[Raphael@Harry] It's hardly the first time Harry has tackled him into the long grass on a bright day, but Raphael can never react in time to stop him. He huffs, pushing at him ineffectually, trying to sit up. "I've got goats to milk," he insists, but can't quite keep the smile out of his voice. He tries not to think about how many insects crawl in this grass, watching Harry instead. His hair is bright gold in the sun. Raphael has to look away from him. "You could help. Save me being terrorized."
Harry had spent far more time than he’d care to admit, timing this particular pounce.
The morning had been spent exploring, which was vital work and important to everyone, no matter what Raphael said. He had found a peculiar little creature, blacker than the thickest obsidian stacks and perched as still as a shadow on the tuft of a drooping stalk. It was patient enough to allow Harry to lie down beside it, the long grass tickling at his nose, seeds sticking in his ever-lengthening mop of hair. He’d had to be very firm with himself about not sneezing.
Harry had watched the insect, its fine antennae nodding lazily in the blinding heat, the dark of its body seeming to swallow up the glare of the sun. There was no shine or gleam of a shell, just lumped segments bunched too close together. It was terribly unpleasant looking, he supposed, but there was a gentle sort of beauty in the stillness, the thin legs, the oddly inverted tail. Raphael would have turned pale at the sight of it.
He had wondered then where his friend was, and found him scarcely feet away, perched on a rounded chunk of quartz. He had decided to watch him instead, propping himself up on his side and tracing the lines of his body, which seemed too solid in the glare of the sun. He was sitting with his back as straight as a rod, knees supporting his arms, eyes lifted skywards, gazing at the sun. His body faced the row of Markayuq, and Harry wondered whether he was praying.
He had decided to wait until he twitched, or sighed, but the sun was creeping higher in the sky, the tips of his ears were prickling with heat and Raphael was making no sign of moving. It really was too cruel, Harry decided, to provide a temptation of that sort.And wholly unfair to expect him not to satisfy it. He had leaps, ramming his good shoulder against Raphael’s side and knocking him triumphantly into the long grass. Some muttered protestation result, but he is very pleased with his efforts, and angles his body to pin him down properly.
Straddling this solid man, his quiet strength trapped beneath him, feels tremendously satisfying. He leans his weight forward a little, watching Raphael, and taking in the steady gaze as those eyes focus on him. A hot moment pulses between them, thicker than the sun burning through the back of his shirt. He grins down, enjoying the sticky intimacy, and the gentle flush brushing at the edge of Raphael’s cheeks. Hot, frightened, or enticed, Harry isn’t certain.
But he’s certain that there is a fondness there; something wild, and solidifying daily in his friend’s impenetrable mind. Long dark lashes leave shadows beneath his eyes as Raphael looks away from him. Harry hums fondly, dropping his hand to his chest, pressing a flat palm over his heart, remembering the Markayuq, and the peaceful breath it had given him when they had blessed his own body.
Perched on top of Raphael, he lets himself drink in the curious features, rather eager to trace them with his fingertips.He might have to draw him again, he thinks. To get the curve of the brows more faithful to these. He brushes away a little spider, who had settled in the thick line of one of them, letting his thumb trail down and frame his eye.
“I’ll help you milk the goats,” he grins, “if you’ll let me draw you again.”
