Big Chicago

Big Chicago Part 22...By Samayel


My stomach just flipped again! Harry is almost home. It was a surprise. So little warning, which isn’t really unusual, but the last couple of days have been pretty quiet, with only hints that he might be back soon to keep me company. I was still in my smock from painting in the music room and busy washing my hands, which, after using oil paints, were an absolute mess. Naturally, perfect timing means that he’s downstairs and just buzzed Maria and I have about a cool minute left before he’s right here!

I can’t wait another minute! I’ve started to get good at coping while he’s gone…especially now that I can get around on my own better, but there is nothing restrained or calm about the way I feel when I know he’s nearby and it just a matter of minutes between our being together. It makes it simply unbearable. There isn’t even time to dress up for him…I just ditch the smock and wait quietly in the entry hall, grinning like an idiot.

I want him to see that I’m happy. I want him to know that I’m okay. When he left, I was still a wretched and miserable queen in pain, hating that I was going to be alone again. I want him to know that when he does what he must, I’ll be just fine. The pills don’t complete erase my anxiety about something like this. The dosage is so low that I’m still my usual, fluttery self, over-thinking every damnable, little detail. They do keep the edge off of the hysteria though, and I think I did really well the last few days.

I’ve exercised, behaved well regarding my diet (except for one teensy little tantrum I threw about not having so much as a snippet of sausage all week…and honestly, a life without sausage is almost like no life at all, so I think I did very well…but I still want a fucking pizza!), healed enough to be active and do a few of the things I enjoy, and even start the process of setting up a meeting with Blaise. I just finished work on Harry’s birthday present. It took the better part of the last two days, but the end product was well worth it.

Art is a reflection of life, and in this case, the life is mine. Therefore, the entire affair was poorly organized and well executed only because of pure luck and a dash of natural talent, but it came out looking good. Harry won’t see it for a little while yet, since we’ve got a little more than a week to go before he turns twenty-five.

So strange to think that I’m technically dating ‘a younger man’! Not my normal style at all. It was always older men that caught my eye…with the exception of Blaise…but Harry hardly gives the impression of youth. Something about the confidence…the strength and clarity he possesses makes him feel older and wiser. Certainly enough to make me respond almost subconsciously. Something about that aura of power and ability makes me feel safe, makes me know that it will all be okay. Makes me…

Jesus…I’m so horny I could jump him in the hall again! Thank God I’m wearing slacks!

And there he is. The door opens and he’s home and smiling, and my world melts so fast that you’d think I took the brown acid at Woodstock. I was going to be reserved and just a little dignified, but who the hell cares about that now…he’s home. I have him all to myself and I’m buried in perfect arms, drowning in the scent and feel of him.

“Missed you, too. You look like you recovered fairly well.”

Missed me, too? Mr. Understatement Of The Year.

“Mmmm…yeah. Just glad you’re home…now, if you haven’t got any very important business that needs taking care of immediately, kindly follow me to the bedroom, where you’ll be getting rid of those pesky clothes and fucking me until I have to write my name on the tag of my underwear just to remember who I am.”

Hah! Got him with that one! The flared nostrils, the raised eyebrow. That perfect smirk and quiet chuckle. They’re all mine again…and very shortly, they’ll be joined by the rest of him.

“Okay…but you don’t have to be so subtle…a guy might miss a hint that faint.”

I drag him by the hand while we make our way to a little privacy. I do love a smartass as subtle as I myself can be. One little door behind us, with me closing it and standing between him and freedom. Now that I’m relatively well, and he’s here and real and all mine for awhile, the tigress in me is coming to the forefront of my being, and I won’t let my prey get away. Not that he could run fast enough or far enough to get away from me, or that I would let him want to! This time between us is written in stone, and nothing is stopping it!

I settle for rather melodramatically jumping into his arms, and true to form, he catches me reflexively. That’s when I see it. The tightness of his jaw, the shift of weight to compensate as one arm takes over for the other. The faintest hint of a wince of pain. It stops me cold, but it can’t mean anything serious. Just a pulled muscle or something. But he’s avoiding my eyes. It’s all wrong. I can feel it in the air around us.

“What happened? Are you all right? I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have just jumped. Let me down.”

He looks so sheepish it’s embarrassing even for me. A grown man and a killer to boot, looking flushed and vaguely unsure of himself while he lets me down to the ground gently. Stammering excuses that I don’t think anyone would believe.

“It’s nothing. Really. A scratch. Barely even that. Don’t worry about it. I’ve missed you so much…let’s-”

“You…are…lying! You are so incredibly bad at it that it’s almost endearing, but you are actually lying to me! I missed you…but someone else didn’t! What happened!? What’s wrong with your arm!? Show me it…now!”

I can’t believe I just bossed him around! And it worked! I can feel my stomach going from those happy, giddy flips of reunion into the ugly, sickening flips of faint and creeping panic. The jacket peels away, and then the shirt.

His right arm. Near the shoulder. The bandage is fresh and white, neatly wrapped in gauze. It’s real. It’s all real. Ever have one of those moments where reality slows down because your heart just started pumping at a different speed while your brain takes a second to grasp what’s going on around you? Yeah…this is one of those.

“Look…Drake, it really isn’t anything more than a surface injury. Snape barely even had to-”

“Snape! You had to see a doctor? Doctors don’t do ‘barely‘! ‘Barely’ could be handled with a band-aid! That isn’t barely! Harry…was it…did you get…”

“The bullet grazed my shoulder. Didn’t even really enter. Just ran along the side of me. I swear to God! Snape looked at it and bitched me out for even waking him up! I’m not lying! I’m just fine, love. Take it easy and don’t let yourself get overworked about this. It’ll be ancient history in a few days…really!”

Those are panic breaths coming on, but not as bad as last time. I can handle this. I can maintain. Got pills working their mojo on my side, got Harry home and here in front of me. He’s alright. He’s right here. It’s okay. It’s not bad.

HOW THE FUCK CAN I BE BLASÉ ABOUT HIM BEING SHOT!!!

Can’t panic. Got to make myself busy. Do something. Anything. Anything useful. My legs are moving and I’m on the way to the bathroom without a word, and I can hear him speaking to me, following me in while I try to calm myself enough to speak without screaming.

“Drake? Drake…are you okay? What…where are you going. C’mere…if you need to sit down for a minute that’s alright. What are you-”

I turn the handle on the bathtub and let the water start to fill it. I think I’m delirious, but I can hang onto sanity long enough to do something useful and welcoming. I turn to him with a calm that is pure fiction, and I’m pretty sure the tremor in my voice was something he could hear and recognize as stifled panic.

“Harry…you must be tired. You should…soak in the tub for a bit. Let me go to the kitchen and get you a drink. When I come back, I want you relaxing in this tub, and I’ll join you and give you a proper welcome home. I’m okay. Just…give me a minute to get something cold for you…and I’ll be right back.”

He looks suspicious. He shouldn’t be. I don’t feel that dramatic. Overwrought…yes, crazy…no.

“You’re sure you’re alright? I just knew this would upset you, but I swear I’m just fine. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“I’m fine. I just…I needed a minute to wrap my head around this. Would you like one of those import beers from the fridge?”

“Yeah. Okay. If you’re sure…”

“Just be in that tub when I get back. Being naked would also be good.”

I’m out of the room as quickly as I can muster, trying to walk steadily. Just…dazed. It feels like I woke up and realized that I’m in a strange place. Intellectually, I knew that Harry had been shot twice before this, but it isn’t the same as seeing the evidence that someone fired a bullet at him…and hit…or almost hit. Not the same at all.

I live in a pleasant world of music and poetry, roses and caramels and silk sheets. Bullets ripping through skin has no place in my world. Harry…MY Harry lives in that world every day that he’s not with me. That’s where he goes. Where bullets are ‘no big deal’. I’m a stray piece of lead away from being a widow. And I can’t even legally get married!

Kitchen. Fridge. Beer.

“Senor Drake?”

The note of concern isn’t lost on me. I put Maria off with a few glib comments about wanting to fetch something for Harry myself. She accepts it, but I think she knows I’m rattled as hell. Shit…I’m walking like a zombie and shaking a little. I can tell because the beer inside the bottle is shivering. All I can say is, thank heavens for Snape’s little pills, or I’d probably be face down on the floor or puking my guts out by now.

Harry is in the bath, and the water in this tub fills fast, so he’s almost up to his wait, sitting on the edge of the tub trying to look relaxed for me. I know he’s worried about me, but I smile and put the beer and the opener down on the counter while I shuck my clothes.

How sad. I was stone hard when he first walked in, and now here I am with my balls practically pulled into my body cavity from panic. Makes the smile I try to fake seem just that…fake.

“You…”

“Shh. I know what I’m doing. I’m fine. Just let me get a few things and I’ll be right over.”

Bottle of beer. Opener for later. Soap…shampoo…some sea salts for the bath. Ready. I take my place behind him, and slip my legs around his back, seated on the outer edge of the tub, while he rests on the comfortable inner edge that forms a seat inside the tub. Now is the time for the beer to come into play. I turn it sideways and place it just along the back of his neck, then roll it gently against the muscles there.

“Oh! Damn! That‘s…cold, but…good! Where did you come up with that?”

I use the bottle to massage his neck, taking a short break to throw in some sea salts and set the tub controls to activate the spa jets.

“I saw it in a movie once. I think it had Liza Manelli in it. Glad you like it. Scoot down a little…I need you closer to the water to get your hair wet enough to shampoo and condition.”

So obedient. Everything is alright. Everything is okay. He keeps that shoulder out of the water, but slides deeper into the tub and relaxes properly while I prop the beer between his neck and the edge of the tub. Touching him is comforting. Familiar and right. Safe and just as real as the life he lives outside of here. I need that balance right now.

I let hot water run down his head, trying to avoid the fresh bandage. Let my fingers work shampoo into his scalp. I’ve never really done this, but I’ve been to salons before, and having your scalp massaged is a pleasure that can’t go wrong. He looks like he’s relaxing. Not worrying so much about me. I can feel myself calming a bit now that I have something very tangible and physical to occupy me. This is better. This is good.

Rinse and condition, roll the beer along the tight muscles near his shoulders, avoiding that one horrible place where gauze marks him as off limits, rinse again and pop the beer open for him while I switch to using my hands. I can hear the sigh that comes when he drinks deeply and lets my hands work a little mojo of their own.

“God. Dee. That’s…incredible.”

“It’s supposed to be. I told you I’m okay. I was just…thrown off for a second. I’m alright, Harry. I’m just glad to have you all to myself for a little while.”

He believes it. Sinks comfortably into the tub, relaxing properly while I work on muscles that are slowly becoming less tense and more pliable. What I said was true…mostly, but then…I am a much better liar than he will ever know. When I want to be. He knows what scares me. I’ve been honest with him before. He doesn’t need to know how badly, or how desperately, I fear for him.

Sink into the water beside him. The door is closed and the light is hazy when the bath is full and steaming while the soft hum of the spa lulls away anything but the sounds of water lapping at the edges. He knows to be silent while I work soap into lather and pulls him forward, deeper into the bath.

This is intimacy. That my hands know every part of him as I clean him. It isn’t just that it’s deliberately sensual, it’s that, even without sex happening, I’m still comfortable touching every part of him, and he’s comfortable letting me do just that. A closeness beyond lust, past need and hunger, and into the realm of adoration. Love. I know that this is why I’m scared. Who would want to lose something they’ve never had before, after finding it in spite of everything that should have made it impossible?

But that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook.

Are my nerves rattled? Yes. But more importantly, my hands are sliding across clean, strong lines of muscles, dipping below the water and finding that he’s rising like the tide inside of me, and whatever I may have felt before, I’m feeling that fluttering sense of need and desire once again.

Note to self: Conditioner…not a perfect lubricant, but I don’t feel like waiting…or leaving and fetching something more appropriate. It’s enough trouble keeping his mouth occupied so he won’t talk and spoil the mood. I can feel in his kiss that he missed me. Like telepathy. A language that transcends the voice. Some silent relief inside him that tells me he is grateful to the core of being that he can be here, with me, again. And not just because I’m sliding onto the erection underneath me, biting his neck while I brace myself, making small hungry noises because I can feel it moving into me while I bear down, not caring if conditioner isn’t enough to smooth its way.

Strong hands running up my back while he whispers confused and grateful words of need. I can tell. He, in his own way, is sometimes scared of what he feels. The strength of it. The way it complicates. But it’s too powerful to just ignore. The time for that is past. We’re both in too deep to escape. We have to make our way together now, because nothing else would ever be enough.

Grinding myself onto his lap, warm and comfortable in the scented haze of the bath, as lazily content as any cat on any windowsill could ever hope to be. Just rocking myself easily on his lap, full of the luxury that is him inside of me, conscious of every small movement of the stiffened flesh that pierces me, and of the way my own prick tingles and pulses as it rubs against his stomach.

It doesn’t take long. Not for me anyway. I’ve missed him too much and for too long to maintain any semblance of control. The scent and feel of him all around me, the heat and thickness of his cock inside of me. It’s too much and then some. I’m wrapped around him, arms tight, face buried in his neck while I come so easily that it even surprises me.

He hasn’t come , and I don’t mean to let him…yet. I’m comfortable here, flopped across his, at rest on his lap, still penetrated by him and wrapped in arms that like iron. The bandage is meaningless. He got hurt, but not badly. I’ll be afraid no matter what, but I won’t let it take away my chance to feel this way. I won’t let anything take that from me.

The bath is draining and he’s still hard and ready for more. I’ve dried off, teasing him all the while…and that got me a quick second round while holding the bathroom countertop for support. I can feel the change in his confidence as I wind him up and make him want more. He wants to please me like this, cock slapping hard and fast into me while I huff and gasp, back arched like an alley cat in heat in the steam and mist of the room.

All I need is the briefest pause and I slip away from him and turn around, seating myself on the edge of the counter, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him back into me while my tongue plunders his mouth. The skin on my healing back tingles and hurts ever so slightly, but I genuinely can’t be bothered to care. Nothing is better than this. Slick and ready for more and more, feeling like I’m starving when he isn’t in me, glutting myself wildly when he is.

I feel my body lifted effortlessly, swung around and pinned against the wall, knees almost bent tight against either side of my chest, his arms just under the pits of my knees and holding me steady while he pounds up into me so easily. He has the body of an Olympic athlete, and the endurance to match. He makes me feral, crazy with need and utterly out of control…and I love it.

This…this is what I’ve been missing.

He comes like a freight train, pounding me back into the wall while I bit down hard on the sensitive flesh behind the nape of his neck, mostly to keep myself from screaming so loud that Therese and Maria would know just how rowdy we’re getting in here. There will be time for more…and more…and more. Later.

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How long has it been? Not sure. I forgot exactly when he got home this afternoon, but it’s well past dinnertime now. We’ve been celebrating, and we aren’t finished by a damn sight! Not if I have anything to say about it. I’m testing even his endurance, demanding little hussy that I am. My whole body tingles from head to toe, and I feel bruised and a little dizzy at the same time, but I’m drunk on the only luxury allowed to me, and I mean to indulge myself as shamelessly as I can.

Harry’s in the bathroom, and I can hear him pissing while he yawns. Not because we’ve been sleeping, but because I’ve been deliberately exhausting him. I’m just laying here, facedown, sticky and lazy, halfway to satiation and loving the soft burn that warms my backside. He’s come three times, always inside of me, and I had my turn in the bathroom awhile ago. My last few orgasms have all been of the internal variety, prostate stimulated until I’m screaming out for God, but I’m already in my god’s arms. I think I’m actually ready to come the traditional way again. Just the lazy thought of his mouth around my cock is enough to make me roll over and stroke myself the rest of the way to hardness, letting finders slip down to the slick place below, brushing softly against the sullen, bruised place that wait for his return. I feel high, giddy and delirious. So happy. In a minute he’ll be back, and we’ll…

The ring of the cellphone on the nightstand is jarring and out of place. I snatch it from the table and answer without a thought.

“Best sex ever…now interrupted…however can I help you?” Sarcasm dripping from every word.

A woman’s crisp Scottish brogue answers, chilling me to the bone.

“And precisely who is this?! What are doing on this line?! This is-”

And then I can’t hear anything because the phone is snatched from my hand and Harry’s palm is over my mouth, pinning my head to the sheets! Reality just kicked in, and what I’ve done was unspeakably stupid. He isn’t even looking at me, his head is turned away while he speaks, but I can hear the edge in his voice. Terror. Stark, raw fucking terror. What I’ve done even frightens him. God help me! What the fuck have I just done?

“Ma’am! I am so terribly sorry. He grabbed the wrong phone. They look exactly alike. Please don’t be concerned…we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again. No ma’am. Please tell him that all is well on our end. Business is very good.

“Thank you. I’m glad he’s pleased. We’ve been working very hard on this end. Things seem to be shaping up the way we expected. We’ve had some very positive signs just lately, and our ’ideal goal’ may become feasible sometime soon.

“Thank you, ma’am. You really do have my apologies about the ‘confusion’. Please…I assure you that it will NOT happen again. What? When? But things are at a very sensitive stage right now. I don’t think…ah. I see. Understood. The arrangements are already made? Okay. We’ll be there. Tomorrow. Thank you. Good bye.”

The phone snaps shut and he’s still silent and tense, hand over my mouth while I cringe, wide-eyed with fright and almost wanting piss myself from the fear of what this might mean. he holds a finger over his lips while I nod that I understand. He needs my silence.

He moves the night stand aside, and slides a small panel in the wall open. I never even knew it was there. The safe inside has a combination lock. He swings the little knob back and forth to each number, and I can see the sweat from tension dripping off of his forehead. I don’t dare say a word. Jesus. What just happened? I never should have touched that phone. What did I do? I was so happy…I wasn’t thinking clearly…I missed him so much! I didn’t mean it! I want to scream!

The tiny click sounds and he opens the door. I see paperwork, bearer bonds that are probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, bundles of cash, a pistol, and a small box like the one Dean brought the night of the party here. He pulls out the small box and sets it on the nightstand, then pushes the button. This room is now secure for any conversation, and when he turns back to me his face is scarlet.

“Harry…I…”

“What the FUCK were you thinking! Do you have any fucking idea what you just did! GOD DAMMIT! You…you…”

I cringe into a little ball on the sheets. I know I’m muttering that I’m sorry, but mostly I just want him to start hitting me. It would be easier than dealing with what I just did. Anything would be better. I knew it. I knew I fucked up the one way I never should have. It’s bad and I can feel it. His hands jerk my wrists and he’s kneeling beside the bed, demanding that I look him in the eyes.

“Drake. I turned the white noise on because I have to say this now and there’s no time to waste. Do you understand what we’re involved in? I thought you did…but maybe I was wrong. That little fuck up is the kind of thing that could make them order me to silence you. Do you understand? Do you fucking understand that they might order me to eliminate a security risk? They didn’t…but they might. That was Mr. White’s secretary. His right hand. She has the authority to give orders on his behalf, and if she thinks you’re too big of a risk…this is over…we won’t be safe here.”

“They…they’d tell you to kill me?”

“I know what you’re thinking. I wouldn’t do it. But they might not ask me. They might keep the matter out of my hands entirely. What we’re doing is too big and too dangerous to risk. If I thought we had to, I’d run…with you. I’ve got hidden accounts all over the world, but even they can be tracked by the kind of people I work for. Drake…it’s down to this…

“They want us to come to England. Mr. White wants to meet you…and he wants to talk to me…personally. We have to decide this right now. If we go…I might have to pull us out of there in a hurry…if I even think they want you out of the picture. But I don’t think that’s the case, or I wouldn’t even risk it. Our other choice is packing a few things and running like hell. Sticking to non standard transport and making a lot of false tracks along the way. It won’t be easy, but I could probably get us to someplace where we’d be hard to find.

“I think he wants to meet you…because of Zabini. Because I reported about you…favorably. Not because of tonight. I think he wants to recruit you. Make you a part of the Phoenix Corporation officially. Not doing what I do of course, but something to make your status with me less of an exception.

“Mr. White and I are very close. I didn’t mention it before, because the others were around, and this isn’t really for their ears, and I can’t name names without the white noise generator on. When my godfather, Sirius Black, was killed, he was working for Mr. White, the way I do now. My father’s job was more like security analysis, and his best friend was Sirius Black. They were both early employees of the Phoenix Corporation. When Sirius died, I was fifteen. I inherited both estates, but I was just a kid. There was no one to take care of me. Mr. White was the one who made all the arrangements. He took care of me when no one else was left.

“That’s why it’s different with me. That’s why I can ask this of him. To have you in my life. He’s like the only family I have, and I know he’ll make exceptions for me, because he might be one of the most powerful people in the world, but he’s a human being…and he’s my friend.

“But there are limits. I can’t say for sure that, if it was serious enough, if he really believed that you were a major security risk, he might not order a ‘clean up’. The last time this company had a breach of security, my parents got killed by someone Riddle hired. He won’t put everything at risk needlessly…not even for me.

“So that’s how it is. Either you go with me, tomorrow, to England…or we run right now and never turn back, but if we run, we’ll be hiding forever, and they’re damned good at searching. You fucked up, and you were warned about fucking with the program. All you need to know is that I love you, but this one is your call. If we head for England, it could be the best thing that ever happened, or the worst, and the same goes for running. I wish you hadn’t put me in a situation where I have to ask this, but what’s it gonna be?”

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So that’s it. I’m laying here hours later, unable to sleep, unsure how the hell he can be at rest when I don’t know if I can keep my sanity for another minute. I’m shit-scared and wondering what the fuck will happen next. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but it won’t be easy.

I told him we’re going to England. Maybe to my death, or maybe to my rebirth, but I’m not running from my mistakes anymore. If I can pull off the meeting of a lifetime, just maybe…just maybe I can buy us a future that doesn’t involve destroying Harry’s ability to keep me safe.

But ‘just’ and ‘maybe’ aren’t enough to sleep on. They’re enough to leave me praying in the night, Harry’s breath on my neck, eyes closed while my head races with panic, wishing to God that Snape had given me stronger pills.


TBC!!!