by Amiroq
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Disclaimer: Character theft? Me? Never!

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"Is my hair okay?" Harry steps out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, clutching a comb as though his life depends on it. It's hard not to stare, but I manage - barely.

"Does it matter? You still have to get dressed, you'll probably mess it up anyway. Unless you're going like that, in which case it looks perfect."

He gives me an exasperated look. "Tom, don't be stupid. This is important to me, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Go get dressed." The problem is, of course, that Harry can be described with a number of 'S' words: sexy, sultry, sacrosanct, saintly, and, most damnably, straight. Completely and utterly straight. And I, being the best friend, get the great job of helping him get ready for dates with Chief Engineers who know how I feel about him and insist on pulling my still-beating heart out of my chest and trampling all over its broken and bleeding form.

My heart starts going hurdie-gurdie when he comes out, all inside out, outside in and upside down, topsy turvy and bottoms-up. He's wearing a red tank top over black pants, showing off his well-muscled arms with that natural tan that always makes me wish I didn't just burn and peel in the sun. Okay, now I'm staring.

"Well?" he demands when I don't say anything. "Come on, tell me. How bad is it?"

I shake my head slowly. With that body, he could wear a sack and still get any girl he wanted. "You look great, Har," I force myself to say. "Try the blue shirt." I toss it to him, and instead of going back into the bedroom like I thought he would, he simply pulls off the tank, revealing that smooth, incredibly lickable chest, and replaces it with the blue silk, casual as. I lick my lips, glad he's got fabric over his eyes and can't see me do it.

Ohhhhhh. . . god.

"Better?" he sits down on the edge of the sofa, pulling on his boots, and runs the comb through his hair again, all in the time it takes me to form a coherent thought.

"Believe me, she'll be on her knees within a minute." He grins wolfishly, and my heart does another flip-flop. Gee, my aorta must be getting really tangled up by now. "Not in public, I hope."

I throw a cushion at him to hide the way that statement mirrored my own thoughts at times, choking forward a laugh. "Get outta here, Har."

"Okay, okay, I'm going. You, too. I don't want to come back and find you've trashed my quarters or used up all my replicator rations."

I gasp melodramatically, standing up and following him to the door. "Would I do that to you?"

"Probably," he says drily.

Yeah, I probably would, actually. That's just the kind of hypocritical, lying fiend I am.

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End