Faster Than Flying
Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or "The Fast and the Furious"…the fact that I haven't seen the latest movie, "Fast and Furious", only burns in my fan-girl heart a little bit. Fear not, this too shall be remedied; when I'm not feeling so very lazy.
P.S. – Male/Male sexiness ahead! (Though no actual sex happens)
Soaring Though Skies
Dom would have to be deaf to not have heard the soft sounds of distress and the restless turning from the bed in the next room. A nightmare, Dom thought – with some small amount of sympathy. He had his fair share of things he'd rather forget, and dreams that haunted him with skewed views on harsh reality.
It was when the shower came on that he remembered the fact that there weren't any towels in the bathroom. Dom gave into the urge to groan and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He would have to get up, with a little reluctance he did so, going from his bedroom to the laundry room; which was incidentally in front of the bathroom.
Dam waited a moment, hearing the shower run – he thought for a moment he heard tapping on glass. He shook his head and pushed the door open, keeping his eyes firmly to the ground, the towels tucked under his arm. He was determined not to look up, no matter how his imagination taunted him with temptation.
He took one step toward the sink, planning to put the towels there. He heard Harry's indrawn breath, and would have kept his eyes glued to the ground were it not for the fact that something most definitely had rapped on the window. Dom's eyes flew upward with the instinct of a born racer, and there he was.
Water pounded down on him like a punishing downpour of rain, he looked wet and bedraggled and earnestly pathetic. His eyes were red and bruised, and Dom felt a swell of protectiveness well up within him. He'd been crying where Dom couldn't hear him, of course Dom knows he'd had a nightmare, knew it was a bad one – but he hadn't thought there would be more tears in the shower; those wounded green eyes flinched away from the sight of Dom.
Showers were for cleansing, a daily ritual of cleanliness; to wash away the tears from nightmares, and rid oneself of the grit (not always physical) of the day.
Even with Harry looking away, Dom didn't dare look down, he'd seen a long flash of pale skin and a scattering of black hairs, and now – now Harry's cheeks (the ones on his face) were looking hot to the touch, like he'd been slapped.
Dom heard an insistent tap, tap, tap against the glass; and because it was glass, and this was the bathroom, he looked to the window.
A very large grey and brown owl looked back at him. Its head tilted as Dom looked at it, as if saying "well, I'm here, you clearly see me – won't you please let me in?"...
"Harry…" Dom starts to say, tongue tangling in a pause that stretches into a silence he doesn't know how to bridge.
"Ah, it's for me." Harry doesn't bother with turning the water off, as he keeps his eyes adverted from Dom, so he doesn't notice Dom's eyes widening, seeing his intention; and moves instinctively and swiftly forward. Harry steps out – heedless of the laws of physics (he's never had to obey them before, not really, and has trouble remembering them now) – and when wet skin meets slick tile, Harry inevitably begins to slip, but Dom is there to catch him.
"Easy…" Dom breaths, Harry leans easily on him as he gets his other leg underneath him, as if they've done this before and Harry had known all along that Dom would be there to catch him. There is something else he wanted to say, but for the life of him, he can't recall it.
It doesn't change the fact that Harry is naked and wet in his arms, slender fingers clenching and tangled into his shirt; nails scratching at his skin though thin cloth. Vivid green eyes narrow to his whole world and limp wet strands of wild black hair are tangled in his fingers.
Harry's mouth opens with a breath, to speak, to sigh, but the tongue peeking out between his lips is too tempting. Dom leans down to kiss them; the touch is soft despite Harry's stubble, their lips barely pressing, Dom breaths in and Harry smells of soap and damp and something wilder that Dom has never encountered in a city.
Dom's other hand holds Harry's hips in place against his, to steady him, to urge him to do more – Dom doesn't know his own intentions. Not with Harry pressed against him, nude as the day he was born, with a sweet blush across his tanned cheeks.
The owl Dom will always remember, ruined – or saved – things.
It shrieked, impatient, or it had a death wish. Dom glared at it as if expecting it to drop dead.
"What's that in its talons?" A thick white envelope takes the place of the folded leg of the owl, as it stands patiently on one foot. Dom didn't think that owls do that naturally, but maybe it's some sort of trick, for its fairly obvious this owl is kept by someone.
Harry gives him a sideways glance, a smile playing at his lips. City-boy, that teasing look says.
"Won't know that unless you let me go over there, will I?" Harry asks in turn, his words shaking Dom out of the sensations. It's pleasant, but distracting. For a moment Dom doesn't know if that thought was meant for Harry's words, or Harry's body against his.
Dom slowly lets Harry go; he'd been unaware of his hand on Harry's hips, his arm around Harry's shoulders where his hand tangled in longer hair then boys who looked pretty ought to have. He hadn't really wanted to let go, either.
Harry moves like a predator toward the bird, sleek and skilled. Dom is surprised this bird, which is supposed to be a wild animal, doesn't shy away because of instinct. Harry opens the window while the owl waits, and fearlessly outstretches his hand for the letter which the owl gives over to Harry without turning its head away from Dom's stare.
Its body turns around, yet it keeps looking at him, its head is somehow twisted behind it as it looks over its shoulder at Dom. It's very eerie, and Dom is almost entirely certain the owl is doing it on propose. Just to creep him out for some sort of sick owl-like humor.
When Dom blinks, the owl is gone from the window sill.
From beside him, Harry stifles a sound that could very well be the beginnings of a laugh.
"Don't worry; Blodwedd doesn't take well to anyone at the first meeting." Dom, once he makes sense of the word – and realizes it's the name of the owl that sounds like 'blood-wed', finds himself shrugging, why would he care if a owl liked him?
Harry breaks a black wax seal with a crest of a dog and a stag with a lightning bolt parting them, and while Dom knows nothing of the customs of people living overseas, it strikes him as a romantically old fashioned gesture. The paper isn't from a printer- and neither is it 'letter paper' with lines, and yet the letters elegantly scripted there are the work of freehand, the letters running a straight line across the page.
At first sight, the words are so artful looking; Dom can't make heads or tails of it. Little words jump out at him, they catch his eye because they are so unfamiliar to what Dom knows that they don't make sense.
Then it doesn't matter, because Harry turns the paper away, aware now that Dom had been looking at the letter as an oddity – not out of an urge to invade his privacy anymore then it has already.
It's pretty bad that Dom doesn't know when that line between privacy and personal started to blur with Harry; he doesn't know if there are anymore such lines to cross. Dom isn't a bad guy, criminal? Yes, but not bad. Laws, after all, are written by governments, and governments are corrupt and filthy things feeding off people who haven't really a choice between two evils.
"Bit of an inside joke…" Harry says, absently, as his eyes skim over the letter and Dom had to shake his head, to realize that Harry was still aware of him, and was talking to him, to distract him. Maybe.
"Blood wed?" Dom says the owl's name the only way he can, because his mouth can't form the name any other way, like Harry's mouth can. And perhaps it isn't the best idea, to be thinking of Harry's mouth and lips and tongue with the young man standing beside him without a stitch of clothing on.
"Yeah…" Harry says softly in agreement, distantly. His eyes are far away, as they skim over the parchment in his hands. Dom has to wonder what it is he remembers, why it gives him such a look, but he doesn't dare ask aloud, he doesn't know Harry nearly so well as that. He wonders if he ever will.
"What's the joke?" Dom decides to ask, when Harry is folding the parchment up and tucking it into the envelope. He tucks it behind the sink knob, and glances at Dom in the mirror, flashing a grin full of white teeth as he answers.
"Inbreeding." Dom's eyes flinch away from Harry's in the mirror, even as his own rough laugh echoes in his ears.
He leaves the towels on the sink, feeling big and clumsy and maybe a little stupid, standing beside Harry, shaking his head as if it's at that twisted logic and sense of humor that goes in the naming of an owl. Dom does wonder though, how much truth there is to it; inbreeding and blood weddings, what sort of world was it that Harry raised in, and grew up knowing?
Absently, without a thought to consciences or second-guesses, Dom claps Harry on the shoulder.
"Well let's hope it doesn't come to that, then, to get you out of this mess." Dom means the bike and the bill that Letty is even now likely calculating, but something in the way Harry tenses is shoulders beneath Dom's hand makes Dom think of Harry's nightmares, of his running away, of his unthinking disregard to the laws of physics.
Harry seems to try to smile, but his eyes are distant with memory, and that haunted –hunted - look, like Harry expected to see people, or the ghosts of those people, that just weren't there in the corner of his eyes. It was strange, that Dom hated that look, now, when it had been one of the first things that had drawn him to Harry in the first place.
"There isn't any need; I have a godson, my Heir." It was the same claim that Sirius Black had offered, and Harry hadn't known enough about the world he was growing up in to know what that meant. Those words meant about the same to Dom as they had to Harry then.
"What's his name?" Dom asks, earnestly curious after having overhearing part of the phone call to 'Dromeda. Harry had known he'd heard part of it, and had kept his side as normal sounding as he could – a rich runaway calling in his due wealth. Or perhaps something of that like.
"Teddy Lupin, he was a baby when I left, old enough to talk and walk now." There is a helpless sort of regret in Harry's voice, and Dom knows that Harry won't run away anymore, come what may. Dom almost wishes, thought he doesn't know why, that he hadn't heard such determination in Harry.
Harry will face what comes now, where he wouldn't before, his past, which he had warned Dom would come hunting him; the past which Harry fled from, that Dom wouldn't turn him away for.
"What was your dream about?" Dom doesn't know why the words slipped out now, when he had determined not to speak of it. Harry watches him for a long moment in the mirror, as if he can't turn and face Dom.
"Memories, for the most part." Dom doesn't have anything to say to that, so he leaves Harry there in the bathroom, as the word's fade from his ears – they ring in his memory like bells.
It was one answer to the riddle of Harry Potter; his memories were bad enough to be the sort of nightmares that would make most dread waking. Dom had to wonder what kept him going, if it was only the urge to flee, for Harry certainly had much within his own mind to run from; yet the irony in that was that was what Dom know the truth of well.
You can't outrun yourself, Dom thinks, and goes to the kitchen, where an owl sits on the table – the window left open day and night in hopes of tempting in a breeze.
"Don't worry; Blodwedd doesn't take well to anyone at the first meeting." Harry's words come back to haunt him, as does his remembered uncaring shrug.
Blodwedd glares, suspicious and distrusting.
Apparently he should care, rather a lot.
Note; I am sulking, artists are in hiding. I stalk them now, yes? I is kidding. No stalk artists, they are jumpy and startle quickly; must use chocolate and honey.
PS – I've now seen "Fast and Furious"; it's the movies between I'm now unsure about having watched or not.