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I never want to greet the day sober again

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That was the first sensation that registered after the painful drag across gravel that was coming to consciousness." He laid in bed savouring that sweet hazy spot between sleep and the knowledge that a hangover was waiting around the corner with a bat. For now though everything was soft and warm and –


Thick, dark hair smelling tickled under Harry’s chin where Cisco curled into his side, fast asleep They were both cramped on to his cot after a night of brainstorming.

At some point into the night, Harry had brought out a bottle of whiskey. He couldn’t quite remember, through the fog of sleep, if they had solved the equation at hand in the end before the night faded into honey rich whiskey. The bottle he once had kept close at hand to swim his own self-pity had turned into something different with Cisco to share. Something recreational. Something joyful. The night became a medley of Cisco’s bubbling laughter, his radiant smile, his warmth –



He forced his muscles to loosen where his arms had been subconsciously squeezing Cisco’s body closer to his – and when in the night had he turned into an octopus, anyway? He grimaced as he tried to retract his limbs but froze when Cisco grumbled in protest.

“Mmmphgdontmovehmm” followed by Cisco nuzzling his face into Harry’s chest and pinning him close to his body with a surprisingly strong grip. Or perhaps not that surprising. Harry had spent more time than he’d care to admit watching those deceivingly strong arms, shoulders, broader and more solid than his soft figure and character should have allowed.

“Cisco…” Harry whispered, hand hovering over Cisco’s back. His thoughts flapped through his mind like a frantic bird caught out on the ocean with nowhere to land. “We – we fell asleep. We should – Cisco, we should get up.”


Harry snorted. He allowed himself, however hesitantly, to rest his hand on Cisco's back and rub circles into the soft, warm fabric of his inanely immature graphic tee, a fixture of Cisco's wardrobe Harry, loathe though he was to admit it, had become rather fond. He gave in then, settling in to hug Cisco indulgently. He could allow himself these five minutes, and after that, Cisco would wake, push him off the narrow cot, Harry would fall on his ass and they would vow to never speak of it again.


Harry would take the unceremonious fall if it meant he could have five more minutes to soak in Cisco’s warmth. Last night had felt like a supernova, fighting over whiteboard space and rights to the stereo.


Cisco was a lot like whisky, Harry thought; warm, hazy, smooth, intoxicating. Making him hot and melting deep in his core –

Before he could think better of it, Harry pressed his lips to Cisco's soft, dark mop of hair. He froze, blood running cold as the realisation of what he’d done filtered in. Was he trying to make Cisco uncomfortable? Threaten their carefully constructed dynamic of tense, yet teasing banter that hid just beneath it a stronghold of trust and true friendship?

Cisco sighed and he sounded…pleased?

Harry blinked. Then, because he was a scientist and scientists tested theories, he gave Cisco an experimental squeeze, which resulted in another content sigh that tickled warm against his chest.

Cautiously, ready to brush it off as nothing and convince Cisco he’d been asleep Harry gently pressed his lips to Cisco’s hairline.

“Hmm, like that,” Cisco mumbled.


He was awake now, definitely awake and rubbing a lazy pattern into Harry’s back, quickening his pulse and making his breath catch in this throat.

So, Harry kissed his forehead, his temple, his cheek – slowly he curled his back and brought his face lower and lower until his lips brushed against the soft, so soft, skin of Cisco’s neck. Cisco arched his head back, eyes still closed but a smile twitching at his full lips.

Jesus, I could lose myself in you, Harry thought and a part of him that wasn’t a dad or the CEO of a large company on another earth or too busy saving one particularly clumsy speedsters ass once a week wanted to unhook those tethers and do exactly that.  His hangover was suddenly gone the same way it came, with a heady, giddy rush of intoxication as the lingering scent of Cisco's strawberry shampoo and the taste of salt on his flesh filled Harry's senses.

Harry placed another kiss on Cisco’s bared neck, hunger  fuelling him, biting up his throat and growling, low and guttural, as he followed the same trail with his tongue.

Cisco let out a god damn mewl and Harry was never going to have a clear head again. Was never going to be able to purge the echo from his skull. Not while working a case, not with the team, not alone with his memories and his right hand.


Harry’s kisses became fevered as Cisco’s breathing changed, faster and louder and higher pitched, his body squirming against Harry’s own. Harry actions were possessed by every late night working by Cisco’s side, resigned to wanting but never having. Taking solace in their bickering and movie nights while biting down the urge to reach out, touch, feel his heat, his lips, his hips. Everything bubbled over now as Harry brushed dark strands of Cisco’s hair from his bared neck and sucked hard –

“Harr – for real, a hickey? What are you, a teenager?”

Reality chose that moment to remind them they were two grown-ass men sharing a small cot, Cisco letting out an undignified yelp as they rolled over and crashed into the ground in a tangle of limbs and bedding.


Harry had a sharp comment on the tip of his tongue but was subdued by the warmth of Cisco’s soft body pressing into him and bubbling laughter filling his ears.

If Harry could start every morning getting drunk on Cisco he’d happily never take on a day sober again for the rest of his life.