american nights [oliver]

[HARLEIGH MATHEW VALENTINE]

YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CHANGE

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harleigh | stripper | 905 words | tag : open

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I hate this part Harleigh sighed to himself as the club's dj called "Harley Legal" to the stage in some new and catchy way. Harleigh hated featuring, he tried to avoid it as often as he could but on ladies' nights or fridays when, for whatever reason the amount of gay men seeking strippers sky-rocketed, Harleigh always found himself with a featured spot at some point in the night. It actually kinda sucked. Taking your clothes off for money was one thing but doing it all coked out with a spotlight? That's quite another. He didn't have time to wallow in how crappy his life'd become though because the lights, and the eyes of every midlife-crisis-having woman in a ten yard radius were on him. Now though, it was all just another dance. Lose this piece of clothing, show that much skin, grind this way, blah blah blah. It was almost a blur now, it always went so quick when he was high.

Before Harl really knew it he was being ushered away from the crowd, wincing at the scraping sound of paper crinkling against itself in his waistband, Joan Jett's "Do You Wanna Touch Me" still ringing in his ears. One of the girls he worked with nodded at him as he passed by. She was nice but he couldn't remember her name ever. This was a unique club, it had male and female strippers on it's payroll and spanned two floors. Granted it wasn't as popular as indulgence, it had a very loyal and, thanks to its male and female dancers, a very diverse clientele. It was good money and as far as employers go, the old man who owned this place didn't totally suck. He wasn't good or bad to his dancers, just neutral. It was all business with him. He was married and far too old to be casting eyes at anyone here anyway so what else would it be?

Harl continued walking, in seconds passing through a gossamer red curtain backstage to find a room, messy with costumes and vanities and duffle bags stuffed with clothes from before work or after work. Harl owned alot of his outfits, tonight's sexy-cowboy get up wasn't his but after how much he wore it, it should be. He cast off his clothing and stood there in the red g-string he was made to wear with those stupid white-suede chaps. He reached into his duffle bag and fished out a pair of very short cutoff jeans that he slipped on. They were loose enough to hang low around his hips and showed off his rear quite nicely, which was the point of them I suppose. They were among the things he was told to wear so he didn't ask questions. He coupled them with a pair of worn out, faded black cowboy boots that used to belong to his father but went nicely with these shorts on the nights he wore them. "Back into the fray" Harl sighed to himself as he stood up to go back on the floor. He wasn't mainstage now, that was his only feature performance for the evening as a special for ladies' night, but he still had work to do .....

..... Two hours later and Harl was finally stumbling into the streets, buzzed on cocaine and tequila but still functioning very well. Like most nights, he didn't bring clothes to change into. His house was so close he rarely bothered, he'd probably forget them at the club so he never ran the risk. After all, the amount of clothes he owned that weren't stripper-wear wasn't much so he liked to hang onto 'em. The big gray hoodie he covered his half-clothed form with, however, was more than sufficient for the walk to and from work and that's how he was dressed now. Still in the cutoffs and cowboy boots, his hood pulled up so he could keep from having to look at other people. He just wanted to go home. It was early for him to get off, only 1 a.m., but he was still exhausted. He didn't even bother counting his take-home pay for the night either, just stuffed it in his pockets and walked out.

As he strode down the sidewalk, exhaling nicotine and vibrating with booze and blow, he let his mind wander. He didn't think of anything in particular, just whatever popped into his head. Still, letting his mind wander only succeeded in making him feel more awake than the drugs were begining to. "Shit." He sighed, flicking his cigarette to the ground. There goes any hopes of me getting some sleep before sunrise. Harl thought to himself. Accepting his fate he wandered to a nearby hole-in-the-wall grill that was open twenty for hours. At least sitting there was better than roaming the streets and it was less likely that cops'd give him any shit if he was in here. Besides, he'd go unnoticed her, this place was often packed with bar-goers winding down, there were a couple here right now even. Harl just ordered a soda and sat in the corner people-watching through the window.

[olib]

''boom i hit the room, many felt the thunder;''
'' my time to shine; i did it like summer ''

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The designated driver in every social situation was often one of two things; he was either incredibly thick-skinned and impervious to the effects of alcohol or he was the one reluctantly sober fellow in the bar that sat in a corner drinking iced tea while the cops tried to pry his two dry-humping pals off the counter. Oliver was always the designated driver even when he was growing up but he was never the grumpy one sitting in the corner. Somewhere in his genes was a rather impressive intolerance to alcohol. It was a trait he likely inherited from his father Malachi. Oliver was the designated driver because he could get drink everyone else under the table, have twice as much fun as all of his friends and still be in a good enough head space to drive them all back home safely. This didn’t lead to any sort of fancy careers or particularly fun friends, but it was a trait that carried him on to many nights at the bar followed by a completely sober trip to the grill for some pie and a coffee(Oliver O’Brady slept very rarely and when he did, he couldn’t be found anywhere. It was as if the very act of sleeping swept him off the map). A night with drinking, however, was not a full night if there was no stripping.

Harleigh Valentine probably didn’t know how often Oliver had gone to see him. He really didn’t get a gratuitous amount of sexual enjoyment from watching the young man strip but the drinks at the club were exceptionally good and Harleigh was a fascinating little creature. It wasn’t all that hard to find out who he was, where he lived and what his day-to-day routine looked like. A couple of cameras and a clever disguise found all of that out for him quite easily. Oliver(always being the curious cat willing to face his own death) wanted to know more about the ‘why’ and the ‘how’ and, even better, the ‘who’. Why was Harleigh where he was? How did he get there? Who was he really? His ‘fans’ knew him has Harley Legal and that was just fine. Oliver wasn’t exactly a fan. He found himself inspired by Harleigh in a curious way. The boy was made up of soft curves and hard planes. His muscular hips moved and swayed up on that stage in ways he was sure people wanted to see them move and they certainly did. Harleigh never failed to impress and excite but while everyone else in the crowd hooted and hollered, Oliver found himself purely fascinated. This was life. This was an example of life at its purest, life in the form of raw, unadulterated energy. To reach out and touch Harleigh would seem a terrible crime.

In that sketchy old grill in a cubby-hole of the red light district, Harleigh was close enough to touch. Oliver was no stranger to seeing him there and tonight it seemed all too fitting. He must have finished a show. The older male didn’t need to move from his seat. Harleigh moved into the place softly and tucked himself away curiously. Who was he then? Who was he there in that grill as opposed to out on the stage with hot lights shining down on him and coaxing beads of tantalizing sweat over his porcelain skin? Oliver wouldn’t have noticed him if it hadn’t been for the boots. He stared at those boots two nights a week from behind a pair of sun glasses and a set of dark facial hair, there in the front row where he belonged with the collar of his coat pulled about his neck. Underneath the grey hood was the face of a child, soft cream skin, the lips of an angel.

Oliver felt oddly bare and for a moment he was ashamed of his own ugliness in the presence of such raw beauty. There was something so accessible about the defeated look that Harleigh wore. His eyes were on the window. How long before he realized that Oliver was staring? How long before he pulled his eyes from the world outside(a world he would never really belong to no matter how hard he tried) and caught the gaze of a known murderer fixed on him?

Oliver ordered two drinks and when they arrived at his table, he got to his feet. A Shirley temple was his peace offering. The coffee was his own well-needed beverage of choice for the night. Harleigh’s table wasn’t far at all, so quietly tucked away. Oliver set his peace offering down on the table first, coffee in hand, and shifted all of his weight to one locked leg.

“Mind if I join you? Haven’t got a very good view over at my table.”

Piss-poor excuse that was. He didn’t lose himself in the shame of the moment. It was what it was and he managed to hang onto himself as he stared into storming eyes and waited on the edge of the abyss for acceptance or rejection.

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tagged: tagged forharleigh
word count: 846
notes: sorry it took so long, 'net went out on me last night
lyrics: i'm coming by will smith
credit:NOTHING_PERSONAL @ CAUTION !

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[HARLEIGH MATHEW VALENTINE]

YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CHANGE

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harleigh | stripper | 902 words | tag : oliver | notes : XD your post was so good. i feel unworthy lol

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Harleigh was staring idly out the window, unaware of the killer who'd transfixed his gaze on the youth. The uppers that pulsed through his system made him feel like warm, viscous liquid was rippling around him. He loved the way going up felt and with a sip of his soda, sucking it down to an empty glass of ice, Harleigh enjoyed the strange feeling of wanting to move but sitting so still during his high. The only part of his body that was really in motion was his right foot, tapping the worn heel of his cowboy boot against the dirty tiles of this hovel. It wasn't until his attention was broken by a glass that he hadn't ordered landing on his table and the voice of a man that he didn't know addressing him that Harleigh began to focus on the real world outside of his amped up head.

The fairhaired male took a moment to look at the shirley temple that'd been placed in front of him and he forced himself not to crack a smile at the sight of it. Harl was a fan of shirley temples, maybe it was the cherries, who knew. Regardless, this was the first time he'd been handed a drink by a stranger and it wasn't alcohol. He was surprised, whatever this guy's game was, he played it well. With that thought, the runaway's eyes glided up the stranger's figure, summing him up, and paying special attention to his facial features when he came to them. Harleigh was used to strange men, and women, coming up to him sometimes. To him, this was just another night. He was unaware of the special interest this man had taken in him.

The guy was older, older than Harleigh at any rate but by no means an old man. Harl'd hazard a guess that he was in his late twenties or maybe his early thirties. He wasn't unattractive but he wasn't a greek god either. He just looked like the average joe kinda guy and Harl found his own stony facade breaking at the sight of the man. Something about the way he looked and the soft rumble of his voice made Harl feel more at ease. Some people just had that kinda quality about them I suppose. Hell, ya know, maybe the blonde should've known better than to let his guard down so quickly but something about this man's face said he wasn't going to be trouble. Something was telling Harleigh that he wasn't a bad guy. Well... No offense to Harl but he's never been the best judge of character. Worse still, Harleigh never learns, and without further hesitation offered the man a nod of invitation and a doe-eyed smile, indicating that it was fine that he take the seat accross from the battered angel.

Now that Harl had summed up this stranger in his head, taking in the little details, he felt like he was holding all the cards at the moment. After all, it wasn't the first time he'd been chatted up after work, which is the only thing he could imagine this being. He knew how to play the game, how to flirt and manipulate 'til he grew bored. The blonde began with, "You know I ain't a hustler, right?" A gentle candy-coating of a southern accent and y'at-y twang bathed his words. His accent was soft, but still more noticable when he was high. Harl made this statement in a matter-of-factly kinda voice. He'd been mistaken for a prostitute once or twice, it was usually only when he walked home from work or was, for some reason, out in public in one of these outfits. Herleigh, however, was the furthest thing from someone you could pay for sex. He has standards, though that hardly matters in a part of town where 'Harleigh' would just as soon be heard as 'Harlot' by half the passers-by. This place actually kinda blew sometimes. But Harl knew who he was, he didn't have shit to prove as far as he was concerned.

Shaking the thought of life on the southside out of his mind, Harleigh looked up, passed his heavy eyelids at the other guy. Now that he'd laid down the fact that this guy wasn't getting any, if that was even what he was looking for, this could progress alot more smoothly. I mean what? 'The view sucks at my table' is the worst ice-breaker Harl'd ever heard. This guy had to have ulterior motives, right? Furthering things along, "So," The blonde began again, his skin humming with the blow that pervaded his system, "Are you gonna sit down?" He asked impatietly, sliding the shirley temple over to himself and lifting the cherry by its stem, placing it between his teeth and biting down, smiling at the satisfying 'pop' sound that it made as the red-candied fruit disappeared behind that sweet little pout Harleigh often wore. He twirled the stem between his fingers and continued to look at the other man, continuously dissecting his appearance in his head until he chose to speak again.

[olib]

''boom i hit the room, many felt the thunder;''
'' my time to shine; i did it like summer ''

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Of course he wasn’t a hustler. Oliver smiled quietly(he happened to have a very kind smile that went along with his kind face) and pulled the offered seat out a little bit further with his foot so that he could join his new companion at the table. His mug of coffee protested very gently as it was set down on the table, ceramic clinking once against sheets of thick plastic covering over fake wood. There wasn’t much to be said at the moment. Their conversation was already off to a bit of a rocky and presumptuous start, although Oliver supposed the assumption that he was there for sex wasn’t undeserved. Harleigh probably got a lot of people making offers at him. If he didn’t know any better, Oliver himself may have been one of those people, but not knowing had never been something he struggled with. At the moment, he knew that there were six windows in the place that he could get to within twenty-seven seconds, four of which were closed. He knew that there were six doors; two bathrooms, one ‘employees only’ room, the kitchen, the front door and the back exit. In each bathroom was a window large enough for a fully grown man to fit through. There was a cop four tables back and to the right, nearly at the bar, nursing a ginger ale and waiting for his radio to sound. Oliver made it his job to know everything so that assumptions weren’t necessary on his part.

“I know you aren’t a hustler.” Two large hands surrounded the white ceramic mug of black coffee and while he could have taken the first sip, Oliver just held it there to feel the warmth. Those hands had stories to tell. The rest of the man looked soft and pleasant but his hands bore enough scars to make up for the rest of him. White marks from cruel stitches laced both hands and the knuckles were swollen and cracked. Fat veins showed through tough skin and turned those hands of his into road maps of the life they lived so far. They were still. “You’re too young for me anyway, Harleigh Valentine. I think I’d go to jail for even thinking about it.” A small grin turned into a soft chuckle and he savoured the first sip of his coffee thoroughly. “I don’t want anything specific from you, you just looked like you could use a word of friendly advice.” The kindness in his face never left him. He was pleasant as ever as he set down his coffee and leaned back a little bit in his chair, obviously getting comfortable. One ankle landed on the opposing knee casually. “Do you accept open drinks like that from everyone, or am I just special? Considering where we are, it seems little bit unwise for a young boy like you to take things from strangers, even in your current... state. Of course, that’s just a little bit of drunken rambling.”

Kids really needed to smarten up. Oliver knew it was none of his business if Harleigh wanted to get drugged and raped. Really, it was the boy’s decision; it just seemed a shame to let such a pretty little thing like that go to waste. He probably had a wonderful set of lungs on him. Oliver cleared his throat and took another sip of his coffee, eyes moving to the window lazily. Harleigh did have a nice view of the street from where he was. People-watching was a fun little hobby, even if Oliver did make it his job. Everyone knew him so, for his own safety, he needed to know everyone. It was a bit of a task but someone had to do it.

“You probably have a lot of people buying you drinks, with shorts like those on.”

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tagged: tagged for harleigh
word count: 640
notes: psh, no way dude. my posts are just gonna get shorter and crappier xD <3 sorry!
lyrics: i'm coming by will smith
credit:NOTHING_PERSONAL @ CAUTION !

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[HARLEIGH MATHEW VALENTINE]

YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CHANGE

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harleigh | stripper | 919 words | tag : oliver | notes : mine tend to ramble XD

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Harleigh took the opportunity to study this man further when he assumed the seat across from the underage exotic dancer. He looked nice and clean, like he should work in an office or something, like being in this part of town was a 'wild night' for a guy like him. Something was tugging the little blonde's brain however that told him not to presume this guy to be a normal citizen so quickly. It was something in his eyes. Buzzed on blow and booze Harleigh could still see through the fog of his own gaze to the stranger's eyes and something in them was cold. They were warm at first glance but there was something deeper in there. Harleigh didn't know what to make of them and so he looked down only to be greeted by the sight of the man's battered hands. Harleigh's own hands were warm, soft, and smooth like honey-colored silk. This stranger's were rough and torn, unthinking Harleigh's hand moved forward, quaking, and brushed soft skin against rough scars on cold, solid hands. We'll blame the lack of judgement on the substances Harl had in his body because he imediately thought better of invading the stranger's space and retracted his hand, looking away out the window once again.

The blonde had little to say as this unknown fellow began talking to him. In fact, it wasn't until he'd said Harleigh's full name that the runaway was even really interested in what the man was saying. He perked at hearing his last name, he can't remember the last time he'd heard it pass through any lips that weren't his own. Obviously people knew it here and there but Harleigh so rarely got the chance to hear it said. Harl'd decided when the man first spoke that he liked how his voice sounded. Hearing his surname spoken in that gentle rumble made Harleigh think of his parents and his brother at home in New Orleans, more than likely spiralling into oblivion. "H..." Harl's voice broke and he cleared his throat, "How d'you know who I am?" He inquired, not sounding nervous so much as accusational. It was a bit strange after all. He even knew Harl was younger than he pretended to be, this was not common knowledge. Now, well, this was getting a bit weird.

The man, whose name Harleigh still didn't know, began to speak again before the younger male had a chance to further drill him on the amount of information he had on Harleigh and, more importantly, how he'd come to acquire all of this info. The stranger made a comment about giving Harl some advice and went on to ask if he was often in the habit of accepting drinks from strangers. "Yeah... Alot of people buy me drinks, never soda though." Harleigh said with a hollow stare before looking down at his almost fully exposed legs, muscled and smooth from years of dancing. They looked more bare now than they usually did, probably because they'd been pointed out to him, and he pulled his knees up to his chest and tugged the large hoodie over them to keep 'em covered. He wasn't trying to be sketched, he was just a little embarrassed. So many people spent time looking at his bare flesh, he always forgot about how he must look out in public after work. What was this guy seeing when he saw Harleigh's tight, flawless skin though? The same thing everyone else did? A naked junkie with a pretty face... Or did he see something else? A strong individual pulling through life, trying to stand and maybe make something out of himself the only way he knows how... Or, did he just see a frightened child playing dress-up?

Harl wasn't comfortable with the way this man was acting like he knew him. He spoke up before this stranger could continue to, well, wig him out. "Look, cap'n," Harl began with a bit of attitude that he retracted when he continued to speak, "If you're going to sit here and chat with me, albeit it's creepy how much you seem to know about me, I could at least get your name." The blonde said stubbornly, but still sweetly. He let his legs slide out of his hoodie and his worn black cowboy boots made an audible click as they returned to the ground. He was getting uncomfortable in the position he was in and, hell, fuck it if anyone here saw his legs so bare. It was just another night. With that thought, Harl let his gaze glide up to meet the stranger's own, his cocaine buzz on the come-down he began to feel more at ease, "Why sit down to talk with me?" He asked. This guy clearly wasn't looking for some fresh cherry to bite into like most of the scary guys around this part of town, he'd made that clear. Harl could only wonder then, what was he looking for? Maybe it's just the mentality he'd developed from living in the murder district, who knows, he was trusting and cautious all at once.

[olib]

''boom i hit the room, many felt the thunder;''
'' my time to shine; i did it like summer ''

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“Let’s just say, for all intensive purposes, that I know everything.” Harleigh’s skin was as soft as Oliver always thought it might be. The boy’s need to know Oliver’s exposed(yet still hidden behind the gnarled remains of years of work) showed itself only in a touch and it would appear that the touch was enough. He had to have known. Didn’t he recognize the face before him as one that showed itself in the papers time and time again? Could he smell the smoke on his fingertips or see the fire in his eyes? Hadn’t he put two and two together yet?

As the blonde child shifted and repositioned himself for a second time(the first time was out of self-consciousness, the second time was that same emotion righting itself into something more exposed and careless) Oliver took another sip of his hot coffee. “My name is Oliver O’Brady. It’s a pleasure to meet you face to face, though I do wish the circumstances were a little bit different.” His voice was always the same. There was no malice in his tone, no regret or hidden meaning. He sounded as he looked; kind, simple and gentle. His next words, however, were not so kind or gentle.

“In ten minutes you’ll be partially sedated. You’ll be physically incapable of resisting any advances , your motor skills will be impaired and I’m going to take you out of this bar.” The words were so matter-of-fact, so plain. “Don’t make a fuss, don’t struggle. You’re alright, okay? What you ingested was a high grade Benzodiazepine; Flunitrazepam or Rohypnol. I drugged your drink. Flunitrazepam.. there’s no way you could have known. It’s colourless, odourless and tasteless. The effects tend to last about eight hours but you didn’t ingest very much so you shouldn’t be out for too long. You won’t remember any of this but it’s probably best that you don’t.” Oliver caught his companion’s eyes and he smiled lightly. “There’s a man behind me in a black coat. He’s drinking a glass of scotch and he has a platinum wedding band on. You’ve seen him before. He followed you from the club; he’s a regular. Don’t look, just trust me, okay? I’m not going to do anything to you but I know if I just came up to you and said ‘come back to my place or that guy might rape you’ you wouldn’t believe me.” Just as his mouth opened to allow more explanation of what was going on, Oliver caught himself. His head tipped to the side and the smile that was already plastered on his face broadened a little bit.

“See? You’re already slipping away from me. Whatever you do, Harleigh, don’t stop listening to the sound of my voice. I’m going to talk you through all of this so there’s no need to be scared, no need to have a panic attack. I’ll take care of everything. Alright?” Perhaps the words would have been more comforting if they weren’t following a drug-related confession. Harleigh was already so messed up that a little bit of Rohypnol really wouldn’t hurt him. It was amazing that he didn’t notice and, even moreso, that he didn’t suspect. Oliver was a murderer. He got paid to kill people. If there was anything at all in the deal for him, he wouldn’t hesitate to get a little bit of blood on his hands. He was the deciding factor in the battle for good and evil which made trusting him an even more wicked game. People died when they associated with Oliver O’Brady but there across the table was a blonde angel that basically sashayed right into his lap. He could do anything he wanted to Harleigh then. Those shorts would be easiest just to cut off because they would likely be the least of the boy’s worries. If his lips were as soft as his hands they were meant to be kissed. Those lips could heal wounds just as a simple smile or careless touch could change hearts. What a precious commodity Oliver had in his web. His own crooked smile faltered and he turned his eyes to the dregs of his coffee. All good things in the world only stayed good as long as they were kept safe. Harleigh would only remain precious until the world around him finally devoured him. He was soft, easy prey. Oliver had been preyed on too many times to be at all appetizing.

“We’ll head out whenever you’re ready.”

Now he understood why Samson ever cut off his hair in the first place.

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tagged: tagged for harleigh
word count: 764
notes: i rambled just for you <3 oliver means well, i promise.
lyrics: i'm coming by will smith
credit:NOTHING_PERSONAL @ CAUTION !

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[HARLEIGH MATHEW VALENTINE]

YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CHANGE

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harleigh | stripper | 811 words | tag : oliver | notes : i didn't know if you wanted him to pass out or get loopy so i kinda mixed 'em in as benzos sorta make you do both lol. feel free to godmod harl a bit if you need to move things along. haha, he has a bit of a dirty mouth on him when he's cranky

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Harleigh didn't like the way this guy kept looking at him, or his claims of 'knowing everything' that Harl took to be creepy more than humorous. For some reason though he felt calm, even as his cocaine high was shuddering to it's end Harleigh felt strangely placid. Warm even. Though, as the man continued to speak, the reason for this became much more clear to the youth and as quickly as he'd accepted that Shirley Temple he wished he hadn't as the familiar feeling of a benzo dose began to pervade his system just as the man was explaining that he'd slipped him some. Stupid, stupid Harleigh. Too trusting, and it bites you in the ass again. To top that off, he hated benzos. Alot.

"Mother fucker." Harleigh said, his words drawn and slowed down though he'd heard them as though they were loud and clear in his mind. "Stop fucking explaining to me what benzos do." Harl demanded, upset. He was shocked that he'd actually been roofied. He used to take benzos for fun, nothing so potent though. He could already feel his mind fogging and his eyelids getting heavy. His legs had that feeling like he was knee deep in warm syrup as he sunk down. No wonder the cocaine come down seemed so effortless, this was just like taking a valium which was the perfect counter drug to uppers only, ya know, ruffies were a hell of alot stronger. It was like hearing an echo and someone speaking directly to him all at once when Oliver began explaining why he'd drugged him. Absentmindedly, he took another sip of the shirley temple that'd been his poison in the first place and spat at the realization.

"You're telling me that you dosed me to help me?" Harl asked, again in a droned out monotone and nothing like the usual dulcet effervescence of his voice. "You're messed up mister." He began to slur, his accent was thicker in his slowed speech than it normally was. This wasn't the first time he'd had a combination of benzos and booze in his body. His head was all fogged, as though it were already sleeping while his body kept on tugging. The lucidity provided with this kind of drug was poor at best and Harleigh found himself cursing his own carelessness as he slipped in and out of coherent thought. He looked to Oliver and found him to be smiling, a smile that Harleigh could tell that, even past his heavy eyelids, he didn't like.

As Harleigh began to duck out, slumping back into his chair every so often before jolting awake, he heard this guy say that they'd head out whenever Harl felt ready. He was too done to even walk now. Needless to say, downers weren't his thing and his tolerance for them was weak at best. "Fuck off." Harl managed to utter incoherently as he ducked out again, his head slumping down. He'd seen a million and one people barred outta their minds, it almost looked like the average drunk just passing out. It wasn't like his appearance would alarm anyone and after a moment's pause he jolted himself awake again and forced himself to stand on wobbly legs, his balance shaken by the minor boost in height he gained from the solid heels of his worn cowboy boots. He ignored Oliver to the best of his ability and tugged his hood over his head and made for the door at a slow, relaxed pace. He wanted to wig out but benzos were big anxiety killers he felt to calm to do anything but make a pitiful attempt at walking home without passing out on the street.

Harleigh pushed through the door of the little hole-in-the-wall grill and began a slow trek across the dirty pavement towards his loft. Some part of his brain told him he was getting out of here free and easy but the non-fantasy side said that Oliver'd be right behind him and he suddenly began to regret leaving the grill. After all, being hoisted off of your feet by a middle-aged man was alot less likely to be taken note of by anyone out on these streets than such a thing would've been back indoors with other people all around. "Fuck me..."

[/color] Harleigh sighed, rubbing his head and holding his arm against the sordid brick facade of the building he was next to in an attempt to steady himself. "Fuckin' downers." He drawled.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[olib]

''i wanna put on my my my my boogie shoes''
'' just boogie with you ''

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Of course getting away wouldn`t be that easy. Harleigh couldn't be that new to the red ligth district that he thoguht he could just walk off after being drugged and be perfectly dandy. If Oliver really wanted to hurt him it would be so easy. He looked intoxicated and Oliver was the designated driver. The older male was the more sober-seeming of the two so naturaly it was perfectly easy to play all of this off as a friend escorting their drunken companion home. Harleigh was at the door and heading out into the street when Olvier finally rose from his seat. Somehow he knew this wouldn't go as planned. Why did people always make a fuss when he told them not to? Several crumpled green bills landed on the table(enough to cover both of their drinks) and Oliver straightened out the front of his good, clean work shirt. Hep robably should have moved a little bit faster. Someone else was out the door behind Harleigh already; mister black coat. He was on a mission, seeing the boy's 'drunken' staggering, and this was his chance. All of those nights sitting in the strip club and watching were tormenting. It was about time waiting paid off.

Oliver fetched his coat from the back of his chair and pulled it over his arms in one sweeping motion. Harleigh wouldn't get far. Even if the boy did travel some, he wouldn't be invisible. Oliver would find him again and everything would go according to plan.

Mister black coat was probably on about the same wavelength as Oliver was, though his intentiosn were a little bit less than pure. He was hot on Harleigh's trail and his own half-drunken footsteps masks the sound of crisp black work shoes behind him. Oliver's favorite thing about this jacket of his was the hidden pockets on the inside. They were intended for personals like wallets and keys but he found a much better use for them; there were more important things to hide than credit cards for Oliver O'Brady. The handgun he kept hidden in the folds of fabric made its appearance. It took a trek into another pocket for the silencer to be located. Oliver didn't stop walking as he assembled his weapon, nor did he pause to perfect his aim. The shot landed in the man's upper thigh and he went down fast. It wasn't placed to kill, it was just place to handicap for a little while. It did its job, bringing him to his knees, and Oliver swept past him in a quiet flurry of fabric. His cursing and hollering would raise attention quickly. Oliver needed to make his escape quickly.

It turned out Harleigh was lighter than he expected. It wasn't all that difficul to hoist that delicate frame over his shoulder. The trick was to curl and arm around Harleigh's strong hips to give a better lifting point. As long as he didn't struggle, it would be alright.

"I told you not to worry, didn't I? Just relax."

--------

Mister O'Brady wasn't exactly a morning person but this particular morning was a good one. He hadn't slept at all the night before, giving him some good time to work downstairs in the lab. Harleigh's unconscious form was left sinking into Oliver unbelievably soft bed, warm comforters and satin pillow cases enveloping him kindly. He would wake in the morning to smell of breakfast and the sound of Oliver singing along to Boogie Shoes in the kitchen.

[/size]

tagged: tagged for harleigh
word count: six something
notes: gurr
lyrics: boogie shoes, K C & the sunshine band
credit:NOTHING_PERSONAL @ CAUTION !

[/size]

[HARLEIGH MATHEW VALENTINE]

YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CHANGE

[/color]

harleigh | stripper | 860 words | tag : oliver | notes : yay the thread's movin' again <3

_ _ _ _ _[/center]

Harleigh felt himself ducking out against the dirty building wall. Benzos, well, benzos that're this strong have such a surreal affect. The cliched passing out and then blacking out, that stuff totally happens. Harleigh was anything but lucid standing there on the street. If he could think straight right now, well, he'd pretty much think that this sucked. However, all he was getting from this experience was the flashing lights of passing cabs and a funny feeling in his stomach. He was shaken to semi-consciousness by Oliver sweeping him off his feet, no not in a good way. Muttering some bullshit about how he'd said not to freak out.

"Fuck you, dude." Harleigh muttered slowly before his head slumped down and he was out like a light. Oliver must've carted him home from there, though the blonde was sadly clueless about the events that filled the rest of the night.

_ _ _ _ _

The fairhaired runaway stirred in the soft bed in which he was placed the night before. Harleigh's mind hadn't registered that something was wrong, he hadn't even registered that this wasn't his place yet. A groggy wake-up wasn't exactly the best way to lead into the startling relization that he didn't know where he was or what had happened last night. Harl'd been roofied before and he'd taken bars in the past, the familiar void of a benzo-blackout filled his head and he instantly knew he'd been dosed the night before. He shot up, fully awake at the realization and observed the unfamiliar bedroom he was in.

It was neat, very neat, and far beyond anything Harleigh himself could ever afford. The pillows and sheets were softer than any fabric Harl'd felt against his skin in a long time. As far as waking up with a hazy lack-of-memory from last night goes, this wasn't so bad yet. Well, except for the sinking terror of what might've been done to him. He was shirtless, not like that was a big deal 'cause he'd just had on his hoodie, hell, he could've tossed that off himself. He lifted the sheets to inspect his lower half, his shorts were still on, but that really wasn't too reassuring either, he was still in a stranger's room.

The young male let his eyes glide over every surface in the room. It was sparsley decorated. A pile of neatly folded singles sat on the table next to the bed. Harl was sure they were his, he found himself thankful that they hadn't fallen out of his pockets or he'd be damn broke. The sound of singing coming from outside the bedroom is what truly alarmed the guy though. "Shit." Harleigh gasped softly, tossing the blankets off of himself and putting his bare feet against the cold floor.

Instantly, wearing only his shorts, Harleigh regretted leaving the covers as the chill in the room was very apparent. where the fuck is my sweater? Harleigh thought to himself, scanning the room for it. It was draped on the doorknob and he wasted no time in grabbing it an slipping it on. He clasped the zipper together and tugged up but, shortly after, let out a loud "Damn it!" As he snagged the plain metal bar that adorned his navel. His eyes widened and he slapped a hand over his mouth. Whoever was here would know he was up now.

Harl froze. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even remember leaving work last night honestly. Did he get dosed at the bar? Who was the strange man singing? He almost started shaking as he swallowed his fears down hard and went to the door, letting his quivering hand grasp the knob and twist it open silently. Despite Harl's exclamation of pain just moments earlier, he heard no noise that'd indicate someone coming to check. Hell, he wasn't even going to bother looking for his boots. He just wanted to get out of here and figure out how to get home and so began a barefoot, tip-toe through the hall, hoping he'd see the front door before he saw whoever lived here. No such luck.

Harl pushed through a door, one he was hoping would lead him to a foyer and a way out, instead he found himself stepping onto chilly, bright kitchen tiles and looking up at a man whose face payed a note of vague familiarity in Harleigh's clouded mind. He was frozen, hazel-colored doe-eyes stared at, well, I suppose his kidnapper and the fairhaired male found himself incapable of speaking or really reacting at all. He didn't know if he was scared, or just surprised at how much of an epic fail his escape attempt was. A soft "Umm..." Escaped that soft pink pout of his as his mind choked up, at a loss for what to do or say.

[olib]

''i wanna put on my my my my boogie shoes''
'' just boogie with you ''

[/color][/font][/color]
[/center]

"You're up." It was a simple statement. Of course Oliver had heard the boy's pitiful attempt at sneaking away. It was mostly impossible. Amidst the network of tunnels, labs, and oddly cozy attempts at normalcy there was one exit and it would either take a very long time to find it or Oliver's photographic brain. There were no maps of this place, of Mister O'Brady's 'underground lair'. Nobody else needed to know where things were, how to get in or how to get out. It was a land all his own and the man was perfectly happy with that.

Stood in the kitchen, he looked anything but threatening. His hair was mussed in that absent way of his that said he'd been pouring over books for far too long, raking scarred fingers through his hair over and over. A red apron had been adorned to keep the slightly wrinkled dress shirt he'd worn last night clean. The scent of bacon, eggs and pancakes sifted around the kitchen and the table was set for one with orange juice and milk out for the taking. "I wasn't sure what you'd like for breakfast so I made a couple of different things. Go on, have a seat." His oven mitts were oversized, flowery and pink. His grin wasn't exactly the manic grin of a rapist.

"It's twelve thirty. Not that I'm suprised you slept in a bit. By the time I found you last night, you already looked like you'd been through a bit of an ordeal. Who am I to say though? That was just my impression." The grin fell hurriedly and a look of concern replaced it. "Hey, don't look so scared. I didn't do anything to you. I'm a married man." An oven mitt was pulled off to expose that golden wedding band. Oliver smiled apologetically. "Damn shame the world we live in though, with assumptions and all. I understand your... lack of trust in me and it's okay. I'll show you out as soon as you've had something to eat, if you are hungry that is."

Considering how Harleigh was drugged the night before, perhaps accepting breakfast from a stranger was a bit foolish. Oliver smiled sheepishly and turned back to his cooking, flipping a gargantuan pancake with a very small spatula. Common sense would advise not to accept the casually organized breakfast, the orange juice, the hospitality. Human decency found it hard to refuse. It was considerably rude to just walk out on such a nice breakfast, a kind gesture made by supposedly a complete stranger. Besides, if Oliver was telling the truth(which he was and wasn't in some ways) then he was really just being nice and trying to take care of Harleigh in his own little way. Oliver, personally, would have sat down for some breakfast if it so happened to be the other way around. Of course, Oliver was also someone who appeared weekly in the papers for his violent escapades, his multi-million dollar electronics company and his appreciation for watching things explode. If it were the other way around, whoever opted to kidnap this man was probably in more danger than he himself was in. In all honesty, Oliver didn't exactly have a great reputation but people seemed to gravitate to him because he was always described as 'unpredictable' and 'undescribable'. He supposed they were just out to try and predict or describe him. It didn't really lead to one hell of a social life but it kept things interesting and he supposed that that was about all he could ask for.

"I hope you aren't allergic to anything. I probably should have asked before I started cooking all of this, hey?"

[/size]

tagged: tagged for harleigh
word count: six four three
notes: sorry D:
lyrics: boogie shoes, K C & the sunshine band
credit:NOTHING_PERSONAL @ CAUTION !

[/size]

[HARLEIGH MATHEW VALENTINE]

YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CHANGE

[/color]

harleigh | stripper | 851 words | tag : oliver | notes : dramatico :p

_ _ _ _ _[/center]

Harleigh stared at his unknowing captor with wary hazel eyes as he reluctantly took the offered seat. Something about this was too bizarre. Harl’d never been so heavily dosed before that he awoke with no recollection of the majority of the preceding night. He didn’t even remember leaving work last night, that’s how heavily he’d gone under. He woke up in a strange place to the sounds of a strange man’s voice to walk into a kitchen being offered breakfast by a seemingly normal good citizen? No, that shit doesn’t happen, not in this town, no way! Harleigh wasn’t buying this so easily and he kept his eyes on the man. He had sobriety on his side now, though a pounding headache accompanied it at least he had his wits about him.

The younger males frame quivered slightly as a shiver of discomfort rushed his spine. His body was already quaking for cocaine, not much but enough for him to notice. He had a heavy physical addiction to it and he’d gone a long time without, it was understandable that he’d feel this way. Needless to say though, food was the last thing on his mind. The story he was being told went something along the lines of him being found in such a state of intoxication that this nice stranger felt overwhelmingly compelled to assist him by taking the young blonde back to his home, and his bed more specifically, when he was too throttled to even comprehend the situation? No. This guy was smart, Harl could tell, far smarter than he himself was but there were still noticeable holes in his tall tale. Harl was just waiting ‘til he found a crack in the lies so he could punch a big hole.

It came soon enough, however, upon the stranger’s declaration of being a ‘married man’ and showing his banded-finger to Harleigh. Upon the sight of that rough hand Harleigh’s mind shuddered and images of this guy’s face began to burn holes in the blank slate that was Harl’s short term memory like cigarettes on wallpaper. He’d been around last night, definitely. Harleigh didn’t know if that was good or bad but he felt just a bit more worried at the realization. Still, he had some usable stuff to use to shake this guy and began dissecting his faulty lie. ”Married, huh?” Harleigh cooed self-confidently, leaning back in the chair a bit. ”Mister, I’ve known a lot of men, married and not, and I know what it looks like when they are. You’re lying to me.” He stated self-assuredly, standing up to continue his tirade with a more adamant posture.

”What sane woman would let her husband bring home a stray-stripper and put him up in her bad?” Harl demanded, fighting back a laugh at the ‘duh’ logic of that one. ”Besides, I woke up in your bed not more than five minutes ago. The room’s totally, got, like, nothing a woman would have. No lingering scent of perfume, no dresses, no jewelry, no photos or nothing‘. Just your stuff. Besides, the smell of aftershave, the general presence of just, ya know, a man is all over that place. I’m not buying your bullshit.” Harleigh said with a note of empowerment in his voice as he crossed his arms in defiance and looked up at this guy who was made increasingly less-likable by being a liar.

”So, let’s try this again.” Sultry southern notes soaking into his angered words, ”Who the fuck are you and what the fuck happened to me last night?” The younger of the two men demanded, shaking from the impending withdrawls. His right shoulder had slipped free from the gray hoodie and Harl felt thankful for the cool air against his bare skin, his body growing warmer with the coke-cravings. Just as he was about to continue his rant the youth froze and the throbbing sobriety provided it’s first bit of usefullness which resulted in a mental Oh, fuck me dude… from Harleigh. He didn’t make it a habit to read the paper’s or the news or anything like that but Oliver’s face just struck in his mind like a loud church bell, he was a murderer!

Harleigh’d seen a headline proclaiming the presence of a deranged sociopath in Switchblade city. Nikki, a girl at work, was reading it but Harl remembered the headline and the photo, now that he thought of it again, was clearly of the man standing before him. He closed his mouth, afraid to let another sound escape as he stared at the now-terrifying guy that stood in the room with him and another Oh, fuck me dude… Rang out within his head.

[olib]

''i wanna put on my my my my boogie shoes''
'' just boogie with you ''

[/color][/font][/color]
[/center]

Harleigh wasn't going to eat without a fight. Oliver took off his oven mitts, set them on the counter and rubbed his face slowly into both rough palms. The saying 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions' stuck out in his mind just then and he wished he'd just let the boy get raped by the greasy guy in black. Yes, he was beautiful. Yes he was delicate and soft and needed to be looked after but boys like him weren't receptive to 'I want to look after you' coming from someone who only knew him from watching him strip. It wasn't a really great situation to be in from where Oliver was standing in some ways, though in other ways if he had a little bit less of a conscience, it could be wonderful. Oliver was bigger and likely stronger than Harleigh was, plus the underground network they were currently embedded in was very much like a horrible maze of toxic labs, curious libraries, dank rooms with cement walls and blood stained tubs and small sections of building that seemed almost like a normal home.

"Alright, you caught me. My wife isn't here. She's in Delaware and has been for six months now. Six months into a five year medical school program. She can't afford to take time away so I just go to visit her." Moving away from the stove, Oliver stepped up to a small shelf with a few happy looking albums on it. He picked a warm orange coloured album from the small collection and dropped it onto the table. "From our trip to Fiji last winter. Look, kid, you don't have to believe me. I don't care what you do. I was just looking out for you." Both hands pushed into Oliver's pockets and he leaned against the counter to surveil his unwilling guest. "I guess you figured out who I am now, judging by the fact that you look like you might keel over and die any second. So who the fuck am I? Oliver O'Brady, nice to meet you. You can go borrow some actual pants if you'd feel a little more dignified trying to... I don't know, expose me when you're fully dressed."

It was about then that Oliver had had just about enough. He never was very good at keeping a handle on himself and this was a situation in which he felt himself slipping. A lack of control always put him a little on edge and it would really be so much easier to just smack Harleigh over the head with his frying pan, tie him up somewhere and physically keep him out of harm's way. The adrenaline of a good fight was already building up and he could feel it writhing around under his skin like worms. Shaking hands busied themselves with putting coffee on.

"I don't care what you do, just do it. If you don't believe me, you can go. If you want to sit and have something to eat before you leave, do. If I had known keeping you from being raped would be this much of a fucking headache, I would have left you there."

[/size]

tagged: tagged for harleigh
word count: i'm getting lazy with counting xD
notes: i'm a bag of fury today.
lyrics: boogie shoes, K C & the sunshine band
credit:NOTHING_PERSONAL @ CAUTION !

[/size]

[HARLEIGH MATHEW VALENTINE]

YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CHANGE

[/color]

harleigh | stripper | 690 words | tag : oliver | notes : crankin' out the postage, look at us lol

_ _ _ _ _[/center]

"Hey, fuck you!" Harleigh exclaimed, first and foremost. He wouldn't deny that he was scared but he wasn't in a hurry to turn his back to Oliver in an attempt to runaway. The blonde let his eyes sink to the ground and he tugged his jacket back over his shoulder, never having felt so bare before. He shook his head at the forced offer for clothing. He wasn't keen on any of Oliver's clothing adorning his body at that moment. He'd never been so frightened before. Theoretically, he could die here. Wait, why hadn’t he died here? I mean, yeah this guy was a murderer so he could totally be lying to Harleigh about saving him. He could’ve been a rapist just as easily so he had no grounds to stand on as far as protecting him from rape. The truth that held strong for Harl, however, was his own heartbeat.

He’d been exposed, limp prey all night long. A fallen angel on a pseudo-deathbed of satin sheets and, from what Harl could tell, Oliver hadn’t laid a bad hand on him. His instincts were still screaming run, run! But the smart part of Harleigh’s brain told him to stay and attempt to diffuse this guy who looked like he was about to blow. Plus, he couldn’t get stabbed in the back, ya know, literally if he kept his eyes on Oliver. ”I… I’m sorry…” Harleigh muttered, shutting his eyes as his muscles begged for uppers. He shuddered with discomfort but pulled himself together and looked up at the monster who’d taken him into his lair. ”Wh… Why didn’t you do anything to me?” Harl asked, trying hard to hide the terror in those words.

He felt so scared that he’d been at this murderers mercy all night. He felt blessed to be breathing. He couldn’t help but wonder, however, why. What made Oliver want to keep him safe? What made him so special to a man with a void in place of a heartbeat? Harleigh hugged his arms around himself and sat back down again, looking anywhere but into Oliver’s eyes. Like something about the man’s gaze was going to hurt him though, so far, his hands had not. Harl acted tough, he certainly was a grown-up in anyone’s eyes but the law’s, though there were still those moments when you saw a kid who was too young to be doing half of what Harleigh’s come to call his life. He had to stop freaking out so much right now, he’d seen crime dramas, just keep the crazy killer calm ‘til they let you go, right? Harl had little idea of what to do to keep this man from blowing though.

Harleigh did know, however, that he had a soft touch and watching Oliver shake with such violent aggravation as he tried to pour coffee made the blonde tense up just by being near him. However, scared out of his mind, Harleigh approached Oliver from behind and placed his best attempt at a comforting hand on the other guy’s shoulder. In his mind Harl kept thinking, he’s a murderer, he’s murderer but he continued doing anything he could to get himself out of here alive today. Oliver told him he could leave, but he was too scared to walk away. Harleigh should’ve been scolding himself for breaking down so easily. He had weak emotional walls, as soon as things got too scary for him he bent to the other’s will, no matter what the situation. I guess he’s strong in so many ways, he’d have to be weak in a few as well. He could feel Oliver’s body heat through the thin shirt beneath his palm, he for some reason expected a murderer to be cold-blooded in the literal sense as well and was, interestingly, surprised at being incorrect.

[olib]

''i wanna put on my my my my boogie shoes''
'' just boogie with you ''

[/color][/font][/color]
[/center]

It really should've been apparent to Oliver that his company's skin would be so warm. It burned him through his soft, white button-down shirt and put him in a bit of a confused state of wanting to lash out and soften all at once. The hand was comforting. It was still the hand of a terrified little boy who was probably going to stab him in the chest as soon as he didn't have hot coffee in his own hand but it was comforting enough. He felt like he did something right even though he hadn't. The last person to put their hand on him like that and mean it was alive only in those albums on the shelf, and it was debatable if she even did mean it around the end of her life. Harleigh didn't mean it. He said nothing with his hand. The release of endorphins encouraged Oliver to take a deep breath and put down the hot pot of coffee before his cup flowed over but beyond that, it was an empty touch. There was no true comfort in it, no love or worry. There was just fear. Fear and chemicals. Oliver relaxed visibly(though only to his usual state of alert tense) and put the pot of coffee back on its heating pad.

"I didn't do anything to you because I didn't want to. I didn't... kidnap you to be a pervert, Harleigh, I did it because if I didn't someone else was going to and I knew that if I went up to you and said 'that man is bad news, you need to get away' you wouldn't trust me. I made an executive decision." He shrugged off the meaningless hand and enveloped his mug with both gnarled appendages as he turned to face Harleigh. "I know you don't believe me but I didn't lay a finger on you. I put you in bed, I pulled up the covers and that was it. I swear to God, Harleigh."

Some portion of Oliver's ego was a little bit hurt. If he had raped Harleigh, the boy likely would have known. His manhood was a little bit damaged from the unspoken blow but he didn't look to it for the moment. His pride would inflate itself again soon enough, certainly, so it really wasn't something to be worried about. The older male moved finally. He stepped around Harleigh to retrieve that happy orange photo album from the table and slot it back on the shelf. A plate of pancakes was moved to the table, along with a skillet of bacon and a bowl of eggs. Oliver took his own seat, now appearing calm as ever despite his moment of nearly losing control of himself not so long ago. He gathered himself a healthy plate full of everything and said through a mouthful of egg "Being a murderer doesn't automatically make you a rapist too."

[/size]

tagged: tagged for harleigh
word count: i'm getting lazy with counting xD
notes: now i'm hungry D:
lyrics: boogie shoes, K C & the sunshine band
credit:NOTHING_PERSONAL @ CAUTION !

[/size]

[HARLEIGH MATHEW VALENTINE]

YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CHANGE

[/color]

harleigh | stripper | 824 words | tag : oliver | notes : crankin' out the postage, look at us lol

_ _ _ _ _[/center]

"Hey, fuck you!" Harleigh retracted his hand, surprisingly hurt by how easily the gesture was shrugged off. He almost pitied Oliver when he watched the guy cart the photo album back to its place on the shelf. Hell, maybe he wasn’t full of shit after all. Regardless, with the air in here a bit calmer, Harleigh felt inclined to dig a little deeper. Oliver knew so much about him, apparently, so he might as well risk his life to learn about Oliver… Now, ok, that sounded stupid. This was just such a bizarre situation to which Harleigh had no idea how to react. He simply decided to go with the flow and sat across from Oliver, fighting back a smirk when the guy said that being a murderer didn’t make him a rapist. The blonde, however, bubbled over a bit right after and let a small laugh escape his lips. He couldn’t help it. This was like a dream or a bad hidden camera show.

“I’m sorry,” Harl began through his light laughter, “I’m just sitting at the breakfast table with a serial killer who roofied me explaining that he’s not a rapist. It’s too surreal not to laugh at my fucked up life.” Harleigh effervesced. Anyone who’d witnessed this scene from start to finish without Harleigh’s drug-induced mental intermission would think that this was nuts. Hell, it was nuts. What could he do though? “I know you didn’t rape me.” Harl assured Oliver. “When I asked why you didn’t do anything I was thinking more along the lines of binding, stabbing, burning, torture-y type things. I’m pretty sure I’d be able to feel if there’d been a rape.” Harl noted, actually letting another laugh escape his mouth because he could quite believe just how crazy he was to be sitting here right now talking to this guy about such horrible things as his own hypothetical rape and/or murder.

“It brings me back to my earlier point,” The younger guy said, “Why didn’t you kill me? I mean, that’s what you do, you kill people. Why not me? Ok, so some guy wanted to hurt me, I’m sure there’s an excess of those every time I go to work so what makes me so special to have earned the protection of a serial killer?” Harleigh inquired forcefully. He had to know what made Oliver want to look after him. It’d been a long time since Harl’d had anyone try to take care of him. It wasn’t exactly a welcome ideal but to know that someone cared and was trying to protect him was comforting thought. It made a place like this city seem a little less cold than it otherwise might even on the hottest days of summer.

Harleigh rubbed his arm absentmindedly and fidgeted. He couldn’t sit here like this, he looked like he’d crawled out of a gutter full of glitter and into the home of a homicidal maniac. He chose to take up the offer for clothing and excused himself from Oliver really quickly. His heart pounded and his steps were in slow motion as he walked away from Oliver and into the bedroom of the beast, so to speak. He was scared for his life with his back turned to Oliver. Probably unnecessarily so. After all, Oliver was smarter than Harleigh, bigger too, despite the blonde’s good-physique he doubted he’d be much match for the older guy and so accepted that if Oliver wanted him dead, he’d have been so already. In an attempt at preserving whatever modesty he might’ve had left, Harl shut the door when he went into the room. Oliver had offered him pants so the runaway figured this wouldn’t irk the killer.

After a few moments of rummaging, Harleigh emmerged from Oliver’s bedroom with a pair of sweatpants on. They were too long and tied tight to keep them from sliding down his waist. He’d put on a white button down of Oliver’s that’d been neatly folded atop the dresser. It was too big, but not too too big. Besides, he was, for all intents and purposes, stuck here for the time being cause he had no way to know how to get out or where he was without Oliver escorting him to the exit. Might as well be comfortable. He sauntered back to his seat and resumed his position in it, tossing his now neatly-folded stripper-wear onto the ground by his feet. ”Um, thanks for the duds.” Harl said, keeping his gaze averted.