Title:  Days of Awe
Author:  Lorien_Eve
Pairing:  Harry/Ron
Rating:  NC-17
Genre:  Drama/Angst
Archive:  You’re more than welcome, just let me know!
Spoilers:  Just from OotP.
Disclaimer:  They’re all J.K. Rowling’s.  Sadly, not one of them belongs to me.  I promise, the books would have a much different rating if they did!
Feedback:  Yes, please!
Summary:  Harry and Ron are separated in a battle against an army of Death Eaters. Harry thinks Ron’s dead. Ron thinks Harry’s not coming back. They find consolation in other people and places. Lives are changed and loves are destroyed when they meet again.

Author’s notes: A huge thanks to Lena, who, only through dedication and a strong stomach, was able to beta some of the later chapters.

Man has places in his heart which do not yet exist, and into them enters suffering in order that they may have existence.
-Leon Bloy

Harry Disapparated to Diagon Alley, headed straight for Gringotts.  He pushed past the huddles of witches and wizards in the narrow, crowded streets, not noticing or caring when they gave him angry scowls for bumping into them. 

The massive snowy white building towered over him.  He sprinted up the imposing marble steps and through the silver doors, into the hall.

“Vault six hundred eighty-seven,” he said, presenting his key to the goblin at the counter.

The goblin looked over the key before saying, “Very well, follow me.”

Harry followed him toward one of the doors leading off the hall.  The goblin whistled, and a small cart came careening up to them.  Harry hopped in, accustomed by now to the mode of transportation into the vaults.  The cart shuddered and jostled on, plowing deeper underground, until they reached Harry’s vault.

The goblin got out first and ran his finger down the immense door.  It opened slowly and silently, and Harry walked in.  Stacks of Wizarding gold rose up to meet him, standing in tall towers. His funds had been depleted during his time at Hogwarts, but afterwards, he had added more to it and had comprised a large sum over the years.

“I want to take all of it,” he told the goblin, “and I need it converted to Muggle money.

“Very well,” said the goblin again, and he brandished a large moneybag in front of Harry. 

Harry didn’t think even a moneybag this big would hold all of his gold, but he started stuffing the coins in anyway.  Strangely, the bag seemed to allow enough room for whatever amount Harry crammed into it.  When the vault was empty at last, he slung the bag over his shoulder.  It was remarkably light, considering that it held enough money for any wizard or witch to live on comfortably for the rest of his or her life.  The goblin looked slightly disappointed when Harry entered the cart again with the clinking moneybag in tow. 

They hurtled along again, up the twisting passages, and back to the main level.  Harry exited through the impressive silver doors, met by a blinding sunlight.

He took one last look around. He was leaving it all behind - the magic, the fame, his job, the Weasleys. The only things he was taking with him were his memories. Not the wounding, hurtful ones from the past week. Those, he flung from his memory and watched as they bounced down the steps, fading like smoke into the crowd of people before him. The remaining memories, the happy ones from Hogwarts and after, each smudged at the corners with Ron's fingerprints, he tucked into his pocket, keeping them safe until he was ready to relive them.

With his last decisive bit of magic, he Apparated to Ireland.

****

Ireland looked nothing like the picture books he had seen, or the photographs that Seamus had passed around Gryffindor tower, though the leaves still blew and people still walked around, pointing in shop windows.

Instead of blue, the sky was white; the sun was merely pale, not yellow. He was in a small, rural Muggle village, a few miles outside of Belfast.  Tall, narrow shops lined either side of the street like well-read leather bound novels tightly packed on the shelves of a bookcase. There was no green, the very color Harry had expected to see so much of.

He walked into the first inn he saw and inquired about lodgings.

“’Long will ye be stayin’?” asked the elderly man behind the counter.  He was slightly hunched, and wore a pair of thin, crooked spectacles.  He was completely bald on top, but there was a rim of white hair around the sides and back of his head.

“I don’t know,” shrugged Harry.  “For a while.”

The old man rummaged around the papers cluttering the desk, and finally presented Harry with a ledger and pen.

“Sign here, and I’ll get yer key,” he said.

Harry scribbled his name down as the old man turned to a pegboard nailed on the wall behind him and plucked a dull, brass key from one of the rusty hangers.

“Room twenty-two, sir, if ye please,” said the man, presenting Harry with the key.

“Thanks,” muttered Harry.

“Will ye be needin’ help with the luggage?”

“I don’t have any.”

With that, Harry stalked off up the stairway, looking for door twenty-two.

The place was small, but clean, and moderately decorated.  There were only two rooms—a large one intended to be the sitting room and bedroom, and then the bathroom.  He sat on the cushy bed and heaved a sigh. 

Well, he had done it.  He had left London, and England all together.  He was starting over, and Ireland seemed like a good place to go.  He had heard Seamus talk about it at Hogwarts.  Now that he was here, though, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.  He could go shopping, he supposed.  He hadn’t taken anything with him, except the clothes he had on.  He had lost his wand during the fight, and hadn’t cared enough to ask anyone if they had picked it up.  He wouldn’t need it now, anyway.  He was going back to the Muggle way that he had known for the first ten years of his life. 

Becoming a wizard had saved him from the torture of living with the Dursleys, but in the end, it had cost him everything.  If he had never been a wizard, he would’ve never been in that fateful battle, and he wouldn’t have had to watch a crowd of Death Eaters kill Ron.  Of course, if he’d never been a wizard, he never would’ve known Ron and never had the gratifying opportunity to live with him all those happy years.  But again, he wouldn’t have had to go through losing him, and he wouldn’t be feeling all the pain that he was feeling now.

After almost no debate, Harry decided he’d stay in his room.  He didn’t feel like getting out and being around people.  He felt much more at ease in this tiny room, where he could be miserable and cry himself to sleep like he had done for so many nights now. 

He pulled a pillow out from under the bed covers and wadded it up under his head.  He was tired.  If he could sleep for just a little bit, he might feel better.  He closed his eyes, and with haunting visions of the battle replaying over and over in his head, he let himself fall into a distressed slumber.

****

Harry spent most of the next week in his room.  He’d go downstairs to the pub when he got hungry, and a couple of times, he even went outside.  After wearing the same clothes for three days, he talked himself into going to a small shop a few doors down from the inn.  He bought several t-shirts and a few pairs of blue jeans, though they were all very plain. 

Although it was still extremely hard, he was becoming accustomed to his new life.  His nights, though, weren’t getting any better.  He’d made the mistake of sleeping in the bed that first night.  He hadn’t slept alone in years, not since his fifth year at Hogwarts.  In their last two years at school, Ron had crept over to Harry’s bed every night once the other three boys had gone to sleep.  The bed here was a generous size, and when he rolled over that night, he found himself reaching out for Ron.  His arms found nothing but cool sheets.  Suddenly, he woke up fully, and a cold knowledge washed over him when he realized Ron wasn’t there. 

After that first night, he slept on the couch.  It wasn’t big enough for him to move around on, and it wasn’t comfortable enough to provide a deep enough sleep for him to forget about reality. 

The silence and solitude had been a comfort for him for the first few days.  Now it was oppressive.  He didn’t really want to talk to anyone, but he found he felt slightly better when he’d go down to the pub for his meals.  The pub did a fairly profitable business, and hearing other voices and seeing other bodies made him feel less alone.

****

He went down to the pub one day for supper, and sat at what had become his usual table.  It was off in the corner, partly shadowed by a bend in the wall.  The place was nearly full, and he was surprised that his table was vacant.  By now, a few of the faces were familiar to him, though most of them were still strangers.  When the waiter came to take his order, he requested beef with roasted potatoes and a bottle of ale.  It was the closest thing they had to butterbeer.

“Hiya, Harry,” roared one of the patrons sitting at the bar. He was a plump, middle-aged man with a round, jovial face.

Harry gave him a small smiled in return.  He didn’t know the man’s name, but had seen him several times, and spoken briefly to him on a couple of occasions.  The man made a habit of saying hello every time he saw Harry.  A few more customers heard the man’s boisterous voice, and turned to wave at Harry.  He supposed he was becoming a regular now. He scanned the dimly lit tavern, wondering if there were any more people here that he knew. 

His eyes were caught suddenly by a mop of vibrant, red hair behind the bar on the far side of the room.  He felt a pang in his chest, and forced his eyes away.  He was definitely not one of the people Harry had seen before.  A few minutes later, he was watching the red head again.  He couldn’t help it.  Red hair and freckles meant only one thing to him—Ron.  He knew this man wasn’t Ron.  He wasn’t as tall, or quite as skinny, and his hair was a bit longer.  But still, if Harry squinted his eyes just right, and used his imagination a little, the guy kind of looked like Ron.

Harry was making some very ridiculous faces when the waiter approached his table, balancing a steaming plate and an amber-colored bottle on a tray.

“Is there anythin’ else I can get ye?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” said Harry.

“Me shift ends in fifteen minutes.  That guy over there’ll be takin’ over me tables,” he said, pointing directly to the guy Harry had been staring at.

His stomach gave a lurch.  Maybe if he ate fast, he could get out before the guy came over to wait on him.  Interacting with someone that reminded him so much of Ron wasn’t something he was ready to deal with.  He stabbed a squared potato with his fork, and lifted it to his mouth.  There was steam rising off of it, and Harry could feel the heat close to his mouth.  He puckered his lips and blew on it, trying to cool it off before taking a bite.  He only stuck a small corner to his teeth, but it was still burning, and he pulled the fork back quickly.  He took a long drink of ale to cool his mouth. 

The red-haired guy seemed to be making rounds, moving from behind the bar and strolling to a nearby table.  So much for eating fast, thought Harry.  He couldn’t have eaten the food that fast, even if it hadn’t been scorching.  He swallowed another mouthful of ale.  The guy was only a couple of tables away, but he had stopped to laugh and joke with the patrons there.  Harry noticed his smile.  It was big and wide, and his teeth were almost perfect, just like Ron’s.  All too soon, he was standing at Harry’s table.

“Hello,” he said, “I’m Sean.  Your name’s Harry, I hear?” His accent was distinctly British.

“Yeah, that’s right,” muttered Harry. He was looking down at the table, afraid to raise his eyes.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No. No, I’m fine, thanks,” stammered Harry.

Sean let out a warm chuckle.  “Ok, just yell if you need me.”

Harry didn’t lift his eyes until he felt the air thin out, signaling that Sean had left.  His appetite was mostly gone, but his meal had cooled off somewhat, and he choked down a few bites of it.  He finished off the bottle of ale, and throwing his money down on the table, he set off towards the shiny wooden staircase.  He wanted to be alone again, back in his room where he could retrieve his happy memories and forget the ones he had just encountered.

But before his foot touched the first step, he heard someone call his name.  He turned around and came face to face with Sean.  Sean’s already red cheeks flushed slightly, and he took a step back.

“Going to your room already, are you?” he asked.

“Yeah, I thought I might.”

“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?  I’m still on duty, but if you sit over at the bar, we can talk.”

“I-I don’t think so,” Harry told him.  “But thanks, anyway.”

Sean’s face fell noticeably, but he shrugged his shoulders.  “Maybe another time then.”

“Maybe,” said Harry, and he drug himself upstairs to his room.

This, he told himself, was why he had been staying in his room so much.  He was sure Sean was a nice guy, and that red hair and those freckles were spectacular, but Harry wasn’t in the least bit interested.  He didn’t want to look at anyone else.  Ron was the only one he wanted, and if he couldn’t have him, he wouldn’t have anybody.  He hoped Sean didn’t work too often, or he’d have to find someplace else to dine.  It was a shame, really, since the pub offered good food and the locale was extremely convenient.  Harry couldn’t see him everyday, though.  He reminded him too much of Ron, and Ron was the exact person Harry was trying not to think about.

****

The next time Harry went down to the pub, he stuck his head around the doorway to see if Sean was there.  If he were, Harry had decided, he would walk inconspicuously around to the far wall and dart out of the inn.  Because of Sean, Harry had spent an almost sleepless night with images of Ron swimming in and out of his head.  His eyes scanned the room but he didn’t see Sean anywhere, so he stepped down and walked over to his table.  He ordered corned beef and cabbage, and ale, of course.  One of the men who Harry had become accustomed to seeing almost every day, called over to him from the bar.

“Hello, there!” he bellowed.  It was the same man who had spoken to him before, and Harry thought he remembered someone calling him McGlory.

Harry said a small “hi” back.  He didn’t like calling attention to himself. 

Thankfully, the place wasn’t full this early in the day, and no one else seemed to notice him.  This was nothing like the meals at Hogwarts, where the Great Hall was packed with students and teachers, all of them chatting loudly.  It wasn’t like the cafeteria at the Ministry of Magic, either, which was full of witches and wizards, scurrying around and shouting over each others’ heads.  He and Ron usually ate at their desks in the Auror Headquarters, too busy to take the time to leave the office.

Harry ate his food in silence, but surprised himself when he decided to go for a walk.  He had only been outside a time or two, so he wasn’t familiar with the area, but he remembered seeing a bookstore a couple of blocks down.  Maybe he’d buy a couple of books.  He hadn’t read Muggle books since he was a kid, and it might give him something to do while sitting in his room.  He had way too much time on his hands.  He shivered slightly when he exited the pub.  He hadn’t realized how cool the weather was becoming, and he hadn’t brought a coat.  He’d have to get one.

The first shop he came to was the one where he’d bought some new clothes just after he arrived.  It was a small shop with large, paned windows out front.  He went in and started picking through the racks of jackets.  He didn’t see anything that he particularly liked.  He had always hated shopping.  He and Ron only went when Mrs. Weasley badgered them about looking presentable.  Finally, he settled on a navy one with a hood and deep pockets.  If it kept him warm, he didn’t care so much what it looked like.

He began to appreciate the jacket even more while on his way to the bookstore.  A short walk outside wouldn’t have been too bad, but the bookstore was several streets up, and he would’ve been fairly cold by the time he reached it.  The store was slightly narrow, but about three stories tall. 

Every inch of the wall was covered with books, and long tables ran down the center, with stacks of tomes on them as well.  He took his time and browsed through every section.  He didn’t even know what Muggles read about these days.  None of them looked nearly as interesting as the books in Flourish and Blotts.  None of the pictures moved, and none of the books snapped or emitted strange noises.  He wanted something to take his mind off Ron during the long hours he spent in his room, so he went begrudgingly to the best sellers and picked out a few that he thought might not bore him to death.

The walk back to the pub was a long and cold one.  The sun was setting, and he was once again thankful for his jacket.  He stuffed the books in an inside pocket, and wrapped the coat around him tightly.  The pub was much busier than it had been when he left.  It was usually this way in the evenings.  Mr. McGlory was still sitting at the bar, and Harry wondered if he ever went home.  There were also several other familiar faces.  Harry tried to keep a low profile, and dodge most of the people on his way upstairs.  Unfortunately, Mr. McGlory had spotted him and was waving him over to the bar.  Harry hesitated for a moment, but then decided to go over.  He wasn’t really anxious to start reading those Muggle books, anyway. 

Another man was sitting next to Mr. McGlory, and Harry thought he had heard people call him O’Kelley.  He was the one who spoke when Harry approached.

“Where ye been, son?” he asked.

“Oh, just down to the bookstore,” answered Harry.

“Ye don’t get out much,” said Mr. McGlory.  “Bit of a loner, are ye?”

“Yeah, I don’t go out much.”

“Let’s celebrate then,” said Mr. O’Kelley.  “Yer first drink’s on me!”

“No, really, I--” Harry started.  But then he thought, why not?  Sean wasn’t around, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a drink.  “Ok,” he said at last.

“Oi, Aiden!” shouted Mr. O’Kelley to the man behind the bar.  “Get this boy the largest mug of ale ye got!”

Aiden smiled, and sat a glass down in front of Harry that was almost the size of a large vase.

“Drink up, boy!” said Mr. McGlory, patting Harry roughly on the back.

Harry put the mug to his mouth, ready to drink, but he was interrupted before he could take a swallow.

“Well, hello,” said a voice from behind him.

Harry spun around on his stool, and his heart stopped.  It was Sean.  Harry had avoided him all day, and he was hoping his good fortune would sustain him through the evening. No such luck.

“Uh, hello,” said Harry slowly.

“I ought to be offended,” remarked Sean.  “I offer you a drink, and you turn me down, but when these gentlemen,” he gestured to the two men Harry was sitting with, “offer you one, you accept.”

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but nothing came out, and he shut his mouth again.

“I’m only joking, you know,” said Sean with a warm smile.

Harry felt his face go hot, and he turned back around on his stool.  I’ll just finish my drink and leave, he told himself.  He took a long drink, and felt it go down his throat and into his stomach.  He ought not be down here anyway.  He had those stupid Muggle books.  He should be upstairs, by himself, poring over the boring things. 

What would Ron think if he knew what I was doing? Harry asked himself.  Ron hasn’t been gone a month, and here I am, being affected by another guy. 

To be fair, though, Harry wasn’t just noticing another guy.  If Sean didn’t have red hair and freckles, Harry would’ve never given him a second thought.

Mr. McGlory and Mr. O’Kelley had been talking loudly beside him, but he didn’t notice them until Mr. McGlory nudged him in the elbow.

“Huh?” asked Harry, blinking his eyes.

“We was wonderin’ were yer from,” he said.

“Oh…I’m from London.”

“What’re ye doin’ here, then?  Visitin’ family?”

“No,” said Harry slowly, staring down into his nearly empty glass, “I don’t have any family.”

At that moment, Harry’s eyes were jerked upward when Sean came bounding in front of him.

“The place is busy tonight, huh?” he laughed, nodding at the filled tables.

Harry gave him a weak smile, and Sean placed another enormous mug down in front of him.

“Here’s that drink I promised you,” he said, giving Harry a big grin.  Harry noticed that Sean’s lips curled around his teeth when he smiled, almost like Ron’s did.

Harry reached for the drink, and the tips of his fingers brushed momentarily against Sean’s.  Harry drew his hand back quickly, and with his mouth slightly open, looked up at Sean.  He gave Harry a quick wink, and moved from behind the bar, over to a nearby table. Harry took another swallow.  It was going to be a long night. 

Of all the people he could meet, it had to be someone that reminded him so much of Ron.  He had left London because of this very reason.  He took another sip, and turned again to Mr. McGlory and Mr. O’Kelley.

“Do you guys ever go home?” he asked, feeling strangely light.

Mr. McGlory laughed and said, “Not when we can help it. The wives keep us tied, ye know.”

Mr. O’Kelley nodded in understanding and took another sloppy drink from his glass. “As long as we say we’re here,” he explained, “they don’ say too much. They know the place, and reckon it’s alrigh.’”

Harry had finished his current drink, and found himself ordering another one. It felt good to laugh again and to be a part of something, no matter how small. His vacant rooms seemed unappealing.

“Well, we’d best be gettin’ home, Harry,” said Mr. McGlory at last.  “We’ll see ye ‘round.”

He patted Harry roughly on the back again, and he and Mr. O’Kelley walked tipsily out of the pub.  Harry was about to finish his fourth drink when Sean darted behind the bar and jogged up to him.

“I hope you’re not leaving yet,” he said, looking slightly concerned.

“As soon as I finish this,” said Harry, gulping down a mouthful of ale.

“Got any plans?”

Harry’s mind was so muddled by the alcohol, he didn’t think before he said, “No.”

“Why don’t you stay here?  I’ll be done soon, if you don’t mind waiting.”

Harry nodded his head, and muttered an, “Okay.”  He was too pissed to worry about what he was saying.

“Great,” said Sean.  Before Harry even realized what was happening, Sean leaned in on his elbows and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth.

Harry licked his lips.  Sean definitely didn’t taste like Ron.  His lips didn’t feel the same, either.  Harry ordered another drink.  He was going to need it tonight.

He was just finishing his last mug when he heard Sean calling to another guy across the pub.

“Aiden, would you mind finishing up for me?  I’ve got something to do.”

“Sure, sure,” answered Aiden.

Almost immediately, Harry felt a hand on his elbow.

“Ready?” Sean asked him.

****

Once they were up in Harry’s room, Harry wondered why he had agreed to this.  He was most assuredly not ready for it.  He was lonely, though, and Sean seemed interested in him.  If he could forget about Ron, just for one night, he might feel better.

Sean grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close.  The kiss was soft and slow, but Harry hesitated a little.  Sean seemed to sense this, and he pulled back slightly.

“You okay?” he asked.

Harry nodded his head and leaned in.  Sean closed the rest of the gap between their mouths.  The kiss was more urgent this time, and Harry felt Sean’s tongue forcing its way into his mouth.  It was warm and soft, and had a slightly sweet taste.  Harry kissed him back more eagerly than he had intended.  Soon, Sean was reaching his hands up to the buttons on Harry’s shirt. 

Again, Harry retreated a little, but Sean wasn’t going to be deterred this time.  He took a firmer grasp on Harry’s shirt and pulled him forward, his hands still busily working at the buttons.  Harry clasped his faltering hands around Sean’s waist, and pushed their pelvises together.  Sean moaned into Harry’s mouth, and quickly threw Harry’s unbuttoned shirt down around his shoulders.  He moved his lips away, but replaced them quickly on Harry’s neck.  He kissed it lightly then licked the imprint away with his tongue.  He continued until he was down to Harry’s exposed shoulder.  Harry moved his hands up and around the back of Sean’s neck, pressing Sean’s face closer to his skin. 

It was Harry’s turn to moan when Sean parted his lips and left a wet, glistening path around Harry’s shoulder and back around to his Adam’s apple.  Harry moaned again, and Sean felt the vibrations through his lips and across his gums.  Harry ran his hands around the hem of Sean’s shirt, and began lifting it.  Sean heaved a sigh of protest as the fabric broke his contact with Harry’s throat.  Harry rubbed his hands up and down Sean’s back, savoring the feel of warm skin next to his.  His shirt had barely been whisked off and tossed to the floor, when Sean attacked Harry’s neck again. 

This time, he sucked briefly and worked his way down Harry’s chest, his hands moving with the procession.  He flicked his tongue across one of Harry’s nipples then moved quickly to the other one.  His descent continued, until he was on his knees, with his tongue drawing circles around Harry’s navel.  His tongue was busy, but his hands fumbled with the button and zipper of Harry’s trousers. 

Harry knew what was coming, and he jerked away.  This was too personal.  He could handle the fucking, but Ron had been the only person to suck him off, and he wasn’t ready for someone else to attempt it.  He grabbed Sean’s hands and pulled him up.

“Bed,” he choked out, before claiming Sean’s mouth.

Sean clutched the front of Harry’s trousers, and led him to the bed.  He worked at the zipper again, but his mouth never left Harry’s.  Soon, Harry was divested of his clothing, and he lay down on the bed.  Sean removed his own jeans, and crawled on his knees toward Harry.  He hovered above him, not yet making contact.  He kissed Harry again, plunging his tongue in deeply and running it around Harry’s mouth.  Harry bucked his body upwards, waiting expectantly for Sean to lower himself.  He didn’t have to wait long. 

Sean lowered his hips first, letting their erections rub together.  They both groaned loudly and thrust into each other.  Slowly, he brought his chest down to rest against Harry’s, and Harry wrapped his arms around Sean’s shoulders.  Their kisses were wet and sloppy now, each fervently anticipating the inevitable. 

Sean made the first move, like he had done so far tonight.  He removed his lips from Harry’s and replaced them with a finger.  Harry sucked it eagerly, and soon it was thoroughly moistened.  Sean slid the wet finger into Harry’s entrance, causing Harry to flinch slightly.  He probed around, sending waves of pleasure through Harry.  Soon, he added another finger, and Harry twitched with expectation. 

He was fully prepared now.  After having been with Ron all those years, it didn’t take his body long to adjust.  He felt Sean retract his fingers, but they were soon replaced by something much larger and more solid.  Though Harry was ready, Sean took it slow, careful not to enter too quickly.  He was a bit larger than Ron, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat when Sean pushed his way in.  He moved out slowly, but not fully, still leaving the head in.  He pushed in again, this time quicker, and Harry’s stomach collided with Sean’s.  Harry’s own erection was pressing into his abdomen, and he captured it in his hand, wrapping his fist around it tightly.  He began stroking in time to Sean’s thrusts, but Sean knocked Harry’s hand away, and seized the cock in his own. 

Harry was writhing on the bed.  He hadn’t been touched in so long, not even by himself, that it didn’t take long before he felt his climax approaching.  He was moaning loudly, and so was Sean.  Sean’s thrusts were deeper now, hitting his prostate almost every time.  He felt his balls tighten, and he came with an audible shiver.  Feeling Harry’s muscles clenching around him, Sean came, too.  He collapsed on Harry’s chest, both of them breathing heavily.  Sean’s brilliant red hair was right under Harry’s chin, and he couldn’t deny the urge to run his fingers through it.  It was soft, but damp with sweat.

“Thanks, Harry,” Sean panted at last.

He pressed his lips firmly to Harry’s, then slid off and flopped down on the covers next to him.  Harry rolled over on his side, facing away from Sean.  He lay there in the darkness, listening to Sean breathing.  Then he raised himself off the bed, threw on a pair of trousers, and went over to lie down on the sofa.