Yeah, so this is officially the biggest overreaction in the history of ever. The way he's running around like a headless chicken, bitching like an unneutered Chihuahua, you'd think I'd done something off-the-wall terrible. Like say, I dunno, ruined a stakeout, got us kidnapped, or severely miscalculated the math needed for a successful game of Russian Roulette that lead to me shooting our source of information.

Hell, even if all I'd done was drip mud on his crème de' whatever-white carpets, I'd kind of get it if he was flipping out a little. I guess it's a gay thing, 'cause the man is ridiculously prissy when it comes to me fucking up his fancy shit. But I didn't even do that. And yet this has to be the most batshit insane I've ever seen him.

Wanna know what I did? Of course you do. That's why you're here, isn't it? Unless of course you're here because you saw the movie and were genuinely intrigued by the wild mystery and had no interest in me and Perry and our fucked up relationship. In any case, there is no edge-of-your-seat-I-gotta-figure-this-out-before-the-idiot-next-to-me-mystery here. It's really just a pointless domestic dispute between those two guys that solved that cool shit that one time.

I don't even know why I'm telling it, to be honest. But you're here, so either sit back and watch or vanish before you get sucked into this thing that you're probably not that interested in anyway. Did I just say 'vanish'? I fucking did, didn't I? This is his fault. He's turning me into that super gay sidekick on Will and Grace. Hell, I shouldn't even know that there's a super gay sidekick on Will and Grace! I need to move out before I start putting Madonna on my iPod and singing show tunes in the shower. But where else am I gonna get free food and rent and cable?

So yeah, the fight. He's still bitching. Apparently, what I did was the worst abomination the world has ever seen. Apocalyptic, Armageddon type things will come of it. Babies are sure to explode in their cradles, famine and disease will quadruple throughout the world and Bush is going to declare himself the king of America and rule for forty years before passing on the throne to one of the drunken twins…That's what you'd think, anyway, given the way he's going nuts. And here I was thinking all I did was lift a lousy pack of gum while he bought his newspaper. Kaboom. World ended. Hope you enjoyed your stay.

Seriously, though. That's all I did. I stole some gum. Let's tune into Perry and his spit-flying, eye-bugging rant now. Maybe you can figure out what has him so fucking crazy because right now my only theory is that he's been slowly reaching a snapping point because of my repeated stupidities over the last year and me stealing that gum was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Or the theft that broke the detective's brain, if you'd prefer. So, yeah, I'll shut up now so you can hear him.

"Seriously, Lockhart! Are you that fucking retarded, or are you actually a reeeally fucking good actor that Dabney is missing out on? I think I should give him a call, because it's impossible for someone to be this much of an idiot. It's been an act, all this time, right? But then, I don't think even Brando could play an idiot this well. So what is it? Is it a strategy move? Am I not paying you enough? Is that it? Is this your idiot way of asking me for a raise?"

He adopts a weird voice that seems to be an attempt at a cutting imitation of me. Except I sound nothing like that. He holds an invisible phone to his ear and whines, "'Oh, hi, Perry. It's Harry, your moronic roomie-slash-employee. Wanna hear something hilarious? I'm in jail! Can you come bail me out?'"

I stare at him blankly as he pauses to take a furious breath. Then he continues, still in that hilariously bad imitation-of-me voice.

"'Yeah, I know it'll cost thousands of dollars, given my five past arrests for this kind of shit. You should have just given me that money in the first place. You were obviously depriving me so fucking badly, what with the massive paychecks and no rent and free utilities and food, that I couldn't even afford a measly pack of gum! You see, this is actually, your fault. So, hurry up, Perry, there's a guy named Bertha giving me the eye!' Is that it, Harry? You need more money?" he's breathing so hard I think he's about to spit fire and he's pacing the room like a caged tiger. I almost want to laugh at the conversation he's just made up, but even I'm not that stupid.

You see what I mean though, don't you? I told you he's gone fucking insane. I wonder if there's a place for him at Dexter's clinic. Is he making sense to any of you yet? Because I am as lost Jeff Foxworthy at an A-lister charity ball thrown by Brangelina. All I can do is blink at him. Which makes him fume even more.

"And what? Now you're not even answering me, you fucking punk?"

"Sorry," I say sheepishly. "It's just, frankly, I'm a little scared here, and I'm not about to kick the beehive when I'm already being stung. I mean, what the fuck, Perry? It was a pack of gum!"

He stops pacing. Finally. He looks like he's about to shout some more, but then he glares, sighs and sits on the couch, looking the most defeated I've ever seen him. It's actually a lot scarier than the raging murderer thing. He shakes his head and quietly says, "It wasn't just a pack of gum, Harry."

Um, what? It really was. I mean, yeah, I've stolen other shit when he wasn't around, but he doesn't know about that. As far as he knows, it's just a pack of gum. I guess he's speaking metaphorically or something.

"Look, Perry, I don't know what you're so pissed about, but I'm sorry, okay? Chill the fuck out. I'm sorry."

"You can't be sorry if you don't know what the problem is," he says, and it's in that kind of 'I'm still mad but I've totally given up trying to fix this' way that worries me a little. He seems almost sad.

I'm still lost. What about you? Thoughts? I know you might be thinking, especially if you're young, female and spend any amount of time on the internet, that Perry clearly loves me and is just worried that I'm gonna get myself into shit he can't get me out of and he'll lose his employee, friend and guy he's secretly in love with. I know what you people are like, with your assumptions and putting thoughts into people's heads that aren't there.

What's that? You say "Actually, I wasn't thinking that at all, but since you brought it up, you must be thinking that yourself?" Well, fuck. Even in my own goddamn story I back myself into corners I can't get out of. Harry Lockhart. Welcome to my life.

Seriously, though, you don't think he…he's in love with me, do you? I mean, he doesn't even like me most of the time. It would be egotistical of me to assume that just because he's gay, he wants me, right? Every straight girl sure as hell doesn't want me, so I don't see why he would just because he's gay. But then, I've never really had a female friend that I didn't secretly wanna bone at some point. I wonder if it's the same for gay guys. Ugh. Okay. Let's not think about this. I don't know how to deal with this, and like most things I don't know how to deal with, I will ignore for as long as I possibly can.

But the love thing aside, the rest of it is probably right, isn't it? He doesn't want me to get arrested. He's said it before. He asked me not to steal any more shit. Way back when the whole Dexter thing happened. I ignored him, of course, because I didn't think it was a big deal and petty theft was my life. He seemed a little freaked out by my priors. That's gotta be it.

Okay! So, I know what the problem is. But, fuck. I like stealing. I really do. The rush you get, it's like no other. I don't wanna give that up. Why does he have to be so fucking uptight? Why couldn't he be cool about it, like Harmony was? Even join in once in a while, let loose, go nuts? I look at him, huffing on the couch in that totally gay way of his, and it hits me that it's never, like ever, going to happen. He's Perry. So it comes down to a choice, I guess. Give up the minor crime that's so damn fun or permanently break Perry's brain. Because broke it is.

I watch him sitting there on the couch for a minute, looking at me in confusion, disgust, and something that resembles hurt. It's kinda like the look an oblivious mother has when she finds out her perfect daughter is actually pregnant and addicted to heroin. Defeat doesn't look good on a guy like Perry, who's never looked anything but cocky as hell. And the choice is made.

"No, Perry, I get it. I do. I don't want to get it, because I don't want to stop stealing shit, because it's fun. Really fun. But I get it. I get that you think it's a stupid risk and that it's pretty fucking ungrateful of me to keep it up after all you've done for me," I say, but he's still not looking at me.

Come on, Per. He looks up but he still has that look of mildly wounded disgust on his face. It makes me miss the look of annoyed disgust he usually has when I piss him off. Annoyed disgust is a lot easier to shrug off and get over. "Look, what I'm trying to say is, is I'm really sorry. If you don't want me to steal anymore, I won't. I might need some weaning off it, but I'll try really hard not to and I'll do a whole twelve step program if I have to. I'm sorry. Okay?"

He glares at me for a few moments. I think he might be cracking a little but it seems he still can't bring himself to fully accept it. "Blow me," he says, still miffed.

"Would that help?"

The words spill out of my mouth and billow through the air before I can stop them. What the fuck? Did I just say that? Yes, genius, I obviously said it. The question here is why did I say it? Perry stares and me for a bit, then laughs in disbelief.

"What did you say?"

"I don't know!" I throw my hands in the air in shock. "I don't know why I said that. I'm not gonna blow you. I don't blow men. Or women for that matter because women do not get blown. I…I do the equivalent of blowing. Or at least I did. It's…it's been a while. Ah, off topic. I don't know why I said that because I have no interest in blowing you. I mean, I guess if it really, really would help…I might. If you were seriously planning on not talking to me ever again, I'd pretty much consider doing whatever it took to change your mind…but you're not irrational enough to permanently stop talking to me over a pack of gum so I guess it's not really an issue. Me, blowing you. But if it was I migh…yeah, I'm done talking now."

I know my eyes are the size of saucers as I try to rationalize the wild shit I just said. Way to make life even more fucking awkward for myself. Good job, self.

He's laughing at me. Pretty hard. "Relax, Chief. You're off the hook. No need to worry about spitting vs. swallowing tonight."

I sigh with relief. Okay. He's taking it lightly. Okay. Time to put this stupid conversation behind us officially before my brain gets permanently broken. "Look, the point is, if you want to deprive me of that glorious adrenaline rush that comes from a swift and sneaky slight of hand, fine. I won't steal anymore shit. Not even gum. Are we cool?"

He shakes his head, smiling. "Yeah. We're cool. Moron."

Except we're not. Not cool. Not at all.

Shit. I don't even know what the hell to think. One minute I'm drifting off to sleep. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in a sweat with a massive hard on. Which is not entirely unusual. Hasn't been unusual since puberty. The unusual part isn't the boner. It's the horrific images in my unconscious head that caused it. Images of me. Making good on the offer I never wanted to make in the first place.

That's right. I had a fucking dream that I was blowing Perry. And I liked it. I'm awake now, wide, wide awake. And I still like it. I mean, my head doesn't. At least the normal part of it doesn't. It's telling me to hop into a cold shower and learn to meditate so I can make sure I never see that intensely erotic- I mean deeply disturbing kind of thing again. But Rodney is not ready to go away. I will myself to think of Harmony (though she hasn't helped in that department in a while), of some playboy bunny, some actress, that girl at that party last week.

No fucking good. The movie keeps playing in my head. Complete with audio of Perry's deep, appreciative groans and a realism so powerful I can practically feel his fists tugging at my hair.

I need to go back to sleep. To forget this ever happened, so that tomorrow I can look at Perry just like I've always looked at him and not as a man with a penis who made my penis hard in the middle of the night. But unless I take about fifty sleeping pills, which I promised Perry I wouldn't anymore (what are we, married?), there is a high chance I might continue that dream if I fall asleep. What's terrifying is that I kind of want to finish that dream, want to know what it feels like and sounds like and tastes like when he finishes- Ack! No. I do not. Do not. This needs to stop.

Maybe I should focus really, really hard on a hot chick and take care of Rodney before thoughts of my best friend work their way back into my head. But what if the blowing-Perry thoughts came back right as I was ready to…? No. I am not coming while thinking of Perry. That's not happening. Can't go to sleep, can't beat off, can't stop thinking about wrapping my lips around his…urgh! My point is I really don't have any options here.

Except maybe facing the fact that maybe living with, working with, and spending practically every waking moment with Perry for over a year has done more than make me say things like 'vanish,' watch Will and Grace and give up my stupid, self-destructive habits to stop him from worrying. Maybe all this time spent with Perry has actually made me like the idea of sucking co- Again, no! It's not possible. And yet, here I am, hard as a rock at 3 a.m. and I can't think of anything but Perry. That settles it.

I know I'm gonna regret it, but then, I regret more or less everything I do anyway, and I think I might regret it more if I stay put. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I open my bedroom door and trudge down the hallway. He better be as in love with me as you say, or this is going to be the most humiliating experience of my life. Oh, wait, it was me who assumed that, wasn't it? Fuck it, it'll be humiliating even if he does let me, because I haven't done this before, haven't even thought of doing this before and Perry is kind of a stud in the gay community so I'm pretty sure I have lots of very experienced mouths to live up to.

I don't bother knocking. He gets mad when I knock and madder when I don't, but I need to get in there now, before I lose courage and have to live as a closet case for the rest of my life. If I'm gonna be filled with some self-disgust, a ton of fucking confusion and feelings for a man, I at least need to have some orgasms while doing it. I crawl onto the bed and shake him awake.

"Harry?" he asks, voice groggy, opening bleary eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Apologizing," I grin. Rodney's still going strong, so I don't bother explaining my newfound sexual identity. Hopefully I can get this started before he can ask questions. Reaching under the sheets, I feel around until I find the waistband of his (silk!) boxers and tug.

The End

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