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[holyposition]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

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t.laughlin

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[mygoodsir]

He seems unusually antagonistic.

That's not really in my nature, Tim.

Of course.

[holyposition]

Do it for me, then. It upsets me to think you're being mistreated. He's not better than you, he was just born later.

[mygoodsir]

[Oh no. Tim really might think he's weak if he doesn't tell Strange off. Harry's anxiety ramps back up to ten.]

I'm not being mistreated.

[holyposition]

[ That’s... a leap! ]

Or disrespected. Whatever you want to call it. I’m not standing for it. Stephen Strange is not your boss, your father, or your priest. What he thinks of you isn’t important.

The people who really know you think the world of you. Just remember that.

And let me know when you finish up over there. I’ve got something I want to show you.

[mygoodsir]

Truly, that is all I need to hear. I know that it is a failing of mine to wish reassurance at the first sign of conflict, but I also know that you will not judge me for it. I thank you, Tim.

Life is very difficult, sometimes.

Oh? Is it some local fauna?

[holyposition]

We all have our insecurities. I'm happy to help.

No. Sorry if that's a disappointment. It's a gift. I made something for you.

[mygoodsir]

You made me something? Tim, how incredibly thoughtful!

[holyposition]

I have to admit, it wasn't completely selfless. But that's the only hint you get until you get back :)

[mygoodsir]

I shall hurry home the moment I am able.

[Which he does, after lord knows how long he puts up with the war of the med tents. When he returns to his own tent he is exhausted mentally and it shows.]

[holyposition]

[ Tim greets him with excitement, all of his irritation from before compartmentalized into a little box just for Mr. Strange. And for Harry, all love. He marks his place in his book, sets it aside, and springs to his feet, sauntering over to take his hand and plant a warm kiss right on his lips. It’s so painfully domestic that he can’t help but smile even wider. ]

Welcome back.

[ Harry looks tired. So he wraps his arms around him, pulling him in, letting him lean against him if he’d like to. ]

I’ve been working on this for a couple weeks during the library downtime. You’d be amazed how many people here just don’t read.

[mygoodsir]

[As always, just the sight of Tim lifts Harry's spirits. He leans against him with a sigh.]

I really wouldn't, actually.

You smell good.

[holyposition]

[ It’s lake water, wood shavings, and sweat. He smells like...camping. But it’s sweet of him to think so. ]

Hold that thought.

[ Tim pulls away, towards the pile of blankets near their sleeping bag that they’ve used for padding more than anything else, and pulls a thin wooden whipping cane from it, sanded and polished perfectly smooth, and presents it to Harry. His initials are engraved into the handle, not an expert HG, but it’s perfectly legible. ]

We don’t have to try it now, if you’re not in the mood. But until we can see if your implements survived the fire, I thought you should have something.

[mygoodsir]

[Harry watches Tim move about with a little smile. When he's presented with the gift he gasps and looks at Tim with eyes that are shining with joy. Leave it to Harry to nearly cry over discipline gear.]

Oh, Tim! You made this? It's beautiful! I-- Thank you!

[Oh, he's getting such a hug.]

You are the most amazing man.

[holyposition]

[ He’s fixed up the chapel so many times that he’s beginning to quite enjoy woodworking, actually, so he lights up like a candle at Harry’s enthusiasm, relieved that he likes it. Tim laughs, happy to be pulled into another hug, and leaves Harry little kisses against the side of his head. ]

Oh, no I’m not. I’ve been very bad. [ Playful, grinning. ] I had so many impure thoughts making it, that I forgot to return the high grit sandpaper to the supply tent.

[ The scandal. ]

[mygoodsir]

Oh, that is terribly naughty of you!

[Harry laughs, though, turning to kiss Tim properly on the mouth. All of his previous anxiety has vanished, all of his exhaustion forgotten.]

I cannot explain to you how deeply I appreciate that you indulge me so. You make me feel so... normal.

[holyposition]

[ He kisses back with warm, inviting lips, one hand settling on the side of his face - the one opposite of the eyepatch, still concerned about disturbing his healing. First he'd mutilated himself to keep his hands, then he'd gone to borderline-deranged places to alleviate Tim's pain, and now some jerk is calling his dedication to his profession into question?

Maybe he's feeling a little protective. Or possessive. They don't know Harry like he does. They don't understand. ]

I did warn you. It's a little bit for me, too.

[mygoodsir]

[Harry tries very hard to do his job well, but he is forever haunted by the ghosts of over a hundred men he could not save. It puts him in a strange mental space where he feels very defensive but also deeply insecure.]

Mmm. Yes. You enjoy your discipline.

[Kissing back some more. Eye be damned, he wants affection.]

[holyposition]

[ Tim knows the guilt the man carries, the way he blames himself for a situation that completely out of his control. History days those men were doomed the day they stepped onto those ships, nothing that Harry could have done would change that. But Tim was bred for guilt. He knows that rationalizations don’t have anything to do with alleviating shame. Harry will be haunted by it, no matter how many times he tells him he doesn’t need to be.

He may not have been in control then, but Tim can give him that here, when they’re alone and he’s got frustrations to burn. ]

I love it.

[ Moaning softly into the kiss, fingers ghosting over the buttons on the front of his shirt, but waiting for Harry to take it further, if he chooses to. He'd trust him over any other doctor here, past or present, with his body or his heart. ]

[mygoodsir]

[Harry is a very prim and proper man... in public. In the privacy of their tent, though, he feels no shame in what he wants to do to Tim.

He kisses him back and fumbles to get his buttons undone, discarding his shirt with a few sharp motions. He kisses Tim again, tugging at Tim's soft as well even though he seems reluctant to allow the time and space for Tim to actually get it off.]

[holyposition]

[ His nails rake up the expanse of his chest, scratching through course hair and thumbing over his nipples, soft sounds into his mouth as he drinks him in. Whatever shame he was supposed to feel from the other night is gone, replaced with pure need. To claim him as his, to further cement himself as the one Harry needs to vent out his frustrations, who can give him anything and make him feel capable and powerful. He's a good man, he deserves that. ]

You're in charge. [ Taking advantage of the break in the kiss to pull his shirt off, noting Harry's hopeful nudging. ] Where do you want me?

[mygoodsir]

[Harry gives his love very easily to people - some would say naively so - but what he feels for Tim is on a level that borders on obsessive. The second Tim has his shirt off Harry is on him again, kissing his neck, the lovely curve of one shoulder.

He has to pull back to look around, having a whole new blind spot he's not used to. The tent is severely lacking in anything to bend Tim over.]

The sleeping bag. Arms and knees on the floor, arse in the air, please.

[There's pillows, too, to put under Tim's knees for comfort. A funny thing to think of, he supposes, considering what he's planning to do.]

[holyposition]

[ Obsession. Worship. Love. It's all the same to him, one bleeding into the next like the imagined wounds on his hands just days before, life dripping out on himself, on Harry, in the sleeping bag they've been sharing. It takes devotion to be enveloped in one another so thoroughly, to let another person in so deep that they can hurt you. That you want them to. ]

Yes, sir.

[ Tim plucks open the button, unzips his short jean shorts, and pulls them down, asking as he steps out: ]

What am I being disciplined for?

[ Part of the game for him, something to focus on, an improvement to strive for so that he can relax enough to take it. Tim's transgressions are rarely so serious as they were in June, but there has to be something, no matter how small. ]

[mygoodsir]

[Harry is never going to get tired of watching Tim undress. His curse is Christlike so it's fitting that his body is that of a classical Saint.

Harry tests the weight of the cane against his hand. For a moment his mind is blank and he nearly responds that Tim never does anything wrong.]

Tell me, Tim... have you had carnal thoughts about other men in the camp?

[holyposition]

Well...Hawk. [ Obviously. But he lowers himself to his knees, so that he's looking up at Harry, cheeks tinged with pink. Tim tries not to look, he really does, but the house has made that difficult, providing these tiny little shorts for everyone and forcing them outside in the peak of summer, covered in sweat and lake water. ] And, um. I was watching people swim. With Koby.

[ Shanks emerging from the water,  sun shining on glistening, wet muscles, shorts clinging and leaving very little to the imagination. And, well...Koby's told him some things... ]

I have. Passing thoughts, nothing happened.

[ His face burns with shame, regardless, as he crawls over to the sleeping bag, arching his back and pressing his face down against the cushioned bag. ]

[mygoodsir]

Hawkins, obviously, yes. [Who doesn't look at Hawk? Well. Some women he supposes. But what he wants to hear about is the others.

Harry isn't particularly upset - he'd be the worst hypocrite if he were - but he knows that Tim will feel guilty about it. And that's what they need here. He lets Tim crawl into position with real pleasure.]

Who was it?

[Partly the need to humiliate, but mostly genuine curiosity.

Harry moves behind Tim and again tests the heft of the cane, lining himself up so he can gently tap it over the swell of Tim's buttocks.]

Who, Tim?