26. Harry/Fionn
An “it’s been too long” kiss
By all accounts, there’s no reason for Harry to feel this– this— giddy about seeing Fionn in Toronto. He saw him two months ago when they were going through the Dunkirk press cycle, which is a lot less time than he went without seeing Fionn before that - almost the entire year between the shoot and the start of their press tour.
And, sure, he had an album to write, record, release during that year, but he had shows to play and enough other stuff to do over the last two months.
Maybe it’s just becasue seeing Fionn again at the beginning of summer brought that shiver of heat he remembers from France back.
Fionn is a handsome lad, and Harry remembers very well the way they’d ended up half-drunk in his hotel room after the wrap party at 4 am. Fionn pressed up against the wall just inside the room and panting against Harry’s neck, whimpering and moaning the prettiest sounds as Harry pushed his hand down Fionn’s pants and got him off slow and careful, trying - admittedly - to leave as much of an impression as his hazy focus would let him. And though Fionn enthusiastically got him off in return, slept in Harry’s bed the whole night and rolled around the bed with him the next morning, kissing playfully and letting Harry blow him, that’s all it was. Just mates who got off one time when they were riding several cocktails of the alcoholic and emotional kind.
Harry hasn’t spent his past years pining or anything ridiculous like that. And fun as the press circle with Fionn was, handsome as he was on the various red carpets, there wasn’t a repeat of that night in France then and Harry never thought twice about it.
And yet.
Despite the fact that his September schedule is really quite ful and his maybe about coming to Toronto with Chris and Fionn was more politeness than any real intention of going, when he figured out that he could make it, he’d had the flights scheduled before he really thought about it twice.
“I really didn’t think you’d come,” Fionn says from where he’s sat primly at the foot end of Harry’s hotel bed, like he’s trying not to crease his suit.
“I really didn’t think I’d come either,” Harry says easily, grins at Fionn via the mirror in front of which he’s buttoning up his shirt. Fionn’s not even trying to look, which really takes the fun out of it.
“So why did you? Bored?” Fionn drawls teasingly.
“Aw, Finley, have you memorised my schedule?” Harry teases back, delighted when it makes Fionn roll his eyes and briefly look away.
“Your pal Grimmy’s mentioned a good few times how busy you are,” he shrugs it off then.
“Oh, you listen to his show? I’ll let him know,” Harry says. “He always loves hearing about people who like his show.”
“It’s fun,” Fionn says. “Makes getting up less terrible.”
“Well, that’s the best kind of compliment for a breakfast show,” Harry grins, considers texting Nick right away just because he knows he’d get an answer along the lines of give your pretty war pal a kiss from me and then maybe he’d get away with smacking one to Fionn’s cheek.
Not that– oh, whatever. So he kind of does want to kiss Fionn again.
“You do that, but can you finish getting dressed first? I’m bored,” Fionn says. “Fuck, it’s like you genuinely need a valet or something. How long can putting on a shirt take?”
Less long when you’re not distracted.
“Enjoy the view, Fionn,” Harry says, swinging his hips a bit.
“I’ve seen enough; I’m not impressed,” Fionn says, and flops backwards onto Harry’s bed purely to prove his point.
Harry grins and slips a few rings on his fingers before he marches over and swats Fionn on the leg.
“Quit lying around, let’s go.”
“Wow, you’re such a joker, Harry,” Fionn deadpans. “So funny. Please stop, I’m dying with laughter.”
Harry laughs and holds the door open for Fionn, fondness curling around his heart at Fionn’s pleased little smile.
They mostly stick together on the carpet before the film showing, shuffling through interviews side-by-side and posing for photos with Chris. Harry makes sure to sit with Fionn as well, unwilling to give up his company now that he’s flown to Toronto for it on what was more or less a whim.
The film is still as good on the fourth watch, and Harry has no difficulty saying all the right just-this-side of gushy things about it and Fionn when he shadows him through the networking hellos afterwards. Fionn side-eyes him a time or two, like he’s not quite sure why Harry doesn’t go off to mingle by himself, or why he keeps turning the conversation to Fionn, but Harry doesn’t need it himself today. He doesn’t plan on acting again in the next year or two, and he thinks he’s probably got enough clout now that he doesn’t have to make as many connections as he can. But he’s good at this, used to charming people into believing working with him would be a mutual benefit, and if Fionn can profit from that then… why not. Chris hardly needs Harry to be his charming arm candy.
Eventually, Fionn lets Harry drag him to the bar for a drink and a break and studies him for a good minute while Harry orders their drinks.
“So, why are you here,” he finally says, elbow on the counter, body a long, lean line.
“Just wanted to see you,” Harry says honestly.
Somehow, that makes the tips of Fionn’s ears flush, and his eyes skit to the side.
“Fuck off,” he says.
Harry laughs.
“What, don’t you believe me?” he asks. “Why else would I be here?”
Fionn looks at him like that’s exactly what he’s been trying to work out for the past few hours, and though he’s arrived at that precise conclusion, he can’t quite fathom he was right. Harry shifts so he can bump their legs together.
“You’re not that dreadful to hang out with, Finley,” he jokes.
Fionn smiles, and turns so he’s leaning against the bar alongside Harry, letting their bodies touch from shoulder to ankle. It’s just crowded enough at the bar that they might get away with it. This isn’t the gossipy kind of crowd anyway, so Harry fancies their chances are rather good.
The one drink turns into two, turns into three, and Fionn’s jokes turn flirty, his gaze heavy. It’s not just the alcohol that warms Harry, he’s pretty sure, especially since they haven’t even been drinking the hard stuff. He hasn’t felt this tipsy off some champagne and a few fingers of whisky in a good long while. The curl of Fionn’s smile though? That makes his blood spark.
Chris comes over to say goodnight to them at some point, and as if by unspoken agreement, they don’t order another after they finish their drinks and leave shortly after that. It’s not long past one in the morning, and Harry doesn’t ask if Fionn wants to go to any of the other parties, just tells his driver to get them back to the hotel.
Fionn looks out of the window on his side for the whole car ride, but there’s a smile curled around his mouth that makes Harry clench his jaw against the way his whole body wants to reach over and touch him. Still, he’s good, sticks to his side of the car, thanks the driver politely, and keeps his distance as they amble through the lobby to the elevators.
The moment they step into Harry’s room, it’s Fionn who crowds him against the wall, presses their lips together and huffs a breath that’s somewhere between a moan and a sigh. The door falls shut and the automatic light comes on, but Harry hardly notices, just grabs Fionn’s waist and pulls him closer, slots a thigh between his legs and leans heavily against the wall. Fionn’s lips are hot and soft and eager against his, and his mouth still tastes faintly of his last drink. Harry licks up behind his teeth and rubs their tongues together, makes a noise not unlike a purr when Fionn gets a hand in his hair and scratches at the skin at the base of his skull. They were more than just a little tipsy last time, but Fionn clearly remembers, touching Harry exactly how he likes. Fionn leans in more to press their chests together, letting Harry feel the thickness of his hardening dick against his thigh.
“Bed,” he mumbles against Harry’s mouth, half-evading, half-reciprocating Harry’s kisses. “Come on, this is a lot easier on the bed.”
Harry hums and then wraps his arms around Fionn’s waist, gives in to the impulsive rush of giddiness and spins them around, grabbing Fionn’s thighs to hoist him up. Fionn gasps and clings to him automatically, arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist.
“I could hold you up,” Harry grins, not entirely un-smugly.
“I know you can, you show-off,” Fionn says, voice shaking more than he’d probably like as his eyes glitter down at Harry. His lips are already a little redder and plumper and they’ve only just started. Harry wants to kiss him for hours and then put his dick between his swollen lips.
He starts with a kiss, cuts off whatever Fionn was about to add with his mouth, pushing his tongue past Fionn’s lips and swallowing the groan that gets him greedily. Fionn lets him. Holds tighter and kisses him back with just as much enthusiasm, lets Harry rut up against his ass.
“Seriously,” Fionn pulls away to say. “Fuck me on the bed. Let me ride you.”
Which– yeah. Okay. Harry can work with that.
He takes another kiss from Fionn’s lips and then a step back from the wall. Fionn’s not light, exactly, but he’s light enough, and Harry’s not that drunk, and the bed’s not that far. And the way Fionn scrambles to pull him down on top of himself on the bed with a whispered jesus fuck and a reluctantly impressed glitter in his eyes is definitely worth it.
Coming to Toronto was definitely the best spur of the moment decision Harry’s made in a while.
