draino | 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒

Love one. I'll have what you're having.

[Harry enters and looks around. He's naturally curious about people, so snooping a little is second nature to him.]

Before we get too friendly, please tell me you're of voting age and your parents aren't here.

[Teddie goes on over to pour two drinks, tapping his finger over each bottle's lid until he settles on (blindly) some dark liquor. He pours, and then looks back over his shoulder at Harry with a smile and a half-laugh.]

Yes and yes. And, of course, as few strings attached as you'd fancy.

[Will they even remember each other's name tomorrow?]

Thank God.

[Harry smiles, which does wonders for his looks even if it shows off the net of wrinkles around his eyes.]

I've not made the most intelligent choices on this holiday. Enjoyable, but not intelligent.

[Teddie comes back over to him, putting a drink in his hand and cheersing his own off of it before taking a sip. His other hand comes up to touch the v of exposed skin on Harry's chest, toying the next button loose in a gentle, flirty way.]

Well then, we'll call tonight an intelligent choice. Exactly what you need or want and nothing more - what is that, anyway? Just some fun, before splitting ways? Fake names? No names?

[He can tell Al he's swearing off twinks all he likes, but the fact is that if there is a warm and willing body nearby then Harry will indulge as much as he is allowed. He feels perpetually starved for touch, and something about Teddie's is particularly warm and welcome.

He smiles, sipping his drink and pressing a little closer.]

My name is Harry Duncan Spens Goodsir. That sounds fake, doesn't it?

Oh, only if you think Theodore [ - finger point] Teddie Weston-Price isn't just as fake.

[They have done the opposite of no names. Full names. He's charmed.]

Shall I sit you down and suck you off now, Harry?

Teddie. Cute.

Is that what you like? To be treated like a slut? I can just sit and drink and let you do all the hard work?

[He seems both amused and not exactly opposed.]

Where shall I sit, then?

I mean, if that's what works for you babe, then sure. I'm your little slut for the night.

[He flashes a smile - feelings have no place here, so he gestures.]

Get cozy on the bed, or do you wanna sit in the arm chair? Pick your vibe.

One of those agreeable types, are you? And what if I tell you I like to be romanced?

[He chooses to sit on the chair.]

I'd ask you to lay out precisely what you want for the night and I'll play into that fantasy too. 'Cause I'm the type that likes to indulge my partners, in whatever they are interested in.

[He sips his drink again before putting it down on the nearby desk, stepping to stand in front of Harry - hand through his hair affectionately, seeing what he likes. If he really does want some faux romance.]

Want me to be your lover of the last five years? Been away from you for six months, pining for you, and here you are... finally returned to me. Oh, how I want to get reunited with you in so many ways.

[Harry's flirty grin falters.]

I think, perhaps, we'll dispense with any fantasies. They're... not as welcome as I'd hoped.

[Even just pretending that someone cares hurts.

That's it, he thinks. He really is just completely broken.

But he tries to push through.]

Let's maybe just start with a kiss, hmm?

[Teddie tips his head to the side (did he mess that up some how?) before he knees down in between the v of Harry's legs, leaning forward to press against him. He reaches up for his neck, pulling him toward himself for a kiss - keeping it slow and tender, trying his best to coax out that flirty grin again.]

[The kiss is good. Harry resolutely stuffs his bad feelings down, focusing instead on those lovely lips and tongue.

His hands find Teddie's hair and push through it, and something feels... oddly familiar.

Harry pauses and pulls back.]

...we've not met, have we?

Have you ever been clubbing in NYC? Or Belize, Paris, anywhere in England...

[Teddie's been around quite a bit - he wouldn't be surprised. But even with the (slightly) joking reply, he swallows hard and looks at Harry for a moment. That fuzzy dream feeling that's been plaguing him is once again in his head, but blurting it out is bound to make him sound crazy. Two people so far believe him, the odds are stacked that the next likely won't.]

Not in recent years.

[Said dryly - he hasn't ever been big on clubs, even when he was in his twenties.

He studies Teddie's eyes. Such pretty eyes.]

I'm sorry. You just feel... terribly familiar. But I've been a bit off, lately.

I won't lie, I've heard that a few times lately.

[And he says that as he slinks forward, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist affectionately - chin against his torso, looking up. It, like much of this, just sort of feels right instead of oddly forward for the night's hook up. It was supposed to be an easy score and here he is, gazing up and not sucking dick. For shame.]

The I look familiar part, and also the feeling off bit. I've felt off for as long as I can remember.

Have you?

[Harry rests his hand on the back of Teddie's neck.]

I've been a mess for a long time, but this is different. I'm scared to look in the mirror, lately. I have dreams. And people seem... different.

[He said dreams out loud first. It means, maybe, just maybe...]

I've always had dreams - weird dreams. Dreams where I was somewhere else, a different version of myself living a different life. Every time they dreams were different, like I had a hundred other lives out there. But I had a lot of therapy, too. They called it a quirk.

[He kneads his hands against Harry's thighs, amused - but also feeling... heavy.]

I don't think it's a quirk sometimes. But I don't know what else it could be.

A quirk.

[It sounds fake somehow, like some shrink who couldn't be bothered to dig deeper. Harry wonders what Will Graham, his therapist friend, might say about it.]

Carl Jung had theories about the collective unconscious. Maybe that's what it is.

[He pushes a hand through Teddie's hair again. He thinks for a moment, silent, then abruptly pulls his shirtsleeve up and turns his forearm so that Teddie can see the scar running up it.]

I don't remember how I got this, or the matching one on the other arm. What's more, it's like... I never noticed them at all until very recently. And that's mad.

Do you think that maybe, just maybe, something is terribly wrong here? In the manor?

[Teddie looks at the scars, then up at Harry, before back down to the skin - reaching to run his fingers along the lines of them. It reminds him of how he's had all these half-baked assumptions in his head, of how people used to be different. But also, without reason, he's been unable to prove it. If something's not wrong with the manor, it's definitely wrong with his head.]

... What kind of terrible? The curable kind, I'd hope.

I don't know.

[He is cold, he realises. Cold again in spite of the warmth of Teddie's body and the fact that it's late June.

He wants us to run, he remembers someone screaming. But who? He cannot say.

Harry swallows dryly.]

I just don't know.

[Teddie's seen the expressions of a dozen men and women in times like this, shifting between something happy or engaging to something distant and drained. It's the latter he doesn't like, and he reaches up for Harry, hands in his hair, pulling him forward again so that their foreheads touch. He's not sure why, but it feels like for a moment he has something to give - as if some sort of soothing touch would just pour out of him like water, to calm him. But it's just a moment of pause, an attempt at the same thing.]

How about we leave worrying about that to the morning. And for now, instead, we just take comfort in one another's company?

...right.

[He came here for a hookup and instead he's pouring out his anxiety onto this poor stranger.

Harry forces a little smile and lifts his hands to cradle Teddie's face as he kisses him with uncharacteristic (he thinks) shyness.]

[Teddie leans into the kiss, drawing it out - introducing a little lick to Harry's lip before he peels back, still gazing at him with affection. It takes a moment, but he murmurs softly:]

It doesn't have to be sex. I'm very good at comfortable silences while laying in bed, too.

I must seem so pathetic right now.

[Harry sighs and passes a hand over his face.]

I feel pathetic. Yes, let's just... perhaps for a moment. I just need to collect myself.

[Bed sounds good. Warm and in someone's arms.]

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cw: suicide

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