Chapter Text
It was one of those nights for Harry, when the repressed doubts and regrets floated to the surface and every step he took felt like a punch in the gut; when the demands of his job fully sank in, rubbed like shards of glass into open wounds. Harry knew when he was cornered. He knew he had no way out. On these nights, he drowned his sorrows in liquor in nameless pubs, buried his memories in the warm, eager bodies of complete strangers who would be Obliviated before he left, just in case.
Harry had made peace with the fact that he rarely saw his family long before spying and theft had turned into blackmail and assassinations. He couldn't walk away. He didn't want to walk away. He caught the bad guys. That they were mostly Muggle did not bother him much, considering witches and wizards occupied such a small percentage of the overall population. Though it fell short – or rather too far ahead – of what he'd envisioned for himself when he and Ron had enrolled in Auror Academy the year after their graduation, Harry acknowledged that no other occupation he qualified for could satisfy his craving for constant chaos, or the leniency for his tendency to go off-script.
It was a delicate craft with far too many identities to embody and little to no adjustment periods, but it was a rush. Merlin, it was a rush. It reminded him of the old days with Ron and Hermione, sneaking around the dark grounds of the castle, plotting childish schemes in the dead of night. His life had been a relentless stream of danger and adventure for so long, that he had grown addicted to it.
Working as an Unspeakable field operative on loan to the joint MI6-Auror task force for the last decade, Harry's missions had mostly been confined to Europe so far. This was only his fourth time in the States, a mini-vacation due to good behavior, one might say. If only it had been in a sunny place like California instead of the drizzly Washington DC, Harry would have declared this little trip purely leisure. Alas, the rain poured on.
Harry had a night off, having just handed his mission report and delivered a debrief to the American branch which would be transferred to his superior. His task had required his integration into the lower ranks of two separate criminal families over several weeks, and two assassinations of the uncooperative figureheads of rival drug cartels to make way for a more cordial, younger leadership. The hope was that they could find joint success in the surrounding cities rather than Ireland and England apart.
Celebrating his freedom and dispelling all recollection of the terrified faces of his victims from his mind, Harry strolled on foot to a little pub he had seen before checking into his hotel that afternoon, looking like Harry Potter, for a change. The guard eyed his fake ID with disbelief, and Harry tried not to take offense in the knowledge that the guard thought him too young rather than too old for the date of birth listed there. At least the picture matched his current appearance.
He left his umbrella in the packed purple bucket at the entrance and peeled off his outer layer. It was warm enough inside and Harry was accustomed to the colder climate of the Scottish Highlands. Despite being a Tuesday, the place was bustling with activity and conversation. The interior was shockingly purple, brick paneling under heftily framed pictures. The counter behind the bar displayed spirits packed in bottles that wouldn't seem out of place in a medieval apothecary's chambers. It reminded Harry of some shopfronts in Diagon Alley.
There were a few stools vacant at the bar, and he hopped on one, catching the eye of the local barista and placing his drink order. He honestly didn't care much what entered his system, so long as it allowed him to quiet the pleading and begging still echoing in his head from these last few days. He wished so fiercely to forget.
Harry surveyed the room in search of companionship. An arrangement of the intimate persuasion would certainly vanquish all of the bloodied memories from his mind.
His eyes finally landed on a tall man hunched over his drink further down the bar. He wore a dark suit jacket over a pristine white button-down shirt, his tie a striped maroon. His dark hair parted down the side sported a small endearing fringe. He'll do, Harry thought appreciatively. The man looked haggard, possibly willing to accept Harry's offer of stress relief and the illusion of intimacy.
As if noticing the weight of someone's gaze on him, the man looked up. Harry wondered what the man saw. Did he notice the dark, sleepless circles under Harry's eyes? The sardonic smile as Harry observed him? Did his eyes linger too long on Harry's fingers around the glass, on the way he'd picked a sweater that matched his eyes? Harry took him in; the strong jaw, haunted eyes, slightly unbuttoned shirt revealing a white crew-neck tee beneath. Yes, he'll do just fine.
Harry hopped down from the stool, drink in hand, and approached the man. He motioned with his hand to the stool next to the man in a silent question, and grinned when the man nodded and swayed. Upon closer inspection, he appeared more drunk than Harry had thought. Still, he was the best prosect Harry could see in this bar, and the worst that could come of this is a lousy conversation.
"Enjoying the décor?" Harry asked.
The man snorted into his drink, taking a sip. "'s purple."
Harry laughed. "Not a fan, then."
"You're British."
"Observant. I like that in a man." Harry waggled his eyebrows, drawing another snort from the man.
His eyes raked up and down Harry's body beside him, slowly checking him out. Harry remained still, letting him take him in. When the man started slipping sideways, then the other side like a metronome, Harry placed a balancing hand on his shoulder.
"Easy, there."
"D'you wanna get out of 'ere?" the man suddenly slurred, heated eyes fixated on Harry's mouth.
"Do you want to get out of here?" Harry repeated, surprised at his forwardness, but rather pleased about it, too. Men who knew what they wanted were better lovers, anyway.
"Are you a serial killer?" the drunken man asked in a defeated manner.
Actually… "No," Harry half-lied, because okay, he wasn't a serial killer, but he did kill more than the average person.
The man seemed to have a moment of relative-clarity, his eyes narrowing and his forehead adopting a few extra creases. Harry wanted to lick his thumb and wipe those creases off just to see the man's reaction.
"Fine," the man finally sighed, and Harry grinned victoriously and hopped off the chair, ignoring the man's snort at the display.
Harry was more sober than his companion, so he led them both out of the pub and onto the street. There was no way the man next to him was walking all the way back to Harry's hotel, so Harry hailed them a cab as he fended off the man's curious hands. By the band around his ring finger, he was married, and Harry didn't want him to get into trouble. Though, if he was cheating, perhaps he deserved it. It wasn't Harry's business, and it wasn't Harry's problem, and honestly, it was the least amoral thing he'd done all week.
They spilled into the cab and Harry gave the address to the apathetic cabbie, strapping his companion's seatbelt as well as his own when the all the other man seemed to want to do was grope Harry's waist and thighs. It felt like a police frisking. Maybe his guy was an officer. He had an air of command around him. Harry actually wouldn't mind being ordered around by this man. In leather.
Ten minutes later, they were deposited at the glass doors of the hotel. They ascended the four stairs to the lobby like they were summitting Everest – a gradual two steps up, one step down journey with multiple rest points and a last push up the last two steps leaving them both breathless, if for slightly different reasons. The man seemed to find the task of actually lifting his dark dress shoes the required 17 centimeters to reach the next step a herculean effort, while Harry bore the brunt of the man's surprisingly hefty weight as he helped him up. Harry's fitness requirements meant he should be able to easily support even of man of his companion's height, so for him to be struggling however slightly meant the other man was hiding some impressive musculature under that accountant getup.
They made it to the lift without incident. As soon as the metallic doors shut, the man beside him seemed to come alive, as if all he had been waiting for was a moment of privacy between them to unleash his desire. Harry quickly dealt with the lift's security camera, a spell he was by now well-acquainted with, as his back hit the mirrored wall behind him and eager hands pressed him forward into the other man's chest, an indecisive push-pull he found instantly endearing. Eager lips captured his own in a deep, sensual kiss. Harry let his hands wander up the man's thighs to his arse and give it a squeeze, causing the man to part his lips and allowing Harry to lick into the sweet slickness inside.
Harry moaned softly when the man pressed him fully against the mirror, the handrail digging into his arse. He tilted his head further back, sucking the man's thin but defined upper lip into his mouth. His hands traveled up the man's shapely rear and under his suit jacket, only for the man to jerk back at the sound of the elevator doors opening.
They stood side by side awkwardly as a young couple walked in hand-in-hand. The girl pressed the button for the lobby, ignoring elevator etiquette that one should not enter an elevator going up when their destination is downward. Harry rolled his eyes. Americans.
The next two stories to his floor were agony. His magic was buzzing under his skin, fingertips tingling. He felt the heat of the man beside him, drawn to it like a moth, and had to put conscious effort into not leaning into his side. He couldn't be more relieved when the doors opened again and they traversed the diamond-patterned carpet down the hall to his door.
He produced his key-card and let them inside. The man immediately latched onto his back, chin resting heavily on Harry's shoulder while his strong, long-fingered hands wrapped around Harry's waist to clutch at the front of his shirt.
"Clingy," Harry remarked in amusement.
The man's breath was hot and humid across Harry's throat as turned his head to speak directly into Harry's ear. "I don't know your name."
Harry shuddered. "Harry," he provided truthfully. It wasn't like the other man would remember it in the morning, alcohol or otherwise.
"'m Aaron," the man replied, nuzzling Harry's neck before setting his mouth on a spot high up on his neck and sucking sharply. Orally-fixated bugger.
Harry chuckled. "Jewish?"
Aaron hummed, stroking the spot he had marked with his tongue.
"Circumcised?" he tried again.
The man hummed again, his hands going slack on Harry's shirt.
"Are you falling asleep?"
There was no response this time but the increase of weight upon Harry's back. Harry spun around, swiftly catching Aaron as the man fell into his chest instead.
Harry sighed.
"Let's get you into bed, then," he murmured.
He had to half-carry the man over to the queen bed and haul him onto it. He didn't even open his eyes. Harry took off his shoes, toed off his own, and crawled up to straddle the man's knees. He took off Aaron's belt and was only slightly surprised to find a gun holster. After some consideration, he put them on the bedside table and settled on his back on the side further away from it. He stripped down to his boxers and was about to resign himself to another long, sleepless night, when Aaron suddenly curled into him, throwing an arm across his chest and worming the other under Harry's pillow. Aaron's clothed thigh slid between Harry's own and nestled there.
Harry smiled to himself. A cuddler, who would have thought?
He could actually fall asleep like this, he realized. It was comfortable enough, and the warm, rhythmic breathing fluttering his hair was rather soothing. If anything, he felt more relaxed than he had with partners he had actually had sex with. There was just something about Aaron… Harry's magic was still buzzing under his skin, but now in a calmer, contented way rather than excited.
Maybe he wouldn't even have to Obliviate the guy.