Chapter Text
Stanley won’t answer his phone on Friday, in spite of his office hours saying he’s meant to be in. So Henry contents himself with spending the entire night with Harry wrapped to him like a starfish on a rock and going to work finally feeling a tiny bit more like himself.
Around two, he raises his head at yet another argument from Franklins’ office.
“...Enough time-”
“Sir, if we risk this, we may lose him entirely” Fitzjames, so curt Henry nearly mistakes him for Crozier.
“There are lots of qualified divers, and I’m certain they’d put up the money to bring one up here.”
“Bringing in people who don’t know the region is how we ended up in the goddamned mess in the first place!”
There’s Crozier.
“My decision is final. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
Crozier appears in the hall, jaw set so tight he must be cracking teeth. Fitzjames is beside him, closing the door before rubbing his forehead.
“Maybe he’ll do us all a fucking favor and have a goddamned heart attack.”
“You don’t mean that, Francis.”
Crozier growls something and stalks off, Jopson appearing at his side from a spot Henry swore was empty.
Fitzjames approaches his desk. He understands how the man made his way up the ladder; he looks genuinely solicitous and concerned, even though Henry knows he’s about to give him bad news.
“They want me to dive.”
“Week after next. They’re convinced the sea’s risen high enough that one of the major rocks on the map is sufficiently under water and won’t pose a risk.”
Henry bites his tongue, not wanting to scold his boss about that not being how hazards work, but one look suggests Fitzjames agrees with him.
“Doesn’t sound like I have much choice if I want to keep my job.”
“I can try and work my charm on the Barrows to buy time, but I fear it will come down to that exact choice eventually.”
Henry turns the thought over in his head; if he has two weeks warning, then he has time to put in some bulwarks and build himself up. Not to mention that if he doesn’t do this, they may send one of his other divers down, someone less experienced, and it’ll be Billy all over again.
“I’ll do it.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He finally gets Dr. Stanley on the phone on Monday after work. He’s in Harry’s apartment, having come over for dinner and, according to Harry’s text message “dessert ;)”. He’s never known a grown man who uses emojis so earnestly.
He’s also here so Harry can help with the phone call.
Christ, you can’t even talk on the phone without someone holding your hand
“Stanely.” .
“Hi, this is Henry Collins. I need to talk to you about something related to my treatment plan.”
“I have five minutes.”
“I should have made it clear earlier but I, I’ve been, uh, self-medicating with Benadryl and I think it’s messing me up.”
“That's a common stop-gap when dealing with sleep issues. As long as it’s not too high of a dose.”
Harry furrows his brow.
“It’s too high” Henry gestures to the bottle as if the doctor can see it, “most nights I think I’ve been taking three or four times the recommended dose. Some nights more, it gets hard to remember. But without it, I can’t hardly sleep.”
“Mr. Collins, if this is an attempt to get medication-”
“Oh for goodness sake Stephen.” Harry cuts in, “you have a patient at risk of overdose due to misuse of over the counter medication, giving him a proper prescription for an approved sleep medication is the safer route for multiple reasons.”
“....Mr. Collins, am I on speaker?”
“Yeah. Harry said he’d help me explain it.”
“ Mr. Goodsir should not be acting as a doctor to someone he has a relationship with.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d bothered to flag the possibility of this being dangerous self-medication!”
“I will not be lectured on how to do my job from a man who couldn’t hack being a doctor!”
“Hey” Henry cuts in, “don’t fuckin take it out on him because you fucked up. I’m not scheduling anymore sessions. Tiny town or not, I’ll find someone else.”
He turns the phone off and slumps down onto the couch, Harry settling in beside him.
“Sorry. That was probably a bad idea.” He mumbles.
“Not at all.” Harry drapes a comforting arm over his shoulder, “You weren’t getting the care you needed. You get to look for it somewhere else. I’ll ask Alex if there’s anyone he recommends who you could see remotely.”
“Thanks.” Henry turns and kisses him. Harry sighs into it and melts forward. Henry shifts sideways, giving the smaller man more room to press against him. He allows himself the pleasure of digging his hands into Harry’s ass, grinning at the almost-squeak and laugh it earns him.
“C’mon, doc.” He slides his hands under Harry’s blue and white argyle, “think we could both use a little, uh, decompression.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dr. McDonald works fast; in three days, Henry has a prescription for Doxipen and a referral to a remote therapist specializing in PTSD.
He practices getting into first his suit, then the water, without panicking. There’s a small lake one town up, and Harry drives there with him after work every night, sitting with binoculars or peering into the little satellite ponds for frogs while Henry builds himself up to swimming. Afterwards, he’ll ride in the passenger seat in his sweatshirt, thick towel bundled around his legs, drinking tea from a thermos as they listen to whatever the strange little radio station out of the community college is playing.
Between the meds and the uptick in swimming, he’s sleeping better already. It doesn’t hurt that Harry’s come over several nights to fuck him so thoroughly he passes out soon after. The evening where Harry ordered him on top to ride him so he could lavish praise and attention on his thighs and belly, he hadn’t even stayed awake long enough to feel Harry tuck them in.
He’s feeling, if not optimistic, at least like he’ll make the dive without a nervous breakdown.
When the day comes, they’re actually on the Terror rather than the Erebus ; Captain Crozier, along with Thomas Blanky, still know the area around the mouth better than anyone. Which means Henry has a swim ahead of him, as Crozier has no faith that this particular patch of rocks is any less treacherous than before.
Nature offers a bit of mercy as well; a calm day, and a current that’s traditionally calm this time of year.
All the same, when he pushes off into the water, his body fights him until he’s floating and able to take a few breaths to calm himself.
“Everything alright so far?” Fitzjames baritone comes through his communication equipment.
“Yes, sir. Gotta say, from here I don’t see any serious changes.” He hits a stronger section of current, focusing on the rock ahead, and on his movements, rather than the sensation of how the whole ocean suddenly seems to be pushing backward, pushing him toward the mouth of the river where the rocks are waiting to break him like a beast closing down on prey.
He pretends Harry is on the other side of the com. What would he tell him? To stay present, keep breathing. That he believes in him.
He said that to you last night on the phone. But he probably doesn’t believe it.
Jesus, shut up for ten seconds so I can focus on the dive.
Reaching the rock, he kicks up toward the top. One look tells him there’s not enough clearance for anything except maybe a dory, and even then it’d be a close call.
“Collins to deck, I’m coming back now.”
The swim back to the boat is less harrowing. It’s only when he’s surfaced and helped aboard that he realizes his heart is still going a hundred miles a minute, and that the congratulatory cheers of his crew mates sound far away.
“Well done, Collins!” Fitzjames grins from behind a relieved looking Crozier.
“Good to have you back” Blanky claps his shoulder, “and maybe you bought us a break in the nonsense.”
Henry manages to smile, explains what he found to Crozier and Fitzjames with a voice that’s shaky but sure
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Harry is waiting for him at Kellys, Beechy’s third finest oceanside bar and grill. They happen to also make the best burgers in town, in Henry’s opinion, so when Harry asked where he’d like to have a celebratory meal, this was his choice.
They’re seated by the window, the only patrons at a table instead of the bar. From here they can see the lights of the harbor in the distance, and the sea birds carrying on over the little cove just outside.
Henry orders the house burger, which seems to be a standard cheeseburger with half a deli case on top of it. Harry happily munches on fish and chips with a shocking amount of vinegar while they debate the merits of different deep-fried candy bars.
Harry opted for his glasses over contacts, and Henry suspects it’s because he’s learned how attractive he is when peering over the tops of them.
“I really am proud of you” Harry takes his hand, “That wasn’t an easy thing to do, and I agree with Francis that it was dreadfully unnecessary for Franklin to order it. All the same, it’s a milestone to be proud of.”
He brushes of the twinge of worry in his stomach and closes Harry’s hand in both of his, “Thanks for cheering me on.”
“Psychically, perhaps. I suspect Alex noticed I was a tad distracted this afternoon, worrying over you.”
“You know what I mean, doc.”
Harry smiles and Henry risks leaning across the table to steal a vingary kiss. A benefit of being a guy his size; any homophobes hanging around tend to think twice about bothering him. The patrons here take no notice, and so he helps himself to another kiss, just because he can.
He’s not sure what does him in. Maybe it’s the beer, loosening defenses he’s stacked up in his mind. Maybe it’s the way Harry says he’s proud of him as they’re driving home, his brain twisting it into something terrible as he sits in the dark cab, scant streetlights speeding by. Maybe he’s not any less broken than before, maybe Harry is just a crutch that will eventually snap from his weight.
Pathetic
“Everything alright?” Harry opens the door to his place, ushering Henry inside.
Henry shrugs, tucks his hands into his pockets after pulling off his boots.
Harry hangs his black coat on its usual hook, “you don’t have to stay, I’m happy to drive you home if what you really need is a good night's rest in a familiar bed.”
“Yours is plenty familiar.” It’s a failed flirtation and they both know it. He can’t sound playful, his vocal cords are twisting everything flat.
Harry does the kindest, and cruelest, thing possible. He waits, hands folded in front of him, giving Henry all the time he needs. No rush, and no escape.
“I…sometimes I worry I’m so pathetic I’ll never be worth much to anybody. Including you. You had to help me with Dr. Stanley. Mr.Fitzjames had to keep the Barrows off my back. I had to compel myself to do every. Goddam. Thing. For weeks . I could barely take care of myself sometimes. Sometimes I still can’t. Fuck, last week I had to coax myself into going to the store for groceries by telling myself I’d buy something for you there and that that was reason enough to go. S’where that crab squishy-thing came from.”
“Lenore is an excellent addition to the house.” Harry takes a step toward him.
“I just, I pulled it together today but maybe tomorrow I won’t. Maybe the next time I’ll come apart completely and everyone will realize they don’t need to haul my big, useless carcass along with them.”
“You know that’s not true. You don’t give yourself enough credit, Henry. You’re remarkably resilient, and even if there are setbacks, that doesn’t make you pathetic-”
“But what if it does? ” He looks up enough to see Harry’s face through yet another round of tears, “all, all I want is to know that if I was nothing more than that pathetic thing, that someone would still like me. That you would still like me.” He adds weakly.
“I can think of very few things that could make me stop.” Harry touches the lapels of Henry’s coat, and he feels like a spooked horse being pet on the flank.
“I, I know it’s ridiculous” Henry sniffs, “but I’m just, I’m so scared I’ll be too weak too long and end up alone.”
“Never.” Harry rests a hand on his cheek, “I care for you so much. All the ways you are. Even the ones where you can’t see much or any worth to yourself when you’re in them, I promise I still do.”
Henry crushes him in a hug, and this time Harry kisses his jaw, the shell of his ear, all while whispering that everything will be alright.
They stand there for what should be an uncomfortably long time. Henry can’t bring himself to move away, and Harry is making no attempt to separate from him. So he holds fast, breathes in time with the movement of Harry’s chest, and dares the needling, cruel voice in his mind to try and reach him here.
“You know” Harry murmurs after a while, “I think there may be a way for you to face that fear safely. And, um, rather enjoyably. With me. It may take some time to arrange, but if you’re interested I certainly am.”
“You been holding out on me with the fantasies, doc?” This time, the tease comes through, teary as he still is.
“Why, darling Henry” Harry plants a firmer kiss to his jaw, “haven’t I told you? Ever since I laid eyes on you, I’ve been dying to make a large, beautiful man cry.”
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His first time in Harry’s bedroom, Henry assumed the drawers of his little chestnut wardrobe was filled with tidily folded clothes. He was right about two of the four.
The other two are home to a shocking array of sex toys, ropes, and one or two objects Henry’s not sure of the purpose of.
“My curiosity isn’t solely related to scientific matters” Harry says before producing a vibrating cock ring that lays Henry out flat in less than a minute
Harry has both drawers open now, plucking tools from them as Henry waits patiently on the bed in his boxers. He wore ones with little starfish on them, just to see Harry laugh.
They’ve gone over the plans in enough detail to know what’s off limits and what the other really, really wants out of this. But Harry has kept him in the dark about the exact roadmap of the evening.
His boyfriend climbs onto the bed, bundle of black rope in one hand and a book in the other.
“I can do a few simple ones from memory, but I have something more complicated in mind for tonight. Can you sit up a bit? Yes, good, like that. Let me know if anything pinches or tugs as I go. Arms out, wrists together, perfect.”
He smiles, watching Harry coil the rope from one of his forearms to the other, pausing to consult the pictures in the book spread out by his knee. The rope is smooth, almost satiny on his skin, and he closes his eyes, focusing on the sensation of Harry slowly binding his arms.
“Bend your elbows for me to test the motion? Good, that seems like an alright fit. I thought about fully trapping your arms against your chest, but it might be better to build up to that level of limb restraint. Not being able to move ones arms sends a lot of people into a panic, I assume as a survival adaptation…”
“Like that it means I can still touch you some.” He extends his fingers, manages to rub the skin on the underside of Harry's wrists.
"That is a benefit. Though not one you’ll get much chance to utilize I’m afraid.” The slightest edge enters his voice and Henry can’t help but grin in excitement.
“Oh you do like that. Lovely.” A kiss to his cheek, “I’m going to start on your chest now.
Henry nods, closes his eyes again. The ties on his chest feel less complex; bands around the center alternating with loops over his shoulders, Harry forming a makeshift harness that Henry doesn’t want to ever take off.
When the rope drapes over his collarbone, he tenses slightly.
“It’s alright” Harry's fingers are on his right shoulder, “I found a pattern that allows for a loose collar, and with knots that mean it can’t accidentally turn into a noose. Can’t have anything damaging my Henry.”
He whimpers, lets Harry move his head this way and that to work the rope into place. He can feel the faintest touch of it at the base of his neck.
“All done.” Harry whispers, pulls out of range before Henry can try for a kiss, “come along.”
He stands and Henry feels a tug; the ropework ends in a loose leash. Harry doesn’t even look back to see if he’s following, simply moves toward the little living room with Henry happily at his heels.
“Just one last thing to do” Harry stops, turns to face him, and yanks Henry's boxers to his ankles. There’s a pleased glimmer in his eye when he notices Henry half-hard already.
“Step out of those and kneel just there. Good boy.” Henry takes his position on a soft, thin blanket spread out about four feet from Harry’s easy chair, a great green-plaid mass of cushions that looks like it’s been rolled down several hills.
“What do you want me to do? Sir?” He adds the second part on as a whim and feels extremely smug at the way Harry’s breath catches.
“Stay there for now, and follow these two rules: No begging, and no making a mess.”
“Understood, sir.” He wonders, not unhappily, if Harry intends to just leave him like this for a while, a prized mastiff set out for study and expected to lay obediently until it’s called.
“You’re always so accommodating, my dearest Henry. Listening to me prattle on about things, standing in the cold just so I could see that pod of whales.”
“Like listening to you talk, sir. Like being with you.”
“I know. I like it too.” Harry passes him by, patting his head twice before disappearing into the bedroom. When he returns, it’s with something black and silicone that Henry initially mistakes for a small speaker.
“I’ve had this in mind for you for some time” a little blush “starting with the night you came over to hide out while it was pouring.”
“What does it do, sir?”
“An excellent question. This black piece acts as the control center and remote. And this piece” he produces a cocksleeve in a matching black cylinder, closed at the top end, “goes on you.”
Henry groans as the cocksleeve is pressed into place, drops his hands to keep it there when Harry instructs him to.
“Here’s rule three: you are not to take that off, or let it come off, until I say so. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Harry smiles at him, all sweetness and sunshine, and kisses him.
Then the stroker turns on and Henry yelps, muffled, into the kiss. Harry doesn’t let up, cupping his face with one hand while the other works the remote, deepening the kiss even as Henry squirms and grunts from the intensity of the toy around him.
“Oh this is going beautifully .” Harry sighs as he sits back.
“This, thisAH, this thing is not fucking around, sir.”
“I should hope not. Everything I read said it delivered ‘intense, realistic stimulation.’”
Henry raises an eyebrow.
“Alright, it used coarser language than that, but that was the upshot.”
“I, I mean it’s not gah ” he bucks as the movement changes, “not totally different than a cunt but those don’t usually fucking rotate . Oh fucking christ, jesus, Harry .”
“Ah ah” Harry tuts, hits a button so that the speed picks up.
“Sorry, sir, fucking christ, sir.”
“Much better.” Harry settles into his chair, picking up the massive Atlas Obscura book that always sits on the coffee table, “I trust you can be a good boy and amuse yourself with that while I read.”
He nearly protests, then remembers rule one, and groans out, “Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.” Harry opens the book, tucking the remote into the pocket of his slacks. Whatever button he hits next adds suction into the mix, and while it’s the weirdest blowjob he’s ever had, it doesn’t distract Henry from two things.
One: he is going to come, and soon.
Two: there’s is no fucking chance Harry intends this to be over that fast.
A whine builds in his throat.
“Fuck, fuck , it’s so good, fuck” his nails clack against the top of the toy as he cums, greatful the toy catches everything so he doesn’t break rule two.
“You look so handsome like this.” Harry coos, hand shifting in his pocket. The toy stops sucking, but the vibrations ramp up considerably, Henry's softening dick trapped on all sides. It moves from a little too much to a lot in a blink, but he can’t pull free, not with Harry’s eyes so clearly on him. His color is high, and the tent in his pants is growing with every whimper that drops from Henry’s mouth.
“I think I’ll turn it off once you’ve reached a second climax. I could do it now, but how can I when you look so wonderful like this?”
He moans what he means to be a “yes” but comes out as a “ygnh” as the sleeve changes tempo. He hunches forward, like that will do anything, peeks up to see Harry's attention half on the book.
Henry wants to cum again, desperately. But he’s not even sure he can even get hard again; he’s not a young man anymore, his body more interested in getting off and then to bed rather than going for a second round.
Maybe if he can get just a little relief…
Cautiously, he raises the sleeve up an inch or so.
“That position really accentuates how glorious your muscles are. But it doesn’t hide all that much.” Harry crosses the carpet and kneels down, “rule three, sweet boy.”
“I, I’m sorry sir.” Tears well up from the overstimulation and the fact he’s failed, “I needed just a break, just a small one-”
The toy turns off and he gasps with relief, even as Harry uses the rope to haul him down onto his elbows and knees.
“Do you know what this is?” A small, silicone heart on a black stick appears in his vision.
“No, sir.”
“It’s a micro-bruiser. A remarkably efficient implement. And I am very much looking forward to seeing how your ass looks after meeting it.”
“Ohfucking-AH” Harry barely hits him, but the spot where he does already stings.
Then Harry hits it again, and again, and again, a little harder each time. On the next strike, Henry cries out and an “ow” catches in his throat.
He knows what word will make it all stop. He also knows what will make it all the more intense, and the part of him not currently surrendering to a heady mix of pleasure and pain wants to see what happens.
“Sir, please ” another two strikes and he has to sniff to try and clear his nose, “please, I’m sorry, please, no more, it hurts .”
“What a dear, pathetic creature you are, you can’t even take a little discipline with a brave face.” The words drip onto him like honey.
Harry hits him three times more and then smacks the other side of his ass with the flat of his hand.
“No, no I can’t, I, I’m s-sorry but I can’t, I’m not, not strong enough.”
“I know.” There’s not a hint of cruelty in the reply, even as Harry gropes over the bruised areas over and over again, “you’re just a great, hulking thing with fluff underneath. No iron in sight.”
“Uh huh” He sobs weakly as Harry moves a hand between his legs to tease his still-aching cock and gingerly squeeze his balls.
“Hush now, you can stop crying. The hard part is over.”
“I, I can’t” He twists his own fingers into his air, back arching as Harry lovingly tortures him.
“Were it only us, I wouldn’t mind,” Harry's hand rests on his lower back. Steadying. Safe.
“But you see” Harry continues, “the neighbors might hear. And I’d hate for them to know just how pathetic you are. They don’t deserve to know. It’s a privilege to see you this way, one I intend to reserve for myself.”
“Do you mean that?” Henry looks up at him.
Harry doesn’t correct his slip up, instead smooths Henry’s sideburns into place, “I do. Knowing all of you is a privilege, one I cannot believe I got lucky enough to earn.”
He tears up again, praying Harry can tell they’re happier than the last round.
“I think that’s enough discipline for now. If you’re going to continue being a loud, pathetic beast, I’d rather we find a way to muffle it.”
Henry narrowly avoids wiggling in place in excitement as Harry shifts in front of him, undoing his fly and guiding Henry’s lips to the tip of his cock.
“There we go, good boy, oh you look so lovely with tears in your eyes and your mouth on my cock.”
He sniffles, unable to do much more, Harry using the rope and his hair to force him up and down his shaft.
“That’s it, you were made for this, I don’t care how pathetic a beast you are, you feel so good. You won’t have to worry about a thing, all you have to do is be good for me that’s it, that’s it, oh christ , Henry” He holds his head against him, cock just brushing the back of his throat, and Henry nuzzles at him as he cums. He feels safe here, warm, and when Harry gently coaxes his head up he whines and tries to go back.
“That’s all for tonight.” Harry takes his hands, “how do you feel?”
“Good. Kinda…floaty. Like when you just let yourself be still in a tropical sea, y’know?”
“I think I follow. Here, let’s get you to bed.” Harry gets them to their feet, takes a step, remembers his pants are undone, and responds by kicking them off.
He undoes the ropes, Henry sipping water as he does. When he’s finished, there’s a crinkle of a wrapper and Harry murmurs, “open.”
“Mmm” Henry draws the sucker into his mouth, “lime.”
“You did say you liked citrus best.” Harry moves to get up, but Henry stops him with a hand on his wrist, bringing him down to share a lime-scented kiss.
He comes back to himself slowly. By the time they’re dried from their shared shower, all he wants is to cuddle up in bed and tell Harry how happy he is.
“Does anything hurt?” Harry finishes pulling on his pajamas (grey sweatpants and a Monterey Bay Aquarium shirt this time).
“My ass feels like someone dragged me along behind a car. In a good way.”
“Oh good. Though I may have to kiss it better tomorrow. Doctors orders”
“Gonna hold you to that, doc.” Henry climbs into the bed and opens his arms. Harry falls into them, beaming, and Henry wonders if this is, somehow, the universe starting to balance out his luck.
—----------------------------------------
He’s in a tidepool. He’s a fish. A sculpin, maybe, but it’s hard to tell. He can’t really see himself.
There’s a storm raging in the world above, and he’s certain there’s a hungry seagull around here.
He swims to an overhang. The storm grows stronger. But it’s almost cozy here. Maybe he’ll be okay.
Henry wakes up, blinking away the dream. Harry is sound asleep, half draped over him, dark hair stuck at odd angles from the blankets and pillows.
Henry kisses him softly, careful not to wake him, and then burrows into his arms.
Yeah. We’ll be okay.