harrison starts kissing his dad on the lips. light, quick pecks. utterly familial. quick lean in and away. tiny little kiss goodbye or goodnight, not a second thought about it. some families kiss on the mouth, dexter, it’s normal. it’s normal. he never kissed harry like this but deb used to. it’s innocent. it’s fine. and then harrison starts ramping it up. and it’s kisses hello and goodbye. kisses with every thanks dad. kisses whenever dexter makes him laugh. kisses just because. and sometimes it’s twice in a row now, two little pecks, harrison going in for a second like just one isn’t enough, smiling against his mouth between them. and they get longer, firmer. pecks become smooches. harrison’s lips moving soft and slow against his for a moment that lingers just a hair too long and not long enough. and it’s nice, and dexter wants—what the fuck. he wants. he starts tugging harrison in for them. hands lingering on his hips even after their mouths part so they’re breathing close together before harrison flits away and out of his grip with a not-so-innocent smirk. and then one day before he knows it harrison’s arms are winding around his neck and dexter’s are wrapped around his back and it’s one kiss, two, three, until dexter loses count and they’re just holding each other and rocking gently, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, sharing breath between each tender press of their lips. and it’s still close-mouthed, still—still innocent, but it’s not, because neither of them wants to stop. and then harrison gasps at just the right moment for dexter’s mouth to close over his bottom lip, for him to feel the moist heat of harrison’s mouth inside and that’s—that’s harrison’s tongue, swiping just barely against his top lip and oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.