Archive of Our Own ^beta

Harry’s scared to ask Jean how his date went, and he hates himself for it. He’s jealous. He can admit that. He doesn’t feel that way about Jean, and anyway he isn’t a homo or something. But he’s jealous, and possessive, and the thought of Jean spending time with someone other than him outside of work hours makes him want to throw up. Jean is his friend, the only one he’s had since Dora left, and he wants claim to his time, and he feels very strongly about it. It’s difficult to parse this in his mind, which slips and slides like goop- the urges he feels to touch Jean, to put a hand on his shoulder, to feel the muscle underneath that’s been developing since Jean started going to the gym. Who are you trying to impress? He rolls the question in his mind obsessively, but never asks it aloud. (It will take a catastrophic data loss in Harry’s mind, an entroponetic event, before he begins to understand why he’s always felt alone amongst men, even before Dora left.)

He finally forces the question out the only way he knows how. “So did you fingerbang her or what?” Harry asks, shit eating grin on full display, as he sits backwards in his chair and peers at Jean eating his lunch (chicken with gravy and a salad, because that’s all Jean will allow himself while he’s bulking up).

Jean scoffs. “What took you so long to ask?” He uses his thumb to wipe a bit of gravy from the corner of his mouth and leans forward. He’s been waiting. “Yes! I did.” Then he steeples his fingers. “But there was a problem.”

Harry whispers. “It’s all right, Jean, it happens to everyone. You were probably just nervous—”

“No. No! Nononono. Noooo!” Jean raises a finger up and shoves it in Harry’s face, so fast and aggressive that Harry must dodge it. “No. That’s your problem. Not mine. No.”

“Then what the hell happened?”

“She tried to choke me. Then slap me.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “No.”

“Yes!” Jean hisses. “Crazy psycho shit! I’m telling you. Women are getting more adventurous these days.”

Harry slaps the surface of Jean’s desk and grins. “Can’t keep up, huh?”

“Of course I fucking can’t! I mean- slapping? Are you kidding me? Have you ever done that?”

Harry shakes his head. He thinks back to Dora. “Wait. I mean, spanking? Do you mean that? I’ve done that.”

Jean is genuinely surprised. But he’s not very sexually experienced. “Oh, shit, do you mean it? No. She tried to slap me here. Here.” Jean points emphatically to his cheek. “Fucking crazy. I mean, I’ve never done-- spanking” he says in his Suresne accent, “or whatever freaky shit you’re into.” He leans over the desk, putting his whole weight on his elbows (his suit is already scuffed to shit), and whispers. “How is it? You did it to… her Innocence?”

Harry nods slowly. “And I had it done to me, too.”

Jean gags. “Ooookay! Okay. Didn’t need to know that, you psychopath.” He slams back in his chair and crosses his arms.

“You fucking asked!!” Harry snaps back, offended. “So what did she do? Was she like. Oh, Jean, you are so, fucking, sensual oui oui,” he coos, putting on his most exaggerated Suresne accent, wiggling his shoulders as he leans over the desk to get closer to Jean. Jean leans back in his chair, as far away from Harry as possible. Harry cackles at the ridiculousness of his posture and crawls up on the desk, disco pants riding up on his ankles. “Ah’m going to… smack ze shit out of you!”

Then he slaps Jean’s cheek, experimentally, gently. He doesn’t want to hurt Jean. His fingers appreciate the touch. It’s been a long time since he’s touched someone’s face.

Jean rolls his eyes. “No. Idiot. It was more like—” and he reaches up and slaps Harry in the face, quite a bit harder, but still cautiously. Only enough to sting, really.

Harry frowns. Pouts, really. It hurt.

Jean’s heart races. He ignores it. But he can’t resist doing it again. “No. Wait. Not that. It was like—” And Jean rears back and slaps Harry in the face with the full weight of his arm.

Harry screams, and it bellows through the office. Of the six members of C wing in the room, only Trant bothers to turn around and check where the sound is coming from. But he quickly turns back around once he sees it’s Harry.

“Fuck! Jean! What the fuck! That fucking hurt!” Harry can feel his cock stand to attention immediately. He tries to ignore it, but he’s not like Jean. He feels everything.

“I’m surprised you can actually feel anything, what with all the booze.”

“Fuck you! I’m not drunk!” Harry slaps Jean back, not as hard as Jean slapped Harry, but enough to make Jean shout, too. Jean’s shout is low and masculine, satisfying to the ears.

“Son of a bitch!” Jean screams. He stands up, suddenly angry. He wants to dare Harry to hit him again. His heart is really pumping now. He blinks rapidly, wondering if this is good for his blood pressure, then tells himself he’s not old enough to worry about that, and that’s Harry’s situation, not his. “I can fucking smell it on you!” He slaps Harry again.

“That’s because I don’t shower, not because I drank today!” He smacks Jean right back. And then puts Jean in a headlock, burrowing his face into Harry’s chest. Make Jean submit, a voice in his head screams at him. Put him in his place. His pulse is so fast it’s starting to scare him.

“Fuck you, Harry!” He feels Jean’s shoulders tense as he struggles to break free. Jean lifts his hands and begins smacking Harry’s shoulders, then his back. Jean spins around in Harry’s grip so his face at least is no longer pressed into Harry’s chest, and now he can feel Harry’s nose pressed up against the back of his head. He gasps and feels his face get hot. He hears Harry take a sniff of his hair, and thinks, Yeah, that’s conditioner, Harry, because I actually fucking bathe.

Jean has the self awareness to know that he enjoys wrestling with Harry, he really does- it makes him feel like a child, cared for somehow, put in his place, reminds him of a time when his father would barrel into him and flip him over on his own bed, and he would giggle and scream, but his father would always insist on winning, punch a wall and leave a dent behind Jean’s head or hit Jean in the stomach until he cried and somehow it wasn’t fun anymore, and anyway, he doesn’t like to think about it that much, the point is it makes him feel loved, and the point is Harry always takes it a bit too far, too, so he’s mentally preparing himself for that eventuality.

It’s the price of friendship, he tells himself as he reaches his hands back behind him and begins smacking Harry rapidly in the face, hard enough that he can almost feel Harry’s blood vessels start to pop. Harry must be losing hearing at this point, because he growls in Jean’s ear way too loud and it only seems to give him more strength. Jean’s starting to get scared. But this is the part he likes. This is the part that’s precious.

“What the fuck! What the fuck! Let me go! Prick!” Jean shouts. He hears Chester laughing in the background, but he’s not sure where the sound is coming from.

He decides to go limp, let his body weight pull Harry off balance so he can flip him overhead, but Harry’s too clingy and bold, and they both tumble to the floor and Harry wraps his legs around Jean’s torso.

Then Jean can feel Harry’s dick he can feel Harry’s dick he can feel Harry’s dick. He can feel Harry’s hard, hot, throbbing dick pressed up right against in his back. He really likes me, a pathetic voice chimes in the back of his mind as Jean elbows Harry. If that makes his throat jump and his stomach bubble with giddiness, he can ignore that.

Harry coughs and withdraws. Jean rolls with him and pins Harry down with his knee underneath Jean’s desk. Harry always looks so pleasant when he’s in pain like this, Jean thinks.

And he slaps Harry in the face for good measure. Maybe it will impress him, maybe it will make him like me, that pathetic voice volunteers. Harry shouts again, and Jean can see his hips writhe and buck and it makes Jean feel powerful. And without another thought, he throws himself on Harry, his best friend, his affectionate one, and he wraps his arms and his legs around him and starts wrestling him into the ground. The thrill of Harry’s cock pressing into his hip and the strength Harry matches back into him as they tumble on the hard linoleum floor makes Jean bite his tongue in excitement. He smells Harry’s sweat and he hears Harry moan softly in his ear and he feels even happier. He’s mine. No woman will ever touch him because he’s too fucking pathetic. But I like him. I’m the only one who does. It keeps Jean safe.

Finally, he becomes aware that Harry’s rutting slowly against his hip, and he hears Harry mumbling, sighing, Jean, Jean, Jean, hey buddy, my baby, my baby boy, and the waft of booze coming off Harry’s breath brings Jean back to reality. Slowly. It takes a minute. Long enough for Jean to helpfully press his hip and thigh further into Harry’s groin to give him more friction. Long enough for Jean to burrow his head into Harry’s chest for a moment and imagine being hugged. Long enough for Jean to wish that he could stay like this forever. But then the moment’s past.

“Ugh! What the fuck, Harry!” He brings an arm back and violently pinches the side of Harry’s stomach, where he knows Harry is ticklish, and Harry screeches and lets go of Jean instantly.

Jean rolls out from under the desk, panting. He sits in his chair and confirms that no one is even looking at him, so bored with Jean and Harry’s dynamic that they’re practically invisible, and he kicks Harry in the ribs firmly and waits for Harry to stand up. He grabs Harry’s hand and pulls him up, eyes purposefully straying away from where Harry’s hand is covering his own erection.

“Sorry,” Harry says, sadly returning to his own desk. Harry’s face, near tears, satisfies Jean. Let’s him know he has an effect on the older man.

“Fucking disgusting,” Jean spits amidst a rush of shame. Something deep inside him aches to return to the ground with Harry, where he felt like a child. He knows that Harry’s erection sliding rhythmically against his hip like a prayer will be his secret as well as Harry’s. He silently thanks his anti-depressants for keeping him from getting erect for at least another day. (It will not be until a year later, when Harry loses his memory and Jean loses everything, that Jean will allow himself to wrestle and be hit during lovemaking. Until then, Jean will crush himself into diamond)

He continues eating his salad. He and Harry don’t speak for the rest of the day.

When Jean returns home to his room in this grandmother’s apartment that night, he dreams about being held. He dreams of warmth, big strong arms, and being needed so desperately by another that the other would die without him. He wakes up hard, and, still half asleep, pulls and tugs at his cock and comes, moaning, whimpering at the thought of one day being loved.