#ploom writes

What needs to happen to move the plot/character relationship forward

How do you make this happen

How are things left at the end of the chapter (preferably another problem/conflict, or leaving readers questioning something. Not 100% necessary, but it makes writing the next chapter easier).

“Elliot.”

The voice creeps into his dream, making his inner self pause. What was that?

“Elliot,” it comes again, more insistently. “Wake up.”

With a jerk of his limbs and a sharp inhale, awareness claims him.

What— who—? There’s a… what appears to be, a small ghost standing by his bed-side. His heart begins to pound, palms clamming up—

Oh. No… never mind. There’s a familiarity about the shadow, one that grows stronger the more the world comes into focus.

“Harley…?” He mumbles.

The boy stands there, wringing his shirt with his hands, shifting from foot to foot.

“Elliot…” he whispers again. “I…” and then he trails off, whatever he was going to say lost to the dark.

Elliot blinks back sleep, and looks into those large, purple eyes.

He had always thought Harley’s gaze uncommonly fierce for someone so young, but now-a-days he finds it easier to see past that, to the scarred, frightened little boy beneath.

And seeing such vulnerability, his fragile heart is quick to soften.

“Ah… you had a nightmare, did you?”

Harley nods, which only serves to make him look smaller.

Poor thing. They may be at vastly different points in life, but Elliot can still relate to Harley: a lost creature, pining for love and a place to belong.

With a weary smile, he lifts up the corner of the duvet.

“Do you perhaps want to—“

Join me, he had intended on asking, but before he can finish the question, Harley has already squirmed his way into his bed, wriggling under the duvet until his head comes up for air.

Even with as lithe as he is, all skin and bones— since, even with the new diet Elliot has him on, it will take time to reach a healthy weight— he’s still very warm.

He gathers the boy in his arms, sinking his fingers into that wild, curly hair of his. Tenderly, he begins to stroke his scalp.

The effect is magic. Harley slumps against him near instantly, his little hands balling in Elliot’s night shirt. Such open affection surprises him— then troubles him; the nightmare must have been particularly distressing.

“It’s alright, dear…” he sinks his cheek back into his pillow with a sigh. “Just a dream… I’m here.”

Memories of drying the tears of a young girl flicker behind his eyes. He’d chased off many a monster-under-the-bed, in his time. Who knew, years later, that he’d get the chance to do so again?

Harley nuzzles against his chest, pressing his ear over his heartbeat. Did it soothe him? To hear its steady tempo?

“That’s right. I’m… I’m here…” Elliot yawns— “… I… I’m here for you, dear boy…”

His hands drift down to Harley’s back, patting gently. “Try to get some more sleep, mh…?”

There’s a mumble of agreement, muffled in his shirt. Then, silence. It isn’t long before he feels the rising and falling of Harley’s back beneath his fingertips even out, and eventually, the quietest of snores, only just audible over his own breathing.

Elliot tucks his chin over Harley’s head, curling around him protectively.

As the afterglow fades, and reality sets in… Leith begins to giggle.

“Oh for— what are you making that noise for, Pierre?”

“You—“ he snorts— “you have a breeding kink.”

Harley makes a irritated growl. “Really? That’s what has you so amused?”

“You, Harley Sawyer— the feared doctor of Playcare— …have a breeding kink.” Leith is fully laughing now, poorly stifling his mirth in his hand.

Harley kicks him under the duvet. “Unbelievable. You really can’t be mature for even a second, can you? Everyone has their quirks, Leith. Even you. Especially, you.”

“But it’s you!” Leith cackles, all attempts at silencing himself abandoned. “You hate children so much that ya carve ‘em up for a living!”

“A sexual fantasy in theory versus the realisation of such a fantasy have no bearing on one another!” Harley snarls, stealing all the blankets and gathering them around himself— a protective cocoon. “Many kinks follow such a pattern. Public sex, for example; the idea of being caught is thrilling but the reality of such an outcome is wholly undesirable. It’s imaginary play, and all dependant on context!!”

Tears have begun to bead in Leith’s eyes. “Hah! Fuck! Public sex? That another one of yours, eh? Damn, Harley! You’re really bearin’ all tonight, huh?”

“I hate you,” the angry bundle of duvet fumes. “I hate you, Leith. I should never have allowed you in my bed. A foolish decision fuelled by a fleeting moment of desperation, and one that will not happen again. In fact— I may just kick you out onto the streets right now, naked and without any means of getting to your own home.”

“Awww… c’mon Harls. Y’ don’t mean that.” In actuality Leith is quite afraid that the other man does mean that, and so switches off his mockery in favour of some of the good ol’ charm that landed him here in the first place.

He scoots over to Harley, seductively trailing his fingertips down his arm. “We had fun… we have fun. ‘Fact— wouldn’t mind doin’ somethin’ like this again… maybe you can even tell me the rest of those kinks of yours. Hell, I’ll tell ya mine as a trade. We can make a game of it…”

There’s a grouchy silence.

“You’re lucky you’re adequate at sex and have a tolerable face,” Harley eventually mutters.

“See!” Leith collapses back on the mattress, arms sprawled wide— “that was almost a compliment.”