Perso

Perso

Posted: January 2003
Title: Perso
Author: Cinzia
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Type: RPS
Characters: Harry/Karl
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is NOT true, because I just made it up. It NEVER happened.
Author Notes: For Brenda's birthday--thank you for making me see how good these two are together. Betaed by Gloria Mundi, the Insightful One. 'Perso' is Italian for 'lost'.

Summary: Karl misses Harry.

*****

Driving under a saltless ocean pouring down onto the world in a dark, scary autumn night hadn't bothered Karl. Seeing the road in front of his lights had been a bit difficult, but it's been all right because he'd known where he was going--because he knew the route by heart. Because he'd known no one else would be out in the end of the world. So he'd taken the right exit and had come running to the door.

He'd used his own key to get in.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Karl lets the darkness in the room hide his smile now, like the rainy darkness from the street had swallowed the silly grin on his face when he'd just stepped inside, and recalls the stunned look on Harry's face--Harry's welcomes, they always were the sweetest thing.

"Come to see you."

"Do you have a death wish or what? Of all the fucking, fucked up..." And so on and on, Harry had slammed the door shut behind him--or had that been the wind--and chewed him out for a good ten minutes, while taking Karl's drenched clothes off and rubbing him dry as efficiently and impersonally as any wet nurse.

Karl had been careful to hide his smile then, too.

At last Harry had run out of steam, and all Karl had had to do was follow him into the kitchen to get a mug of hot coffee and another exasperated stare or two. He'd drunk his coffee dutifully, straight from Harry's favourite black mug, breathing in the dark aroma and the clean Harry-smell of his borrowed shirt and sweatpants.

He and Harry, they went back a long while; good mates, for sure; they'd used to hang out together a lot, once. While filming *Price of Milk*, and after. Even during the few days of Harry on the *Rings* set, though that was already something different. But Karl still has the keys of both Harry's places, in Auckland and in Wellington; still knows which one to find him in.

Still comes here.

"Why, Karl?" The question had almost been a sigh, but that'd been all right, too; Karl was used to having it asked, to having Harry sitting right across from him while asking, long fingers passing through dark, grizzling hair.

Sometimes Karl answers the question (bad day on set, fight with girlfriend, just in the neighbourhood) or the one hidden underneath (missing you); sometimes he doesn't. And it's always all right.

Because always, Karl has only to look up, look right into Harry's eyes, past the bullshit and the small talk and the regrets--

--and there it is.

Himself, in Harry's eyes; looking back from Harry's eyes.

And then Harry wouldn't ask any more.

"More," Karl murmurs, wind and rain rattling the closed blinds, making his voice difficult to hear; but Harry hears, of course; he always does.

Karl is pushed hard against the headboard with the next thrust, and though it's a little painful, he smiles wide into the pillow, hands clutching the bedposts tightly, knuckles almost snapping.

He can hear Harry's breath coming in small, fast panting sounds behind him, can even hear the wet sound of him slide out and slam back in--oh God--can *feel* Harry in and out and then in again, hot and hard, filling him so well--but that's it, that's all there is to it, because Harry never touches him, he'd used to but no more now, Harry's hands are on either sides of Karl's on the headboard--close, but not touching.

Harry stopped really touching him during sex long ago, and Karl can't blame him--he regrets it, but can't blame Harry for it.

And then, then it's almost *there*--Karl pushes back hard on the next thrust, feeling himself open even wider and that's it--just there--the small grunt that's just Harry, that Karl can hear so well the second before he, too, is lost.

End of the world.

***

When he comes back to himself, he realizes that the rain is falling more softly now, that there's a kind of watchful silence in the night.

He lies on his side, waiting for Harry to get up, pad barefoot to the bathroom, dispose of the condom, then come back to clean Karl up. As Harry always does.

Karl lies quietly through all this, waiting for Harry to finish and go put the damp towel into the hamper before coming back again, tugging the sheets back, getting into bed beside him. In the dark.

When Karl turns to face him, Harry takes him easily into his arms.

And then Karl would say, "Shitty day at work," or "Fought with her," or some other inane thing, as if needing to excuse his presence in Harry's bed, or to have a reason to be still there; but before this, always, Karl would rest his forehead on Harry's shoulder and kiss him just above his heart and whisper, "Miss you."

Tonight, Karl lets the silence linger; he strains to hear it over the softly falling rain. Tonight he hides his face into Harry's chest, breathing in Harry and sweat and soap, and quietly says, "It's a boy."

Harry's breathing stops for an instant; his arms around Karl go slack; but it's an instant only, and then he's again breathing calm and soothing into Karl's tangled hair, holding him loosely, but comfortingly close.

"When?" he asks over Karl's head, simply enough.

"Little after ten this morning." Karl closes his eyes, seeing again the girl running on the set to tell him there was a call for him, from the hospital--he sees Viggo's face when he hung up, Viggo driving him all the way because he hadn't scenes until later on and Pete could do with Karl's double for a couple of shoots. He recalls when...

"Harry," he says, surprised that his voice is shaking so little. "I'm a dad."

In the rainy, dark silence, Harry's chuckle rumbles deep and quiet as a far-away thunder; Harry's fingers, coming up to gently smooth back Karl's hair, feel shaky, too. But only a little.

"Yes--yes, you are," Harry says, and Karl can feel him laugh through his chest resting over Harry's, through his lips pressed onto Harry's throat. "Bet he's beautiful," Harry says, and there's real warmth, real contentedness, in his deep dark voice.

"I can't believe," Karl murmurs, reaching out with one hand to find Harry's features in the dark, "how fucking happy I am."

A kiss finds his wandering fingers first, a warm hand closes over them. "Yes," Harry says.

Karl gets up on his knees, leans over Harry without dislodging their embrace, looks down in Harry's face. Harry's eyes are the only feature visible of him in the darkness. "Will you come to see him?" Karl asks, urgent. "Will you?"

"Yes."

Karl leans closer, takes Harry's face in his hands, stubble rough and familiar under his palms. "Will you let me come here still?"

Harry's nod is no more than a slight scraping of stubble along Karl's palms. "Yes."

Karl rocks their lower bodies slowly together, lingering. His voice feels low and husky and... "Will you still fuck me every time I need it?"

"Yes..."

... and as if it could break any time now. "Will you miss me?"

And Harry's eyes, dark and clear, with Karl's eyes in them--with Karl into their dark depths--Harry's eyes close, and Karl can't ask any more.

He lies back down, stretching slowly along Harry; he keeps Harry close, breathing in the darkness, just being there, with him. Just accepting that it's finally happened.

He'll leave, in the morning. He'll look down into Harry's eyes in the light, and fuck Harry in a world free of rain and of darkness.

He'll leave both his keys on Harry's kitchen table before walk out the door. Before going home.

Karl will fuck him and touch him and let Harry see.

He'll miss him.

He'll always miss him.

*****

THE END

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