#harrycest in the time of coronavirus

[ferryboatpeak]

hey anon about the ceilings, it took me a couple days but i finally realized that your messages were actually a harryverse fic prompt! let’s check in on how all of the harrys are doing in these uncertain times, shall we?

1.5K of harry/harry crackfic, mildly nsfw, also available at ao3

(previously in the harryverse)

The angel awakens with a jolt. “They’re at it again.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and fumbles for his cross pendants on the bedside table.

“Mmmph?” The demon stirs behind him.

“They’re together, I know it.” He prods his foot around on the floor by the side of the bed, trying to locate his boxers.

“So what?” The demon’s naked body slides over the sheets. He hooks a tattooed arm around the angel’s waist and presses a kiss at the base of his spine.

The angel’s toes curl. The search for his pants stalls. But… “Traveling between universes is not sheltering in place!”

“It could be,” the demon points out, his breath warm on the angel’s skin. “If they’re in the same place.”

Something about that logic doesn’t quite track, but the angel’s having a difficult time figuring it out while the demon’s tongue traces up his back. He lets himself be tugged back into bed.

The next time he wakes up, he’s stretched out against the warm length of the demon, one arm stretched over his chest, ankles hooked together. It takes a few minutes for his orgasm-fogged brain to remember the corporeal Harrys. “I should see what’s going on.”

“Do what you gotta do,” the demon sighs, extracting his arm from underneath the angel. “I’ll meditate.” He slides out of bed and retrieves a yoga mat from the closet. After unrolling it next to the bed, he launches into a series of distracting nude stretches.

The angel sits up and shakes his head to clear it. He squirts some Purell into his palm from the bottle on the bedside table. Once his hands are sanitized, he leans over to grab his laptop, and wipes it down with a bleach wipe before turning it on.

The demon abandons his yoga and kneels on the bed next to him. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m setting up a Zoom.” He finishes the invitation and forwards it to h@hstyles.co.uk.

“Why only one email?” The demon hooks his chin over the angel’s shoulder to see the screen.

“They all check that one, enough of them will see it.” He elbows the demon out of the way before he opens the link for the meeting. “Go meditate, you can’t be on camera.” The angel tilts the screen back and forth, looking for his best angle.

Back on the floor, the demon folds himself over into downward dog. “Better touch up your appearance.”

“Fuck off.” The angel hovers the cursor over the Zoom menus. “What’s that?”

“Touch up your appearance, it’s in video options.”

The angel finds the right menu and selects “touch up your appearance,” admiring how it smooths out the spot on his forehead. “Thanks, asshole.”

A second window opens. Harry in a lace dress sits in front of the webcam in profile, eyes closed, face tilted upwards. “Hold still,” Harry in a pink blouse instructs him. He dabs something from a little pot onto the other Harry’s face.

The angel can see a towel rack, a toilet. Ballerina Harry pliés in the background of the frame, watching himself in the bathroom mirror. A lofty 10-foot ceiling soars above their heads. “You’re in LA, then?” the angel asks.

“Correct.” Harry in pink dips his finger into the pot and adds another layer to the other Harry’s cheekbone. “Just doing some face masks.”

Steam rises from the shower behind them. Water runs in rivulets down the glass door, obscuring the interior. “Who’s in the shower?”

The ballerina scoops up a pile of lace off the bathroom floor and holds it up for the webcam. “The other one in the dress.”

“For fuck’s sake,” the angel says. “Don’t start taking off your clothes, I’ll never be able to tell you apart.”

“You get to have your shirt off,” the ballerina points out, leveling his stare at the webcam. “Why can’t we?”

The angel mutes his microphone just in time. “Pants off, too,” the demon sings out cheerily from his yoga mat.

“Quiet,” the angel hisses at him. “It’s too confusing if you’re here.” The demon rolls his eyes and folds his legs into lotus position.

Another window opens onscreen. It’s Harry in suspenders and blue sparkles, in a fearfully decorated sitting room under a cosy 8-foot ceiling.

“Can I get in with you?” asks a voice off-camera. “Can’t open my laptop with my hands taped.” The webcam shifts slightly and the boxer joins the other Harry on the couch.

The Harrys in LA wave at the camera. “Hello!”

The angel unmutes himself. “Anybody else in London?”

“Just him.” The frame spins as Harry flips his laptop around to show corpse Harry lying on the rug.

“Is he… okay?”

“Sure, just a little savasana.” Harry’s white-socked toes poke at the corpse. “Say hi.” Without opening his eyes, the corpse flashes a peace sign and returns to his repose.

In LA, the shower door opens, and a naked Harry emerges. As everyone else goes silent, he takes what the angel considers to be an excessive amount of time to dry himself off. With the towel wrapped around his waist, he approaches the laptop. “What did I miss?”

“You can’t keep doing this.” The angel looks directly into the webcam with a serious expression. “It’s not good social distancing. You should all be two meters apart.”

“Come down and make us.” Harry in blue folds his arms, challenging.

The Harrys in LA pack into the frame together. “Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?” The ballerina rests his hands on the shoulders of the Harry in the lace dress.

The laptop tips sideways on the angel’s knees. A Harry-shaped molehill forms under the duvet, tunneling toward him. The demon’s feet disappear as he slithers under the sheets from the side of the bed. Apparently he’s done meditating.

“I can come down there.” The angel kicks at the demon’s shoulder and steadies the laptop. “There’s things I can do.”

“Oh-oh,” cautions Harry in pink, wide-eyed. “That wouldn’t be very good social distancing.”

The demon bites lightly at his ankle and scrapes his teeth up the angel’s calf muscle. The angel stifles a gasp, keeping all his features still on camera. The demon’s head bumps the laptop up his thighs.

“I’m a celestial being.” The angel lifts up the laptop and holds his leg perfectly still, trying to ignore the demon sucking a kiss to the inside of his knee. “I can’t get coronavirus.”

The corpse shoulders into the frame next to the two Harrys on the couch. “You could be an asymptomatic carrier.”

“Best not to risk it,” the ballerina adds sagely. He unzips Harry in the dress, who closes his eyes and tips his head to the side, opening his neck to the ballerina’s mouth.

“What are you…” The angel’s not entirely sure if he’s saying it to the Harrys onscreen, or to the demon dragging his lips along the inside of the angel’s thigh. “Stop it!” He fumbles with his laptop to turn off his webcam, and sets it to the side. “I’m working here!”

“You’re doing great,” comes the muffled response from under the bedclothes. “Heckuva job.” He slides his mouth down the angel’s cock in one swift lunge, like a bird of prey diving for the kill.

“Oh, god.” The angel’s fingers grip the sheets. He slumps back against the headboard and whimpers, which is the only possible reaction to whatever the demon’s doing with his inhuman tongue.

There’s a snort of laughter and furious shushing. The angel slowly turns his head toward the laptop. All seven Harrys are packed on camera, avidly watching their screens.

The corpse smirks at him. “You’re not on mute, dumbass.”

“Shit,” the angel says weakly. The demon, undeterred, continues to efficiently destroy him by means of his mouth.

The Harrys all speak at once, jostling for position in front of their webcams. “Turn your camera back on.” “It’s only fair.” “Show us.” “Is it the sex demon? Is the sex demon there?”

“He’s… a sex demon?” the angel asks.

“Duh.” Harry in blue rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t know?” Harry in pink asks sympathetically.

The angel lifts the edge of the duvet and looks down at the demon between his thighs. It doesn’t seem possible to smirk with one’s mouth full, but the demon manages. His hand snakes out from under the covers toward the laptop. With uncanny precision, he taps a finger on the video icon. The camera flickers back to life, and the angel watches onscreen as the demon tongues at the head of his cock with pornographic showmanship. It does look rather splendid. No wonder the Harrys wanted to watch.

Oh, that’s right… the Harrys. The angel tries to focus on the other Zoom windows. There’s a second dress on the floor of the LA bathroom, and the freshly showered Harry’s dropped his towel. A naked Harry – the angel can’t tell which one – is stripping the suspenders off the Harry in pink. There’s too many nipples and swallows to keep straight. One window over, the three Harrys in London are a flurry of hands and dicks, no telling which belongs to who.

“You’ve frozen up,” the angel chokes out. “Talk soon!” He slams the laptop shut as the demon tosses off the covers and crawls up his body, eyes glittering with dark promise.