The mantle he wears is as much a part of him as it is a distinctive entity unto itself; the power of a snow-swollen mountains just waiting for the right push that would tip their hand far enough and all restraint would be lost. The ensuing collapse would bury any hapless fool who happened to be in the vicinity. While the Knight's anger ran cool, Harry ran hot - quick to escalate, quick to recovery. Consolidating the mantle's unique properties with his own personality had taken two and a half weeks of meditation, conversation, boundary-drawing and give-and-take. It had helped that the Queen herself had escorted him through Winter, introducing him to his duties: mundane to otherworldly.
It put things in perspective. The result was the slightest of dissociation during down time, but a synchronous unit when push came to shove. It was a hard job, but Harry thrived when the pressure was coming down hard.
To speak of pressure. Harry lets out a soft noise when John finally gets hands on him, tucked under his shirt - warm and rough. Good good good, the Baron gets the theme of the evening, and the result is encouraging to Harry. Whatever you'd like. John's voice in his ear this time, low and decadent in ways that Harry's only recently begun to imagine. A voice that sounds just as good to his ears when it drops deep into smoke and shadow as it does when the man snaps a command. John probably sounds as good when he asks politely as he demands something. It's one feature Harry wants to explore.
But, that's something to tuck away for a rainy day. Because tonight, Harry's going to make John eat those words. They're just about everything he likes to hear - whatever you'd like - just reach for it. His hips circle once, twice. A slow, cyclical grind of denim-clad thighs against the firm muscle of John's stomach - just a hint before Harry dips down again to kiss him. He'll go straight for it, no hesitation, all tongue and teeth and a command embedded in the way he parts John's lips and breathes him up, ribs expanding under John's hands.
Harry hovers, and then his hands are curved around John's face, and god is he kissing for everything he's worth. It's not sweet now. There's a ferocity in it, lunging in and darting back when he thinks John might be trying to fight back, but never, ever letting him just lie there. "Finder's keepers," he agrees.
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It put things in perspective. The result was the slightest of dissociation during down time, but a synchronous unit when push came to shove. It was a hard job, but Harry thrived when the pressure was coming down hard.
To speak of pressure. Harry lets out a soft noise when John finally gets hands on him, tucked under his shirt - warm and rough. Good good good, the Baron gets the theme of the evening, and the result is encouraging to Harry. Whatever you'd like. John's voice in his ear this time, low and decadent in ways that Harry's only recently begun to imagine. A voice that sounds just as good to his ears when it drops deep into smoke and shadow as it does when the man snaps a command. John probably sounds as good when he asks politely as he demands something. It's one feature Harry wants to explore.
But, that's something to tuck away for a rainy day. Because tonight, Harry's going to make John eat those words. They're just about everything he likes to hear - whatever you'd like - just reach for it. His hips circle once, twice. A slow, cyclical grind of denim-clad thighs against the firm muscle of John's stomach - just a hint before Harry dips down again to kiss him. He'll go straight for it, no hesitation, all tongue and teeth and a command embedded in the way he parts John's lips and breathes him up, ribs expanding under John's hands.
Harry hovers, and then his hands are curved around John's face, and god is he kissing for everything he's worth. It's not sweet now. There's a ferocity in it, lunging in and darting back when he thinks John might be trying to fight back, but never, ever letting him just lie there. "Finder's keepers," he agrees.