Author: Ca
Title: Have you solved the case?
Fandom: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang/Psych
Pairing: Harry/Perry
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Disclaimer: Not mine. etc.
Warnings: slash, general weirdness, crossover of crack, some angst & death, and y'know, sex.
Summary: Two cases are one case, just like in those fucking Johnny Gossamer novels.
Word Count: 4, 292
Notes: Written for the 30 days of fic challenge at![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
kkissbbang for the prompt "Perry's Hometown." Halfway betaed by ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
psychicfridge ;)
"I got us a case," Harry quips just as Perry's walking in.
"What are you talking about, moron? We already have a case."
"This is way better than some case of mistaken identity rape vs. consensual adultery case."
What? "Harry, we're not on any cases like that. The Hollywood PD wants us to check out who stole the entire set to the new X-Files movie. What the fuck are you talking about?" Harry shrugs, smiling as if Perry might let it go even though they both know there's no chance.
"Case closed - it was me." Perry glares, crossing his arms across his chest as he waits for Harry to tell him what the fuck he's signed them up for. "I got us a murder case. A big one."
Okay, Perry hadn't been expecting that.
"Come on, big guy. Aren't you going to tell me how good I done?" Another glare. "Right. It's in Santa Barbara, they want us there by tomorrow."
Perry all but crumples into his chair, paler than Harry's ever seen him.
"What? What is it? What am I missing?"
"You done good, moron."
--
The brief car trip from Hollywood to Santa Barbara should have been a snap, but as usual Harry had made it insufferable.
"Can I drive to the hotel?"
"Hell no, nine fingers." Harry grumbles a bit, but eventually clambers into the passenger side of the Hyundai Accent.
"This is a very gay car."
"Harry, we're going to play the silent game."
"What are we, in middle school?"
"As long as you stay quiet," Perry snaps, fixing Harry with a heated look, "so does the faggot gun."
Harry doesn't say anything else. Least, not until Perry's blown by the fifth hotel on the stretch.
"You know somethin' I don't know?" Harry raises his eyebrow, and is it just him or is Perry real off lately?
"Yeah, I do." The serious tone shuts Harry up again.
And then Perry's pulling into a driveway, presumably to turn around, but he shuts off the car so that can't be right. The detective heaves a sigh, grabbing his duffel out of the back.
"Come on then." Harry blinks, but grabs his stuff and follows Perry to the door.
"Perry!" An older lady flings open the front door in her nightgown, tears stinging in her eyes. Perry gives it up and steps into her arms. "It's been 30 years."
"29," he says matter-of-factly like the asshole he is, stepping by her and motioning Harry inside. Harry, who's still confused and standing on the doorstep.
"Come on in," the woman says cheerily. "Any friend of Perry's is welcome here."
"Perry, did she just wink at me?" Harry hisses under his breath in Perry's ear as he finally gains the presence of mind to enter the house. Perry just rolls his eyes, pinching Harry's arm. "Ow!"
"Mother, this is Harry, my partner."
It's almost immediately apparent just what kind of partner Mrs. Van Shrike believes Harry to be.
"As in, business partner." And Harry saves the day.
"Mind if we stay here for a little while? I have a case in town and..." His mother shushes him, and he feels about twelve. It's a surprisingly mortifying experience in front of one Harry Lockhart.
"I just wish you were staying longer."
"Mom, I'm sorry," he begins, but is promptly cut off once more.
"Off to bed with you boys," she orders light-heartedly, taking Harry's bag as she leads the way to the guest bedroom. "I only have one bed, hope that won't be a problem." And then she's gone.
"I can take the couch if you want."
And Perry actually finds that kind of funny, given their situation.
--
Perry wakes with Harry's face on his arm, his sleeve near soaked through with drool. Shifting disgustedly in a futile attempt to get away, he realizes that yes, that is in fact Harry's boner pressing insistently against his thigh as the owner of said boner dreams on.
“Harry,” he tries, to no avail. “Harry.” He rolls over and starts shaking him angrily.
“Wha?”
“Harry, you need to wake up.” Perry hopes like Hell the desperation in his voice isn't leaking through enough for Harry to notice.
At long fucking last, Harry comes into fully conscious awareness. He's confused as all Hell, but he's awake and that's what matters.
“Listen, moron, I want you to go take care of that.” He punctuates with a lewd gesture. “And then come back to bed.”
Did he just say that he wants Harry to come back to bed? He tries not to analyze it as said problem does as he's told.
They've slept in the same bed before; it isn't that weird. Harry usually gets hard, but Perry knows better than to take it personally. Life moves on. So why does it bother him so much now? That, he shouldn't need to analyze. That, should be pretty darn obvious. Because he's in his mother's house, in a room he hasn't seen since he was fifteen.
And then Harry's coming back and he's got no more time to think about it, so he just scrunches up on his side of the bed and pretends it's nothing.
--
The second time he wakes it's to Harry's hand on his shoulder as he stands over the bed, fully dressed.
“Alright, sleeping queen, we have to go to the police station now.” Perry nods, managing to get on some clothes before making his way to the kitchen. His mom makes him an English muffin with peanut butter. He hates peanut butter, but he doesn't say anything about it – just takes it with him and gives it to Harry once they're in the car.
“You're not ever going to let me drive this thing, are you?” Harry asks around a mouthful of peanut butter.
“You called it gay. Its feelings are hurt.”
“It's your car, of course it's gay. What is it, closeted?”
“Yes.”
--
When they arrive, the force is in a panic. Their chief is dead and Perry can't believe Harry got them such a high-profile case.
“Who are you?” what looks to be the lead detective demands. He's distressed, but Perry can tell he's an asshole anyway. His partner, the pretty blonde, elbows him.
“Carlton,” she hisses, turning to Perry with a bright smile. “Detective Juliet O'Hara. This is my partner Carlton Lassiter. You've caught us at... a bad time.” The smile melts away.
“Detective Perry Van Shrike,” Perry counters, shaking her hand gingerly. “This is my partner Harry Lockhart. Our condolences.”
Harry nods in silent agreement, shaking her hand as well.
And then the worst thing in the world happens. At least, Perry doesn't think anything worse could have ever happened.
Shawn Spencer strolls in like he owns the place, the ever-present Burton Guster in tow, and it's high school again.
“Spencer,” Lassiter growls, overlapping Perry's exclamation. Harry could laugh they're so similar, but somehow he knows now isn't the time.
“Perry, you came. I saw this in a vision.” The idiot is clutching his forehead – so he's what, a psychic now?
“Is this moron who you talked to?” he asks Harry, voice a little too high.
“I think so,” Harry answers softly, wondering if this is when he dies.
“Welcome back to Santa Barbara,” Shawn says cheerily, smacking Gus' arm.
“I'm not welcoming him back, Shawn. This guy made our lives miserable all through middle school.”
“It's what he does best,” Harry agrees with a lopsided smile.
“What, in all that is fake and psychic, is going on here?”
“Calm down, Lassie. I called in Perry on the Van Shrike case. Dick Van Shrike was his dad.” Shawn seems pleased with himself, as always. Perry can barely contain the urge to hit him; it's just like old times.
“Shawn,” the little blonde one says – Perry's already forgotten her name. “Shawn, Chief Vick is dead.”
“We're putting the Van Shrike case on hold,” Lassiter adds.
“It's been on good 30 years, what's another week?” Perry snarks, grabbing Harry by the arm. “I think we're done here.”
“We could really use your help.” Juliet, that's her name. And of course Harry's shrugging him off because he wants to fuck her... God, this trip is a bigger disaster than he ever could have imagined.
“I was called in to solve the case of my own murdered father, cold for 30 years, and you want me to help you find the police chief's killer? My dad was the police chief here, you know.” Ungrateful bastards.
“Your dad was...” Something slides into place for Harry then, and he suddenly feels like he knows a little bit more about Perry.
“Please, detective?” Damn she is cute. Perry sighs, then nods. Harry's already giving her the eye.
“We'll do it.”
--
Harry isn't used to comforting Perry. And Perry knows that because he isn't used to being comforted. He isn't some chick Harry wants to bang and he does nothing to earn compassion besides. Those four fingers on his shoulder, and he feels like he's being mocked.
“It's not a big deal, idiot.” He knows he isn't very convincing, but he shrugs Harry off anyway. “Don't touch me.”
“Not a big deal, Perry? Your brother's DNA was all over that fucking crime scene. Your dead brother.”
“He's not dead.” It's barely a whisper, but he knows Harry's heard him. Suicidal as ever, the other man sits on the bed next to him, careful not to touch.
“Take me back.” And Perry nods, just like that.
“It was right after my dad's birthday, there was a big get-together at the station. He took me with him, but Richie stayed behind. He was in his 20s and had worked himself around at lest three felonies and back.” Perry takes a breath, head in hands. And there's that hand on his shoulder again. He leaves it where it is this time. “The next night, Dad didn't come home.”
Harry tries to interject, but Perry places his hand over his lips. He knows if he doesn't get this out now he never will.
“Richie came to me, for help. I was fifteen, but I did better than the motherfucking Witness Protection Program. I gave him a new identity and faked his death. And then I left Santa Barbara forever.”
“I think I understand,” Harry murmurs against his palm, and Perry jerks away as if he's been burned.
That's why I don't like it when you steal, Perry thinks loud enough for both of them to hear. And now they're moving closer, and neither one of them is sure who initiated it, but their lips are mere breadths apart and Perry can't breathe. There's a moment where he's sure this is what he wants, but as soon as Harry's lips brush his they're pulling away again. Only this time, Harry pulls him into his arms.
“Hey now, you're alright, cowboy.”
“I would have been if it weren't for you.” Though his words are harsh, his fingers play in the dark hair that looks like it hasn't been washed in months, but it smells divine.
“I know,” Harry whispers, kissing Perry's forehead. “But hey, maybe this happened for a reason.”
And Perry hates it when Harry gets like this, but he lets it go. He hasn't eaten anything all day and if he doesn't get fed soon he's going to keel over. So he makes his mother and Harry spaghetti and meat balls and they stay up all night playing Trivial Pursuit.
--
It's only a matter of time before they run Richie's fingerprints through the system and they come up all over the Van Shrike case.
Shawn slams into a wall, moans about a crime of passion and sadly interacts with Chief Vick herself.
“You're a real asshole, you know that, Spencer?” Perry can't stay quiet anymore. “This woman was your friend - this is just in bad taste.”
“You mean Shawn is wrong?” Perry notices how Harry's gaze doesn't even raise from his shoes when Juliet speaks today.
“This wasn't a crime of passion,” Lassiter agrees. “This was an execution.”
Shawn just blinks, no new scheme up his sleeve.
“Just because Richie killed Perry's dad doesn't mean he killed your chief,” Harry insists, eyes wide. Perry tries to shush him discreetly, but goes for distraction instead.
“Even I have to admit the evidence against him is fierce. Richie and Karen were lovers after all, and this was secret, yeah? None of you knew about him?” Perry already knows the answer as he swallows deeply. He doesn't think Richie did it, but what difference does it make if he serves one life sentence or two? Besides, he hasn't seen his brother in 29 years. Who's he to say he's not a killer?
Detective O'Hara shakes her head, and there it is. His brother's risked everything to kill again. Perry feels betrayed, like he gave the man a new life only to have it thrown back in his face. It's not a good feeling.
“You're under arrest,” Lassiter says softly, slapping the cuffs on Perry. Perry, who doesn't have the presence of mind to look surprised.
“For what?” Harry demands, breath held.
“Aiding and abetting,” Perry answers with a small smile as they lead him away.
--
The last person Perry expects to walk into his interrogation room is Henry Spencer.
“It's been, what? 30 years?”
“29,” Perry agrees, jingling his handcuffs idly.
“Well, this explains why no one's seen you; why your mother keeps to herself.” Perry looks up at Henry, startled. His mother...?
“My mom doesn't know what we did.”
“What did you do, Perry?”
“Do I at least get a lawyer?”
“Do you need one?” Henry counters, breathing hard. They both know Shawn's behind that glass.
“Why are you the one questioning me? Have to show the boy you still got it?”
Henry frowns, but they don't get anything else out of Perry. He doesn't know where his brother is, but no one believes him. No one except Harry.
--
Perry's fallen asleep at the table when Harry walks in. When he wakes up, Harry's hand is on his shoulder and Richie's sitting across from him, looking nervous.
“They said they'd let you go if I brought him in,” Harry says softly, the apology clear in his voice.
Jesus, Harry always fucks up everything.
“Hey, Rich.” His older brother reaches across the table, grabbing his wrist. Perry's expression is weary, but he waits for the inevitable in silence, careful to not meet Harry's eyes.
“You picked a good one, Perry.”
Harry doesn't bother to correct the other man, and Perry is more shaken by that than anything else.
“We're not...”
“It's okay. When I saw you had someone... I had to come in. I just lost her; I lost Karen.” The grip tightens as he forces Perry to look at him, to listen. “I didn't kill her.”
“I believe you,” Perry says, and he means it as his shaking hand drops from his brother's grip.
“I'm going to, uh, leave.” And Harry's gone, leaving the brothers to catch up.
“Are you two really not --”
“We're not together.” Perry nods, and he can tell Richie's surprised.
“Why not?” As far as Richie's concerned, his brother has always been too uptight. “You need to put yourself out there – he cares about you.”
“Shut up,” Perry snaps. He can't hear this anymore. It's not because Harry's straight or a felon or.. really any of it. He just doesn't fucking want to hear it.
“I want you to find out who killed her. I want her to find justice.”
What other choice does Perry have? When they release him, he goes to find Shawn.
--
“I knew you'd come,” the idiot murmurs, the office bathed in darkness.
“Does that glass really say 'Psych'? As in, 'gotcha'?” Perry's lips twitch in the mockery of amusement. Shawn Spencer had always been the biggest idiot he had ever met, and Harry was included in that statistic.
“You need my help.” Perry claps dramatically, rolling his eyes.
“The spirits tell you that?”
“Yes,” Shawn says simply, standing as the light behind him comes on.
“Do you know who killed Chief Karen Vick?” Shawn nods, gesturing towards Perry's chest as he makes his way closer.
“And so do you,” he whispers, placing a careful hand over Perry's heart.
Shawn doesn't sense the blow before Perry's knocked him to the floor. Shawn wipes a stripe of blood from his chin, grinning moronically.
“You know the answer, Perry!”
The door to Psych, fake detective agency, slams, and Perry makes his way home in silence.
Home. It hasn't been home in so long.
--
He knocks on the doorframe, and Harry whirls around, a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth as nine fingers fly over the keys of Perry's laptop. Harry doesn't ask where he's been, doesn't make a big deal over what he's seen today. He just offers a soft smile and turns back around – intent on his work.
“Stop.” It takes a moment, but the fingers freeze and he turns around again, only a corner of toast left.
Perry shuts the door, and they stay that way for a long time. Toast halfway eaten – coat halfway removed.
“I solved the case.” The coat drops at the same moment as the toast, and Harry's up and across the room. It's Perry who wraps his arms around Harry's shoulders this time. Harry stiffens, but then winds his hands around Perry's waist. And when their lips meet, it isn't forced or hesitant.
“I knew you would.” Perry's pushing Harry back towards the bed, and there's fear there, but Harry never pushes away. Perry tangles his hand in that choppy hair as his body settles on Harry's, and they both let out a breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding.
“What the fuck, Harry? How did this happen to us?”
“Fag and New Yorker,” Harry says easily, leaning up for another kiss. “This was us from the start.”
Socks and shoes hit the floor first, and Perry laughs as Harry fights with his zipper, reaching a hand across the other man's hip to help. Harry jolts from the sudden touch, but Perry holds him still enough to remove his pants properly. Then those shaky hands are on Perry's chest, unbuttoning his shirt.
“This doesn't make me Gay Harry, right?” Perry smacks him, shaking his head as Harry's tanktop flutters to the floor; Perry's pants come tumbling after.
“Shut up, will you?” Before Harry can answer and ruin everything, Perry's tugging at the edge of the other man's boxers and his fingers slide along the length.
Harry nods, the perfect picture of compliance.
Leaning down, though their eyes never break their connection, Perry wraps his lips around Harry's cock, smiling as the man attempts to buck into his mouth. But Perry knows better, and he's got Harry's hips in a firm grip. Running his tongue along the underside, he loves how easy Harry is to undo and sets about bringing him off any way he can.
“Perry, I'm gonna--” Those hands settle heavily on his shoulders again, digging into flesh.
Instead of pulling back, Perry throws all he has into it, groaning around that impossibly hard column until he tastes the beginnings of cum in his mouth.
“Perry, that was.” Perry shuts him up with a kiss, making sure Harry can taste himself on his tongue. It's sadistic in a way, but he wants him to know exactly what he's doing. And with a man. Then the lube comes out, and Harry really freezes.
“Shh,” Perry comforts, turning Harry over on his stomach.
“I'd rather...” Perry almost feels bad for not letting Harry finish a sentence... though not really.
“It'll be better this way,” he insists, smoothing an ample amount of gel over Harry's backside. “Relax.” He slaps Harry's ass, one finger slipping inside, under the radar. He waits for Harry to react, but he doesn't; doesn't even breathe. So another finger joins the first and his hand begins to move. Harry is so tight and so, so quiet. It's almost eerie.
Perry leans over to capture Harry's lips over his shoulder, forcing his fingers deep inside. Harry lets out a strangled noise against his tongue and he swallows it up greedily, a third finger managing to sneak its way in.
“You need to breathe,” Perry points out, slathering lube on his own cock in hopes that this could actually be good for Harry.
“It's kind of hard with your tongue down my throat,” Harry whines, and Perry laughs into his mouth, shifting his fingers against that spot inside the other man. Harry cries out, letting go in a way Perry's never seen. And they both know its time.
Perry doesn't lay out rose petals, and he doesn't ask if Harry's okay, comfortable, or ready. He just kisses him and pushes slowly in, feeling as if this should have been happening all along.
--
“You never told me how you solved the case.” Harry's voice in his ear is the first thing he hears the next morning. He doesn't like being held, and it's the only thing he can think as Harry's arms tighten across his chest.
“You're gay for me,” Perry says without missing a beat, moving Harry's hand so he can brush silt out of his eyes.
“The other case,” Harry prompts, pinching Perry's side.
“Get dressed,” Perry says instead, standing to follow his own advice. “We have a psychic vision to catch.”
“Can I drive?”
“If by drive you mean, 'can I ride strapped to the roof?' then absolutely.”
--
Harry opens the door for Mrs. Van Shrike and she smiles up at him, accepting his hand in help.
“You ready, Mom?” Perry asks, holding out his elbow to her. She takes it graciously and nods.
As they enter the station, Shawn pauses mid-vision to welcome them in.
“Richie Van Shrike didn't kill the Chief,” the psychic announces, hazel eyes narrowing as they find Lassiter. “But Barrett Van Shrike did.”
Juliet gasps, and even Harry looks surprised.
“The only question left is why.” Barrett opens her mouth to say something, defend herself; anything, but Shawn doesn't let her. “Don't tell me. You did it to... protect your son! You knew Vick was the police chief and it was only a matter of time before Richie's true identity was exposed. And you knew the moment his DNA was in the system.. that was it, he was going away for life.”
Perry nods at his mother as Lassiter comes over to make the arrest.
“You should have told me you knew,” Perry says as she disappears behind the partition. That was it, the last of his family, gone forever. Maybe he'll come to visit now he knows they'll stay put.
--
I'm taking over to wrap this up. Perry refused to narrate and said I did a better job anyway.. I'm so fucking easy. If he compliments me on even the tiniest thing I swear to God he could get me to do anything. Like the other night, he promises me a blowjob, and then we get back to bed and he's all 'You know, Harry. I just love the look of your lips wrapped around my cock' and I buckled. I always buckle, that's just who I am. So anyway, he tells me to wrap this story up and I guess I have to because even though I'm a terrible narrator he's convinced me he can't do any better.
So his mother and his brother got a life-sentence each, but the guy takes it pretty well. Then again he takes everything pretty well. Hey there! Not what I meant. No, he doesn't let me pitch, if that's what you wanted to know. I hear queers are like that – one way or the other. He's a top and it works okay for us. That doesn't mean I'm the woman or anything like that... though okay, yeah, I kind of am.
That was so not the point of this. My point is, this is just like those fucking Johnny Gossamer novels. Perry's life turned out to be just like you'd expect: the mystery, the intrigue, the fucked up home-life from Hell. And if he had never taken me here, had never showed me what he was all about.. Well, we may never have.. and I might not have...
Anyway, there were two cases and they were the same case. Just like before. So I'm glad to keep all my fingers this time because now I kind of need them. To answer the phone! Jesus, I can't say anything right. We, Perry and I, we've been together almost a year now. Before you clap or say it's cute as hell, remember we both have guns. Well.. I borrow his sometimes. And he helped me solve the case of why Harmony and I were never happy. She's the dream girl, she always will be. And I so idealized her that I couldn't be with her.
Perry and I don't hold hands, or kiss in public. He doesn't call me sweetie unless he's busting my balls. We work together the same as we always have, and I'm grateful things haven't changed overmuch. I really am. I don't think the poor guy could handle any more change.
“Harry, will you shut the fuck up and get to bed?”
Title: Have you solved the case?
Fandom: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang/Psych
Pairing: Harry/Perry
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Disclaimer: Not mine. etc.
Warnings: slash, general weirdness, crossover of crack, some angst & death, and y'know, sex.
Summary: Two cases are one case, just like in those fucking Johnny Gossamer novels.
Word Count: 4, 292
Notes: Written for the 30 days of fic challenge at
kkissbbang for the prompt "Perry's Hometown." Halfway betaed by psychicfridge ;)"I got us a case," Harry quips just as Perry's walking in.
"What are you talking about, moron? We already have a case."
"This is way better than some case of mistaken identity rape vs. consensual adultery case."
What? "Harry, we're not on any cases like that. The Hollywood PD wants us to check out who stole the entire set to the new X-Files movie. What the fuck are you talking about?" Harry shrugs, smiling as if Perry might let it go even though they both know there's no chance.
"Case closed - it was me." Perry glares, crossing his arms across his chest as he waits for Harry to tell him what the fuck he's signed them up for. "I got us a murder case. A big one."
Okay, Perry hadn't been expecting that.
"Come on, big guy. Aren't you going to tell me how good I done?" Another glare. "Right. It's in Santa Barbara, they want us there by tomorrow."
Perry all but crumples into his chair, paler than Harry's ever seen him.
"What? What is it? What am I missing?"
"You done good, moron."
--
The brief car trip from Hollywood to Santa Barbara should have been a snap, but as usual Harry had made it insufferable.
"Can I drive to the hotel?"
"Hell no, nine fingers." Harry grumbles a bit, but eventually clambers into the passenger side of the Hyundai Accent.
"This is a very gay car."
"Harry, we're going to play the silent game."
"What are we, in middle school?"
"As long as you stay quiet," Perry snaps, fixing Harry with a heated look, "so does the faggot gun."
Harry doesn't say anything else. Least, not until Perry's blown by the fifth hotel on the stretch.
"You know somethin' I don't know?" Harry raises his eyebrow, and is it just him or is Perry real off lately?
"Yeah, I do." The serious tone shuts Harry up again.
And then Perry's pulling into a driveway, presumably to turn around, but he shuts off the car so that can't be right. The detective heaves a sigh, grabbing his duffel out of the back.
"Come on then." Harry blinks, but grabs his stuff and follows Perry to the door.
"Perry!" An older lady flings open the front door in her nightgown, tears stinging in her eyes. Perry gives it up and steps into her arms. "It's been 30 years."
"29," he says matter-of-factly like the asshole he is, stepping by her and motioning Harry inside. Harry, who's still confused and standing on the doorstep.
"Come on in," the woman says cheerily. "Any friend of Perry's is welcome here."
"Perry, did she just wink at me?" Harry hisses under his breath in Perry's ear as he finally gains the presence of mind to enter the house. Perry just rolls his eyes, pinching Harry's arm. "Ow!"
"Mother, this is Harry, my partner."
It's almost immediately apparent just what kind of partner Mrs. Van Shrike believes Harry to be.
"As in, business partner." And Harry saves the day.
"Mind if we stay here for a little while? I have a case in town and..." His mother shushes him, and he feels about twelve. It's a surprisingly mortifying experience in front of one Harry Lockhart.
"I just wish you were staying longer."
"Mom, I'm sorry," he begins, but is promptly cut off once more.
"Off to bed with you boys," she orders light-heartedly, taking Harry's bag as she leads the way to the guest bedroom. "I only have one bed, hope that won't be a problem." And then she's gone.
"I can take the couch if you want."
And Perry actually finds that kind of funny, given their situation.
--
Perry wakes with Harry's face on his arm, his sleeve near soaked through with drool. Shifting disgustedly in a futile attempt to get away, he realizes that yes, that is in fact Harry's boner pressing insistently against his thigh as the owner of said boner dreams on.
“Harry,” he tries, to no avail. “Harry.” He rolls over and starts shaking him angrily.
“Wha?”
“Harry, you need to wake up.” Perry hopes like Hell the desperation in his voice isn't leaking through enough for Harry to notice.
At long fucking last, Harry comes into fully conscious awareness. He's confused as all Hell, but he's awake and that's what matters.
“Listen, moron, I want you to go take care of that.” He punctuates with a lewd gesture. “And then come back to bed.”
Did he just say that he wants Harry to come back to bed? He tries not to analyze it as said problem does as he's told.
They've slept in the same bed before; it isn't that weird. Harry usually gets hard, but Perry knows better than to take it personally. Life moves on. So why does it bother him so much now? That, he shouldn't need to analyze. That, should be pretty darn obvious. Because he's in his mother's house, in a room he hasn't seen since he was fifteen.
And then Harry's coming back and he's got no more time to think about it, so he just scrunches up on his side of the bed and pretends it's nothing.
--
The second time he wakes it's to Harry's hand on his shoulder as he stands over the bed, fully dressed.
“Alright, sleeping queen, we have to go to the police station now.” Perry nods, managing to get on some clothes before making his way to the kitchen. His mom makes him an English muffin with peanut butter. He hates peanut butter, but he doesn't say anything about it – just takes it with him and gives it to Harry once they're in the car.
“You're not ever going to let me drive this thing, are you?” Harry asks around a mouthful of peanut butter.
“You called it gay. Its feelings are hurt.”
“It's your car, of course it's gay. What is it, closeted?”
“Yes.”
--
When they arrive, the force is in a panic. Their chief is dead and Perry can't believe Harry got them such a high-profile case.
“Who are you?” what looks to be the lead detective demands. He's distressed, but Perry can tell he's an asshole anyway. His partner, the pretty blonde, elbows him.
“Carlton,” she hisses, turning to Perry with a bright smile. “Detective Juliet O'Hara. This is my partner Carlton Lassiter. You've caught us at... a bad time.” The smile melts away.
“Detective Perry Van Shrike,” Perry counters, shaking her hand gingerly. “This is my partner Harry Lockhart. Our condolences.”
Harry nods in silent agreement, shaking her hand as well.
And then the worst thing in the world happens. At least, Perry doesn't think anything worse could have ever happened.
Shawn Spencer strolls in like he owns the place, the ever-present Burton Guster in tow, and it's high school again.
“Spencer,” Lassiter growls, overlapping Perry's exclamation. Harry could laugh they're so similar, but somehow he knows now isn't the time.
“Perry, you came. I saw this in a vision.” The idiot is clutching his forehead – so he's what, a psychic now?
“Is this moron who you talked to?” he asks Harry, voice a little too high.
“I think so,” Harry answers softly, wondering if this is when he dies.
“Welcome back to Santa Barbara,” Shawn says cheerily, smacking Gus' arm.
“I'm not welcoming him back, Shawn. This guy made our lives miserable all through middle school.”
“It's what he does best,” Harry agrees with a lopsided smile.
“What, in all that is fake and psychic, is going on here?”
“Calm down, Lassie. I called in Perry on the Van Shrike case. Dick Van Shrike was his dad.” Shawn seems pleased with himself, as always. Perry can barely contain the urge to hit him; it's just like old times.
“Shawn,” the little blonde one says – Perry's already forgotten her name. “Shawn, Chief Vick is dead.”
“We're putting the Van Shrike case on hold,” Lassiter adds.
“It's been on good 30 years, what's another week?” Perry snarks, grabbing Harry by the arm. “I think we're done here.”
“We could really use your help.” Juliet, that's her name. And of course Harry's shrugging him off because he wants to fuck her... God, this trip is a bigger disaster than he ever could have imagined.
“I was called in to solve the case of my own murdered father, cold for 30 years, and you want me to help you find the police chief's killer? My dad was the police chief here, you know.” Ungrateful bastards.
“Your dad was...” Something slides into place for Harry then, and he suddenly feels like he knows a little bit more about Perry.
“Please, detective?” Damn she is cute. Perry sighs, then nods. Harry's already giving her the eye.
“We'll do it.”
--
Harry isn't used to comforting Perry. And Perry knows that because he isn't used to being comforted. He isn't some chick Harry wants to bang and he does nothing to earn compassion besides. Those four fingers on his shoulder, and he feels like he's being mocked.
“It's not a big deal, idiot.” He knows he isn't very convincing, but he shrugs Harry off anyway. “Don't touch me.”
“Not a big deal, Perry? Your brother's DNA was all over that fucking crime scene. Your dead brother.”
“He's not dead.” It's barely a whisper, but he knows Harry's heard him. Suicidal as ever, the other man sits on the bed next to him, careful not to touch.
“Take me back.” And Perry nods, just like that.
“It was right after my dad's birthday, there was a big get-together at the station. He took me with him, but Richie stayed behind. He was in his 20s and had worked himself around at lest three felonies and back.” Perry takes a breath, head in hands. And there's that hand on his shoulder again. He leaves it where it is this time. “The next night, Dad didn't come home.”
Harry tries to interject, but Perry places his hand over his lips. He knows if he doesn't get this out now he never will.
“Richie came to me, for help. I was fifteen, but I did better than the motherfucking Witness Protection Program. I gave him a new identity and faked his death. And then I left Santa Barbara forever.”
“I think I understand,” Harry murmurs against his palm, and Perry jerks away as if he's been burned.
That's why I don't like it when you steal, Perry thinks loud enough for both of them to hear. And now they're moving closer, and neither one of them is sure who initiated it, but their lips are mere breadths apart and Perry can't breathe. There's a moment where he's sure this is what he wants, but as soon as Harry's lips brush his they're pulling away again. Only this time, Harry pulls him into his arms.
“Hey now, you're alright, cowboy.”
“I would have been if it weren't for you.” Though his words are harsh, his fingers play in the dark hair that looks like it hasn't been washed in months, but it smells divine.
“I know,” Harry whispers, kissing Perry's forehead. “But hey, maybe this happened for a reason.”
And Perry hates it when Harry gets like this, but he lets it go. He hasn't eaten anything all day and if he doesn't get fed soon he's going to keel over. So he makes his mother and Harry spaghetti and meat balls and they stay up all night playing Trivial Pursuit.
--
It's only a matter of time before they run Richie's fingerprints through the system and they come up all over the Van Shrike case.
Shawn slams into a wall, moans about a crime of passion and sadly interacts with Chief Vick herself.
“You're a real asshole, you know that, Spencer?” Perry can't stay quiet anymore. “This woman was your friend - this is just in bad taste.”
“You mean Shawn is wrong?” Perry notices how Harry's gaze doesn't even raise from his shoes when Juliet speaks today.
“This wasn't a crime of passion,” Lassiter agrees. “This was an execution.”
Shawn just blinks, no new scheme up his sleeve.
“Just because Richie killed Perry's dad doesn't mean he killed your chief,” Harry insists, eyes wide. Perry tries to shush him discreetly, but goes for distraction instead.
“Even I have to admit the evidence against him is fierce. Richie and Karen were lovers after all, and this was secret, yeah? None of you knew about him?” Perry already knows the answer as he swallows deeply. He doesn't think Richie did it, but what difference does it make if he serves one life sentence or two? Besides, he hasn't seen his brother in 29 years. Who's he to say he's not a killer?
Detective O'Hara shakes her head, and there it is. His brother's risked everything to kill again. Perry feels betrayed, like he gave the man a new life only to have it thrown back in his face. It's not a good feeling.
“You're under arrest,” Lassiter says softly, slapping the cuffs on Perry. Perry, who doesn't have the presence of mind to look surprised.
“For what?” Harry demands, breath held.
“Aiding and abetting,” Perry answers with a small smile as they lead him away.
--
The last person Perry expects to walk into his interrogation room is Henry Spencer.
“It's been, what? 30 years?”
“29,” Perry agrees, jingling his handcuffs idly.
“Well, this explains why no one's seen you; why your mother keeps to herself.” Perry looks up at Henry, startled. His mother...?
“My mom doesn't know what we did.”
“What did you do, Perry?”
“Do I at least get a lawyer?”
“Do you need one?” Henry counters, breathing hard. They both know Shawn's behind that glass.
“Why are you the one questioning me? Have to show the boy you still got it?”
Henry frowns, but they don't get anything else out of Perry. He doesn't know where his brother is, but no one believes him. No one except Harry.
--
Perry's fallen asleep at the table when Harry walks in. When he wakes up, Harry's hand is on his shoulder and Richie's sitting across from him, looking nervous.
“They said they'd let you go if I brought him in,” Harry says softly, the apology clear in his voice.
Jesus, Harry always fucks up everything.
“Hey, Rich.” His older brother reaches across the table, grabbing his wrist. Perry's expression is weary, but he waits for the inevitable in silence, careful to not meet Harry's eyes.
“You picked a good one, Perry.”
Harry doesn't bother to correct the other man, and Perry is more shaken by that than anything else.
“We're not...”
“It's okay. When I saw you had someone... I had to come in. I just lost her; I lost Karen.” The grip tightens as he forces Perry to look at him, to listen. “I didn't kill her.”
“I believe you,” Perry says, and he means it as his shaking hand drops from his brother's grip.
“I'm going to, uh, leave.” And Harry's gone, leaving the brothers to catch up.
“Are you two really not --”
“We're not together.” Perry nods, and he can tell Richie's surprised.
“Why not?” As far as Richie's concerned, his brother has always been too uptight. “You need to put yourself out there – he cares about you.”
“Shut up,” Perry snaps. He can't hear this anymore. It's not because Harry's straight or a felon or.. really any of it. He just doesn't fucking want to hear it.
“I want you to find out who killed her. I want her to find justice.”
What other choice does Perry have? When they release him, he goes to find Shawn.
--
“I knew you'd come,” the idiot murmurs, the office bathed in darkness.
“Does that glass really say 'Psych'? As in, 'gotcha'?” Perry's lips twitch in the mockery of amusement. Shawn Spencer had always been the biggest idiot he had ever met, and Harry was included in that statistic.
“You need my help.” Perry claps dramatically, rolling his eyes.
“The spirits tell you that?”
“Yes,” Shawn says simply, standing as the light behind him comes on.
“Do you know who killed Chief Karen Vick?” Shawn nods, gesturing towards Perry's chest as he makes his way closer.
“And so do you,” he whispers, placing a careful hand over Perry's heart.
Shawn doesn't sense the blow before Perry's knocked him to the floor. Shawn wipes a stripe of blood from his chin, grinning moronically.
“You know the answer, Perry!”
The door to Psych, fake detective agency, slams, and Perry makes his way home in silence.
Home. It hasn't been home in so long.
--
He knocks on the doorframe, and Harry whirls around, a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth as nine fingers fly over the keys of Perry's laptop. Harry doesn't ask where he's been, doesn't make a big deal over what he's seen today. He just offers a soft smile and turns back around – intent on his work.
“Stop.” It takes a moment, but the fingers freeze and he turns around again, only a corner of toast left.
Perry shuts the door, and they stay that way for a long time. Toast halfway eaten – coat halfway removed.
“I solved the case.” The coat drops at the same moment as the toast, and Harry's up and across the room. It's Perry who wraps his arms around Harry's shoulders this time. Harry stiffens, but then winds his hands around Perry's waist. And when their lips meet, it isn't forced or hesitant.
“I knew you would.” Perry's pushing Harry back towards the bed, and there's fear there, but Harry never pushes away. Perry tangles his hand in that choppy hair as his body settles on Harry's, and they both let out a breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding.
“What the fuck, Harry? How did this happen to us?”
“Fag and New Yorker,” Harry says easily, leaning up for another kiss. “This was us from the start.”
Socks and shoes hit the floor first, and Perry laughs as Harry fights with his zipper, reaching a hand across the other man's hip to help. Harry jolts from the sudden touch, but Perry holds him still enough to remove his pants properly. Then those shaky hands are on Perry's chest, unbuttoning his shirt.
“This doesn't make me Gay Harry, right?” Perry smacks him, shaking his head as Harry's tanktop flutters to the floor; Perry's pants come tumbling after.
“Shut up, will you?” Before Harry can answer and ruin everything, Perry's tugging at the edge of the other man's boxers and his fingers slide along the length.
Harry nods, the perfect picture of compliance.
Leaning down, though their eyes never break their connection, Perry wraps his lips around Harry's cock, smiling as the man attempts to buck into his mouth. But Perry knows better, and he's got Harry's hips in a firm grip. Running his tongue along the underside, he loves how easy Harry is to undo and sets about bringing him off any way he can.
“Perry, I'm gonna--” Those hands settle heavily on his shoulders again, digging into flesh.
Instead of pulling back, Perry throws all he has into it, groaning around that impossibly hard column until he tastes the beginnings of cum in his mouth.
“Perry, that was.” Perry shuts him up with a kiss, making sure Harry can taste himself on his tongue. It's sadistic in a way, but he wants him to know exactly what he's doing. And with a man. Then the lube comes out, and Harry really freezes.
“Shh,” Perry comforts, turning Harry over on his stomach.
“I'd rather...” Perry almost feels bad for not letting Harry finish a sentence... though not really.
“It'll be better this way,” he insists, smoothing an ample amount of gel over Harry's backside. “Relax.” He slaps Harry's ass, one finger slipping inside, under the radar. He waits for Harry to react, but he doesn't; doesn't even breathe. So another finger joins the first and his hand begins to move. Harry is so tight and so, so quiet. It's almost eerie.
Perry leans over to capture Harry's lips over his shoulder, forcing his fingers deep inside. Harry lets out a strangled noise against his tongue and he swallows it up greedily, a third finger managing to sneak its way in.
“You need to breathe,” Perry points out, slathering lube on his own cock in hopes that this could actually be good for Harry.
“It's kind of hard with your tongue down my throat,” Harry whines, and Perry laughs into his mouth, shifting his fingers against that spot inside the other man. Harry cries out, letting go in a way Perry's never seen. And they both know its time.
Perry doesn't lay out rose petals, and he doesn't ask if Harry's okay, comfortable, or ready. He just kisses him and pushes slowly in, feeling as if this should have been happening all along.
--
“You never told me how you solved the case.” Harry's voice in his ear is the first thing he hears the next morning. He doesn't like being held, and it's the only thing he can think as Harry's arms tighten across his chest.
“You're gay for me,” Perry says without missing a beat, moving Harry's hand so he can brush silt out of his eyes.
“The other case,” Harry prompts, pinching Perry's side.
“Get dressed,” Perry says instead, standing to follow his own advice. “We have a psychic vision to catch.”
“Can I drive?”
“If by drive you mean, 'can I ride strapped to the roof?' then absolutely.”
--
Harry opens the door for Mrs. Van Shrike and she smiles up at him, accepting his hand in help.
“You ready, Mom?” Perry asks, holding out his elbow to her. She takes it graciously and nods.
As they enter the station, Shawn pauses mid-vision to welcome them in.
“Richie Van Shrike didn't kill the Chief,” the psychic announces, hazel eyes narrowing as they find Lassiter. “But Barrett Van Shrike did.”
Juliet gasps, and even Harry looks surprised.
“The only question left is why.” Barrett opens her mouth to say something, defend herself; anything, but Shawn doesn't let her. “Don't tell me. You did it to... protect your son! You knew Vick was the police chief and it was only a matter of time before Richie's true identity was exposed. And you knew the moment his DNA was in the system.. that was it, he was going away for life.”
Perry nods at his mother as Lassiter comes over to make the arrest.
“You should have told me you knew,” Perry says as she disappears behind the partition. That was it, the last of his family, gone forever. Maybe he'll come to visit now he knows they'll stay put.
--
I'm taking over to wrap this up. Perry refused to narrate and said I did a better job anyway.. I'm so fucking easy. If he compliments me on even the tiniest thing I swear to God he could get me to do anything. Like the other night, he promises me a blowjob, and then we get back to bed and he's all 'You know, Harry. I just love the look of your lips wrapped around my cock' and I buckled. I always buckle, that's just who I am. So anyway, he tells me to wrap this story up and I guess I have to because even though I'm a terrible narrator he's convinced me he can't do any better.
So his mother and his brother got a life-sentence each, but the guy takes it pretty well. Then again he takes everything pretty well. Hey there! Not what I meant. No, he doesn't let me pitch, if that's what you wanted to know. I hear queers are like that – one way or the other. He's a top and it works okay for us. That doesn't mean I'm the woman or anything like that... though okay, yeah, I kind of am.
That was so not the point of this. My point is, this is just like those fucking Johnny Gossamer novels. Perry's life turned out to be just like you'd expect: the mystery, the intrigue, the fucked up home-life from Hell. And if he had never taken me here, had never showed me what he was all about.. Well, we may never have.. and I might not have...
Anyway, there were two cases and they were the same case. Just like before. So I'm glad to keep all my fingers this time because now I kind of need them. To answer the phone! Jesus, I can't say anything right. We, Perry and I, we've been together almost a year now. Before you clap or say it's cute as hell, remember we both have guns. Well.. I borrow his sometimes. And he helped me solve the case of why Harmony and I were never happy. She's the dream girl, she always will be. And I so idealized her that I couldn't be with her.
Perry and I don't hold hands, or kiss in public. He doesn't call me sweetie unless he's busting my balls. We work together the same as we always have, and I'm grateful things haven't changed overmuch. I really am. I don't think the poor guy could handle any more change.
“Harry, will you shut the fuck up and get to bed?”
That was great, though, Fantastic, even. And in character for the boys. ^.^
Thanks so much ♥
I think I may be half dead! I've never seen psych, but good job at making this accessible to non-fans. Shawn must be REALLY dumb if he's a bigger idiot than Harry. This was awesomeness. I especially love the bit towards the end where Harry says Perry won't let him pitch. LOL.
Write more H/P soon! You have them down lovely!
Thanks for reading and even more for the kind words <33