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Kink Kink Bang Bang Prompt Fill 3
Prompt Fill 3

For the prompt:

Despite only having nine fingers Harry is still a damn good piano player.

Author's note: I decided to use an actual Robert Dowey Jr. song, "Man Like Me". Below is the link if you'd like to listen to it as you read.

Man Like Me:


Just because Perry didn't call him out on it didn't mean he didn't notice it. He did, and he hated that he did. Harry was a mess to begin with, but after moving in with the detective, Perry realized that the other man truly was fucked up. In more ways then he could count. Well, he could, but who the hell had that kind of time?

He always noticed Harry staring at his hand, the one missing half a finger. While they ate dinner, Harry purposely struggled with his right hand, not wanting to risk holding a fork with his left-another sign he was crazy to begin with. He was fucking left-handed. When he held the remote, his eyes always drifted away from the television to rest on the finger that wasn't there anymore.

He never mentioned it, and Perry didn't either. Harry whined and bitched about everything, but it was the things he kept to himself that Perry knew truly bothered him, and for a man who did so much with his hands-gestured with them like it was practically fucking sign language, Harry was close to mourning.


"Are you sure we should be breaking into somebody's house?" Harry asked as he picked the lock.

"The guy's away on a ski trip," Perry replied. "And yes, as long as his ex-wife is paying me, then it's perfectly fine." He glanced at his phone. "Would you fucking hurry?"

"Why are we rushing if he's not coming back for a while?" Harry didn't stop when he asked, and he said it in almost sing-song fashion.

Fuck. He was hardly even threatened by Perry anymore. To remedy this, the detective smacked him in the back of the head. Harry finished and opened the door. He whistled when they stepped inside. "This place is nicer than ours."

"Mine," Perry corrected him. He moved past him, taking in everything as he did so. "Now do something useful and help me look for our client's trunk. She said it's a dark green."

Harry looked around. "Like a forest green or an emerald green or a sea green-"

"No, vivid tangerine," Perry frowned. "It's not a fucking crayola box, Harry. It's a trunk."

"Details are still helpful," the other man shrugged.

"How many green trunks do you think he's going to have?" Perry moved into another room and Harry followed him. A table, a chandelier, a piano.

Harry moved to the piano, walking around it, his hand gliding over it as he did so. Perry looked at him, and was about to make a sarcastic remark about the trunk being in the piano, but he stopped himself. Harry fingered the keys gently, barely brushing his digits over them, including the one that was amputated. He cocked his head slightly, and moved to sit down on the bench. Perry watched silently.

Harry hesitated, and then his fingers went to work, making magic of the dead ivory, a wonderful sound filling the room. He closed his eyes and nodded his head, lowering his head and leaning sideways, as if his hands, the keys, or both, were whispering to him. Perry continued to watch, and his gaze fell to the other man's hands, the lame half-finger never touching the white and black. 

Perry noticed his lips beginning to move slightly, but no sound came out. Already intrigued, the detective just had to know. "Can you sing?"

" 'Sing'?" Harry raised his gaze slightly, his head still cocked to the side. He was grinning.

"Siiiinnnggg," Perry chuckled in a sing-song voice. It came out with less sarcasm than he'd hoped.

Harry slowly raised his head, nodding a little. "Sing," he muttered. "Okay."

His fingers moved more slightly, and the melody changed a bit. "This is the night I've been dreaming of forever. The mirror takes a look at my face."

Perry stopped smiling. Harry licked lis lips, his tongue resting on the corner of his mouth before he continued.

" I'll never set foot in that rat hole again, but I'll drive to your place." He leaned back to the keys again, hearing more of their secrets, and then raised his head once more.

"I spit gravel as I back out the back door, and the twenties roll around in my hand."

Perry didn't even realize he was moving closer to the piano, closer to Harry.

"It's funny now when I don't show up on Monday," Harry didn't seem to notice either. Then again, he didn't look like he noticed anything. His hands and voice seemed to be doing all of that for him. "They'll go nuts, and eat their hats." 

Perry was practically so close he could touch Harry if he simply extended his hand.

"She says you're throwing life away, to move  with a man like me." Harry turned his head slightly, his eyes finding Perry's when the detective touched the back of his shoulder with his fingertips. "She's not blind, she just don't have a mind to see."

His voice faded, as if somebody had turned it down gradually with a TV remote. His fingers did the same, slowing to a stop. Perry pulled away, taking a step backwards. He mentally fumbled for a witty, maybe even snide comment, but nothing came. His guard was down, and at the most inconvient time imaginable.

The moment he realized his frustration and fascination for Harry were the same thing. He was in love with him.

"Fuck, Harry," he said quietly. "That's...fucking magic."

"Magician's hands." The other man grinned, wriggling his fingers.

"Magician's voice too?" Perry raised his eyebrows. "Whose song is that by the way?"

Harry shrugged and scrached the back of his head awkwardly. "Mine."


"I know it's stupid, just save the jokes-"

"It's good." Perry looked indignant. "Harry, that's fucking brilliant."

He didn't know what else to say, so they went back to work, looking for the trunk. They searched in silence, splitting up so they could cover more area in less time. Perry found it, tapping the side of it.

"Ah, you see-" Harry pointed. "Forest."

"I'd say Pine," Perry said, smirking a little.

As they walked out the door, the detective said, "I'm going to get one."

"A green trunk?" Harry frowned. "Fuck. Why?"

"No, Moron." Perry unlocked the car door. "A piano."

"They're nice," Harry said casually, moving to the passenger side door. "You gonna learn how to play?"

"No." Perry almost scoffed. "I just figure if it's the only creative outlet you have..." his bark was back.

"You're getting me a piano?"

"No, I'm getting myself a piano." He started the car. "But you can play it...if you feel you really have to..."

Harry only stared and Perry held up a hand. "And, yes, before you ask, you can sing."

"I actually wasn't going to ask-"

"Stop talking. I told you can sing."

"But it's not a big deal-"

Perry covered his mouth. "I might change my mind. Shut up."



The End...





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For some reason, the idea of Harry playing piano always seems particularly nice to me. Magician's hands, after all.

I have an endless amount of hatred for that song (sorry Robert), but your fic is just lovely. The idea that Harry would really mourn any kind of permenant damage to his hands is something that had never occured to me, but he would. He's very hands oriented, his livelyhood and hobbies revolve around having nimble hands, characters even complement his hands in the movie.

That's going into my own personal canon list about Harry.

I love your KKBB fics. This is so good!

I've just read three of your prompt fills and my brain is turning to wonderful KKBB mush. Wow.

I love the color argument, the fact that Perry is, for once, caught off guard, and Harry playing with his nine and a half. Wow.

"I actually wasn't going to ask-"

"Stop talking. I told you can sing."

"But it's not a big deal-"

Perry covered his mouth. "I might change my mind. Shut up."

Aaawwww, Perry.
Also: Good thinking with the finger! Also the idea that Harry keeps quiet about the things that really bother him sounded very true to me.

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