.
Harrison believed it.
The pain was long gone; all he could feel now was unbelievable pleasure, almost too good, like fire coursing through his veins. Ray pulled back and slammed back in, and even the burn felt good; he was being filled, he was being fucked, and it just might've been the best sex he'd ever had in his life.
Well. Giselle had been pretty damn good. But this was up there.
He was fully hard again now, and he wanted to reach for his dick, but he didn't want to lose his grip on the sheets; he felt like if he did, he'd just shatter into a million pieces and fly apart. But Ray knew, somehow, and he let go of Harrison's left leg and grabbed him and started pumping, and Harrison knew he wouldn't last long.
When he came, he whited out, and it felt like being shot again, only a billion times better.
Some time after, Harrison peeled himself off the bed and headed into the bathroom, to shower and reapply his tattoo goop. Ray buried his face in the pillows and squinted after him, unwilling to attempt movement just yet.
Freed of the haze of hormones, his brain was starting to remind him all over again why this was such a bad idea. Harrison was impossibly young. Harrison was a criminal, if a reformed one-- which he kind of doubted. Harrison was male, and so was he.
Harrison wasn't Fraser.
Fraser, who wasn't young and wasn't a criminal, but was most certainly also male.
To his surprise, though, the thoughts didn't really hurt. Like his brain didn't really have its heart in it, which was a bizarre mental image he really didn't have the energy to contemplate at the moment; like it was just putting on a show, for propriety's sake.
Harrison was a young, male criminal, and he lived about a thousand miles away, so in the end it was all academic anyway.
The shower cut off, and Ray closed his eyes and felt around for the comforter, pulling it up over his head. A few minutes later, he felt the bed sag, and Harrison whispered, "You awake?"
"Unfortunately," Ray said into the pillow.
Harrison was silent at first, and Ray was just starting to doze off when he said, "I gotta get back to work soon. I mean, sure, my dad's my boss, but he ain't exactly the type to cut slack."
Ray sighed and pushed the comforter back, sitting up. "You wanna leave tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Harrison said. "I think that'd be best."
And then he grinned, flashing that incongruous dimple that made him look so deceptively sweet. Ray didn't trust that dimple one bit.
"Thank you," Harrison said solemnly, but still with that impish grin, "for going above and beyond the call of duty."
Ray flopped back down with a groan.
"Fuck off," he said, pulling the comforter over his head again.
Harrison's laughter was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep.
END
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