#harrythreads

Him ‘liking it’ definitely is an understatement - because what Kim holds in his gloved palms here is more than just a mere toy, more than just a small thing made of plastic and metal… at least for him, a man who has always been fascinated by aerostatics, both the real ones and the model versions which he’s been collecting ever since he’s been able to spend his Reál in such a way.

And this one right here - the one Harry has managed to dig up from post-war rubble, which really just means dumpster diving in Du Bois-speech - is just so very special on his own. Whoever had aquired this model before, used to be the owner, surely hasn’t thrown it away just like that - simply because those special models hadn’t been bought to be handled carelessly, as they used to be expensive and rare from the get-go.

Means it must have been loved and cherished before…

The Lieutenant swallows as he pushes the thought away that starts to form inside his head - blinks himself back into reality instead, carefully turning the aerostatic this and that way with his hands to take a better look at the craftsmanship and the dedication that has been poured into this little thing. Only after what feels like a solid minute of him just staring (and admiring), he looks back up to meet his partner’s gaze with the dark of his own irises - his usually so very well-kept composure still unable to hide the surprise from displaying on his features, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.

“Harry - I’m… not just liking it. This is… —I never expected to ever own one of those exact models!”

It almost feels wrong to hold it - like he is stealing it from someone - but deep down he knows that, whoever this aerostatic has once belonged to, is most likely not around anymore.

Clearing his throat, Kitsuragi takes a soft breath through his nose - trying to get his shit together, to stop himself from acting like a kid being offered to have some extra dessert after dinner. It…somewhat works, but not as effectively as he would have hoped to - because when he speaks next, he can still hear himself talking like the utter nerd he secretly is, buried beneath layers of polished professionalism.

“—Oh, I have a dedicated spot in one of my shelves, where I keep all of my aerostatic and motor carriage models. It will fit perfectly next to the Senamese 4-33 model I managed to get my hands on a few months ago - because it is widely seen as the successor of the one I’m holding right now, with it’s improved—”

Oh holy Dolores Dei - listen to yourself, Kim! He stops himself mid-sentence, then - once he realizes that he is rambling, that he has, in fact, not managed to get his shit together - and clears his throat a second time, straightening his back, feeling the tips of his ears starting to burn with embarrassment. “… Anyways, yes, uh - I do know where I would put this. –-Thank you, Detective. I am glad you found it … it would have been sad to lose it within the dirt and debris, as it is truly… well, rare.”

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EMPATHY [Easy: success] -- Kim only barely contains his enthusiasm, and his glasses only serve to further magnify already widened eyes. He desperately wishes to maintain his professional visage in the eyes of others, failing almost miserably.

PERCEPTION -- The tips of the Lieutenant's ears are tinged red.

And it's one of Harry's favorite places to look now that he knows how blushing manifests in Kim. It always causes his heart to skip and sends a radiating warmth all throughout his body. If he could, he would listen to Kim talk all day.

"I'd like to see your collection some time. I wouldn't mind a history lesson." Harry grins as he tries to encourage Kim's interests. If this is how Kim reacts to a singular aerostatic, he can't wait to hear how he talks about his entire collection. And maybe Harry isn't a gear-head necessarily, but motor carriages offer a point of interest for him, too.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY -- You're just trying to get into his apartment. Clever boy.

RHETORIC -- Why can't it be both?

VOLITION -- C'mon, now. Be civil for once.

Harry clears his throat and nudges a bit of rock with his boot as his face begins to flush as if Kim could hear his thoughts and see his desires. Kim can't. Or, not in the way he can. Kim's a great detective, but he is still no match for Harry's otherworldly abilities. He has to wonder now, what are the chances he could locate another model? Another aerostatic? A motor carriage? Maybe even a naval vessel of some kind?

Darkness hugs against the window, pressing against fog-chilled panes and looking into a dimly lit living space where two men share a couch. A tiny and rather outdated television watches them, too, with re-runs of some old program neither of the men are invested in; one of them slumps into the other's shoulder, arms crossed and eyes closed. Sleeping. The other can barely keep his eyes open. Nothing a loud commercial break can't fix, though, and the man's eyes fly open. Sleep still clings to him, and it takes him a moment to readjust.

HALF-LIGHT - The fuck was that sound?

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - An ad. You don't remember falling sleep watching the television?

PERCEPTION - A rather peppy -- and *loud* -- advertisement for FALN sportswear plays on the old picture box. Lights strobe as scenes make jerky cuts from one scene to the next, forcing you to blink against the crust of sleep forming in your eyes.

Harry groans and goes to move but a familiar weight against his shoulder keeps him from standing. In his ear he can hear the slow, heavy breaths of Jean, fast asleep.

PAIN THRESHOLD - You are too old --

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - And too out of shape --

PAIN THRESHOLD - -- to be falling asleep upright.

His back is stiff and numb from slumping into the worn sofa, the extra weight of his friend not doing much to alleviate the pressure.

EMPATHY - If you wake him up, he will only struggle to fall back to sleep.

The choice is easy despite how sore his entire body will be in the morning. Harry tries to nestle into the couch some more, shifting just enough so that his back can rest against the arm of the couch, and Jean's head is against his chest. With a heavy head of his own, Harry leans it against the cushions, bringing an arm up and over to rest on Jean's side. Eyes close once more and to drown out the sound of the tv, Harry thinks about the weight of his friend and how warm his body is against his own.

@lilaxwine

The smell of liquor is heavy in the air between Harry and Jean. It's another one of those nights. The kind of night where it doesn't matter who says which stupid thing as long as everyone's feelings are hurt and are pissed off in the end.

They've argued all night so far and as Harry walks backward away from Jean, he trips over a shoe and lands against the wall. Jean is quick to pin him and Harry instinctively throws his hands up against Jean's broad chest, stopping him from moving any closer. Deep-set grooves notch his brow as they furrow inward and his nose flares with each inhale.

Jean's eyes are dark and glassy. They drank each other under the table and it'd be hilarious if it wasn't so damn sad.

HALF-LIGHT -- How about you break his fucking nose with a headbutt!

Harry bares his teeth and hands turn into fists as they ball themselves into Jean's shirt.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY -- There are a couple of ways this can end, Harry...

"What're you gonna do, Jean?" Harry slurs a little and then wets his lips. He leans in and his voice rumbles low in the other's ear, "do you wanna hit me? Or fuck me? What's it gonna be tonight?"

All of the flirting and kissing leads the two officers into Kim's bedroom. Harry's heart beats wildly behind his chest with each step towards that private space. It crashes into his ribs and against his sternum when Kim tells him to get into bed, and it throbs its way up his throat the minute Kim pins him against the bed. Heat washes over his entire body with a considerable concentration of it gathering in his groin. Harry swallows thickly as he watches the man on top of him settle into his lap.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY -- Feel that, stud? That's right, Kim is intentionally sitting on your erection.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Easy] -- Kim makes it difficult to not wiggle and beg underneath of him, but you can't lose your cool now, can you? Breathe, Harry.

VOLITION -- Show Kim you know how to be intimate.

@lilaxwine

VISUAL CALCULUS [Impossible: Failure] -- After forty minutes of looking at the new case file on your desk, you haven’t been able to produce a single conclusion about who the murderer could be. No witnesses. Only a single piece of evidence. Weeks since the last murder, too.

LOGIC -- What did you hope to achieve here? You were *just* handed the case. You will need a lot more evidence if you are to piece this thing together.

PAIN THRESHOLD -- That might not be so insufferable if you weren’t hungover right now.

SUGGESTION -- Didn’t you say you were going to stop all the excessive drinking?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY -- You would *never* have promised anything of the sort. You? Stop drinking? And what then? You’d be a boring old man. A boring, *sober* old man.

DRAMA -- You’ve had not one drop of alcohol the night before last, my liege. Everyone should be considering themselves lucky you haven’t downed an entire distillery.

ELECROCHEMISTRY -- Do you smell that? Down the hall?

Flipping the case file closed, Harry stands up from his desk, almost as if in a hurry. The rolling chair groans from Harry’s weight as he shifts and moves, wheels creaking from age and abuse. He stretches and as he does so, turns to look down at his seat.

OFFICE CHAIR -- The cushion is flat and stuffing springs out from tears in the seams. There is a large indentation where years of sitting and filing paperwork have worn in the impression of your behind. The paint and lacquer are coming off in places; the wooden armrests are especially worn and the paint is missing entirely. Functionally, it is still a good chair.

ENCYCLOPEDIA -- Precinct 41 does not have the budget to replace your your chair anymore than it can your Coupris.

Harry smiles warmly at his seat. I could never replace you, he thinks, and gives the top of the back rest a pat. You’re a good office chair.

OFFICE CHAIR -- It almost seems thankful. It has been a stout member of the force for over 20 years.

Harry moves from his desk and makes his way into the break room where a half-filled pot of coffee sits on its heating plate. Slowly he swallows, smacking his lips against the dryness in his mouth, and makes his way to the carafe. A thick hand grasps at the handle while simultaneously reaching for a mug with the other. Steam rises as hot coffee is poured into the mug. Eyes glaze over, muscle memory taking care of the rest.

When Harry’s vision refocuses, there’s creamer in his hand and it creates a mushroom cloud-like plume as it’s poured into the coffee.

He makes a soft explosion sound until the creamer is dispersed throughout, turning the coffee from black to a caramel color.

SUGGESTION -- Your partner could do with some coffee.

ENDURANCE -- What you both need is water.

Eyes look back over to the collection of mugs. He’s hungover, sure, but maybe he can sail over the looks of disdain from Jean with a mug of fresh (possibly fresh) coffee. Harry goes to grab a mug.

SAVOIR FAIRE [Medium: Success] -- As soon as your fingertips touch the mug’s handle, you flip it into the air with enough momentum that it makes it through two rotations before you catch the bottom in your palm.

Harry smiles to himself and settles the mug back onto the counter. He snatches up the coffee and pours the rest of what was in the carafe into the cup. Next is cream and sugar adjusted to Jean’s tastes. Both mugs are taken by their handles and Harry is soon walking out of the break room. Somehow he manages to not spill a single drop on his trip to Jean. Down it goes onto the desk and it makes a soft scraping sound as he slides it over.

It only takes him a few seconds to realize that his partner’s own eyes are not focused on his work, however - but on something else instead, something that has nothing to do with a corpse. ...At least not now, not in this setting - since Kim’s bare hands are resting more or less comfortably on top of his desk rather than being stuck inside whatever orifice belonging to a dead body (and no, Kitsuragi does not want to think of that incident that has happened a few days ago where he had literally gotten stuck inside a dead man’s throat while trying to pull out the fishing hook that had lodged itself into the soft flesh).

Too late, he is thinking of it now - but pushes that memory away into the depths of his mind before it can cause him to feel embarrassed once more.

He blinks instead - eyes flicking away from his papers to the green irises in front of him, which continue to take in the sight of his bare fingers with an intensity that almost makes the Lieutenant feel vulnerable... exposed even.

Before he can think about it any further, though, Harry begins to speak - throws one of his many questions at Kitsuragi, just as odd (and weirdly intriguing) as always, and he cocks a brow in a mixture of surprise and confusion before glancing back down at his own naked digits, which curl slightly in response to the sudden attention they get.

Suddenly feeling the need to check if they are dirty, he turns his palms up, then back down, spreads his fingers, takes a closer look at his trimmed fingernails. They look fine, there is no debris stuck beneath them, no stains covering his skin - thank god.

... Then Kim looks back up, through the round of his lenses, back at his colleague...

“---Depends on what exactly I have been working on, Detective. An oil change usually is a lot messier than polishing the exterior, for example.”

A part of the Lieutenant wants to ask where Harry is going with this - why he needs to know that kind of information - but he keeps quiet, wants the other to continue instead.

@voltadcmar​

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] -- Kim is all too aware now the bare skin he’s exposed and finds himself feeling far more naked than he’d like. In other words, you’ve embarrassed him.

DRAMA -- Why focus on THE MAN WITH THE MISSING HAND when there are two, almost illegally good-looking hands just *sitting* there? What is it if not an --

ELECTROCHEMISTRY -- *invitation*.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Failure] -- You feel the pressure of a swallowed noise slip back down your throat, muffling it into a completely different noise entirely.

HALF LIGHT -- Did you just fucking croak? Like a frog?

Harry swallows again but this time in an effort to push away the sandy feeling that’s taken residence inside of his mouth. Why does Kim make him so nervous? It’s been weeks since they first met. Weeks since the case of THE HANGED MAN.

ENCYCLOPEDIA -- It’s been half a year, already. Your perception of time is concerning.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Hard: Success] -- The Lieutenant is always on his toes when it comes to the words that come out of your mouth. But that’s part of the reason he likes you; that almost child-like wonder of yours keeps him from mentally aging (as most in the precinct have aged) as quick. There is no hint of annoyance whatsoever. He does wonder, however, at what point you’ll offer an explanation.

SUGGESTION -- Just tell him *something*. You can’t just stare at him all night.

“I’m sorry -- it’s just I don’t get to see your hands without your gloves much. I got curious about them...” It’s not a lie, but a half-truth. He can’t exactly tell Kim that he wants those pristine hands to do a little more than motor carriage repairs and maintenance. To do more than write reports. To venture into unknown (but also well known, too, in a way) waters.

Kim’s (Lieutenant Kitsuragi when they’re at work) hands are a temptation not unlike the peek of a woman’s ankle beneath a long, flowing dress. Or the subtle suggestion of soft breasts to which a loose blouse clings.

Harry’s eyes dip back down to Kim’s hands and he can feel his heart pound behind his rib cage. How aggressive the absence of intimacy must be to become so turned on by a pair of rarely-seen hands, the backs of which only visible through the small windows of his gloves where the straps snap onto brass buttons. He tries to not let himself go down another rabbit hole about Kim’s wrists.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY -- He’s not *not* inviting you.

With a giant hand, one that’s not quite as neat and tidy as the Lieutenant’s, Harry reaches over to run fingers over the top of the smaller man’s left hand. His own rough skin makes it hard to distinguish softer textures; everything feels rough when your mitts are like leather. Of course, the real test in softness is within the palms.

Harry doesn’t say anything, though his mind runs rampant with thoughts and ideas, making it hard to think (and making it very difficult to have this seem like curiosity, and not longing). He gently but with purpose flips Kim’s left hand over so that he may inspect the man’s palm. Fingers are the first to do so and they trace lines that his eyes follow.

PERCEPTION [Easy: Success] -- These hands have worked on many things in their lifetime. They’ve seen scraps of metal bolted together and many fluids that could cause corrosion. Kim’s hands are rough, but not as rough as yours. He actually takes *care* of himself. These hands have seen so many written reports. Tickets. Autopsies. Not a single line of grease or blood lingers in the worn grooves of Kim’s hands. Much like his MC, Kim takes pride in his appearance. Not a single bit of the man is neglected. There are small scars which have paled with time, the skin smoother in those places. You look on in utter fascination and wonder if those hands have seen more than just door chassis. If they’ve seen wanton flesh with desperate squeezes.

REACTION SPEED [Medium: Failure] -- You realize you’ve been caressing his hand for almost as long as you’d looked at them.