never come between a bear and his lemon muffins; a gay perry drabble
never come between a bear and his lemon muffins; a gay perry drabble 711 words, PG-13 (profanity). for hkath
Harry had left the fridge door ajar again. He fucking hated when the idiot did that. His camembert cheese went off last time, and Harry still hadn’t paid him back.
Perry slammed the door vehemently, shaking the fridge and the knife block on the adjoining counter. He was already out of sorts and it was barely dawn. His evening hadn’t ended as well as he’d hoped - the doctor with the great ass he’d picked up at the Tenderloin turned out to just be an ass, and one without an ounce of class. The idiot didn’t even know how to pronounce Yves Saint Laurent and kept making pun-laden comments about his being a private dick. Yeah, really private. As in definitely not for your-eyes-only, schmuck.
The sky outside the windows was just turning pink with the new day. At least he didn’t have any engagements until late in the evening, when he had a stakeout at some sleazy lawyer’s place; the asshole’s wife thought he was letting his secretary get a look at his briefs. Perry kicked off his shoes, slicked back his hair (he needed to find a new gel; this brand wasn’t holding up to the demands of an all-night detective) and stretched out on the leather couch. He spared a moment to wonder where the hell Harry was and what he was doing - he had to be in, since the alarm had been turned off - before drifting off into sleep.
The sounds of someone rummaging in a drawer dragged Perry from a dream populated with Russian ballet dancers in tight leotards. He pushed himself up from the couch with a biting retort ready at his lips when he realized it wasn’t, in fact, Harry looking for the bottle opener again.
A man in a black ski mask froze at the sight of Perry, a backpack held in one hand and several silver spoons in the other. There were crumbs around his mouth, pale and noticeable against the black of the mask.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Perry said, standing and unbuttoning his suit jacket. “That’s my grandmother’s silver you’ve got there. And… have you been eating my lemon muffins?” He tossed the jacket on the couch.
“Um….” said the burglar.
“You’re an idiot, you know that? Why would you think this would be a good time to break into my apartment?”
“…Actually, I broke in around midnight. You’ve got an awesome waterbed,” the thief said sheepishly. “And I’ve got this bad back, right? And the doctor said a waterbed would be good for my spine.”
“You slept in my bed?” Perry cracked his knuckles. “You eat my lemon muffins, you try to steal my good silver, and you sleep in my bed? This is not Goldilocks and the Three Fucking Bears, asshole. And I am not Mama Bear.”
-----
Harry closed the door quietly behind him and activated the alarm, remembering how Perry had threatened to strangle him with his sweatshirt’s hood if he forgot again. He dropped his keys in the bowl on the foyer table, kicked off his shoes, and tip-toed across the hardwood floor towards the stairs and his bedroom. Perry was either asleep or had lucked out with his bar crawl, and the last thing Harry wanted was to disturb him this early.
“Where have you been?”
Harry stiffened and turned. Perry was sitting at the stainless steel kitchen table, eating a lemon muffin and sipping tea from a porcelain cup.
“Harmony’s movie premiere, remember? Hit a couple of after-parties afterwards.”
“Saying after-parties afterwards is redundant.”
“Yeah, well… What the hell are you doing up?”
“Had to take out the trash.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Completely forgot about that.” Harry bit his lip.
“Whatever. I’m going to bed, and I’m not getting out of it until it’s dark again. Anything comes up, you handle it. As well as you can, anyway. Don’t fuck up anything serious.” Perry finished his tea and pushed in his chair.
“Uh, Perry?”
“What?”
“…Do you know anything about the guy in the ski mask lying outside on the curb next to our trash cans?”
“I know he’s an idiot who’ll think twice next time. Don’t you have that Vicki Lake case to work on? Shoo, vanish.”
Harry had left the fridge door ajar again. He fucking hated when the idiot did that. His camembert cheese went off last time, and Harry still hadn’t paid him back.
Perry slammed the door vehemently, shaking the fridge and the knife block on the adjoining counter. He was already out of sorts and it was barely dawn. His evening hadn’t ended as well as he’d hoped - the doctor with the great ass he’d picked up at the Tenderloin turned out to just be an ass, and one without an ounce of class. The idiot didn’t even know how to pronounce Yves Saint Laurent and kept making pun-laden comments about his being a private dick. Yeah, really private. As in definitely not for your-eyes-only, schmuck.
The sky outside the windows was just turning pink with the new day. At least he didn’t have any engagements until late in the evening, when he had a stakeout at some sleazy lawyer’s place; the asshole’s wife thought he was letting his secretary get a look at his briefs. Perry kicked off his shoes, slicked back his hair (he needed to find a new gel; this brand wasn’t holding up to the demands of an all-night detective) and stretched out on the leather couch. He spared a moment to wonder where the hell Harry was and what he was doing - he had to be in, since the alarm had been turned off - before drifting off into sleep.
The sounds of someone rummaging in a drawer dragged Perry from a dream populated with Russian ballet dancers in tight leotards. He pushed himself up from the couch with a biting retort ready at his lips when he realized it wasn’t, in fact, Harry looking for the bottle opener again.
A man in a black ski mask froze at the sight of Perry, a backpack held in one hand and several silver spoons in the other. There were crumbs around his mouth, pale and noticeable against the black of the mask.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Perry said, standing and unbuttoning his suit jacket. “That’s my grandmother’s silver you’ve got there. And… have you been eating my lemon muffins?” He tossed the jacket on the couch.
“Um….” said the burglar.
“You’re an idiot, you know that? Why would you think this would be a good time to break into my apartment?”
“…Actually, I broke in around midnight. You’ve got an awesome waterbed,” the thief said sheepishly. “And I’ve got this bad back, right? And the doctor said a waterbed would be good for my spine.”
“You slept in my bed?” Perry cracked his knuckles. “You eat my lemon muffins, you try to steal my good silver, and you sleep in my bed? This is not Goldilocks and the Three Fucking Bears, asshole. And I am not Mama Bear.”
-----
Harry closed the door quietly behind him and activated the alarm, remembering how Perry had threatened to strangle him with his sweatshirt’s hood if he forgot again. He dropped his keys in the bowl on the foyer table, kicked off his shoes, and tip-toed across the hardwood floor towards the stairs and his bedroom. Perry was either asleep or had lucked out with his bar crawl, and the last thing Harry wanted was to disturb him this early.
“Where have you been?”
Harry stiffened and turned. Perry was sitting at the stainless steel kitchen table, eating a lemon muffin and sipping tea from a porcelain cup.
“Harmony’s movie premiere, remember? Hit a couple of after-parties afterwards.”
“Saying after-parties afterwards is redundant.”
“Yeah, well… What the hell are you doing up?”
“Had to take out the trash.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Completely forgot about that.” Harry bit his lip.
“Whatever. I’m going to bed, and I’m not getting out of it until it’s dark again. Anything comes up, you handle it. As well as you can, anyway. Don’t fuck up anything serious.” Perry finished his tea and pushed in his chair.
“Uh, Perry?”
“What?”
“…Do you know anything about the guy in the ski mask lying outside on the curb next to our trash cans?”
“I know he’s an idiot who’ll think twice next time. Don’t you have that Vicki Lake case to work on? Shoo, vanish.”