Title: Mirror, Mirror
Fandom: Dresden Files
Pairing: Harry/Bob
Rating: R (for language)
Word count: 543
Summary: Bob had a beard. One of those dapper, evil, world-ruling type beards.
Author notes: Written for the drabble thread on skull_boy_love. Prompt: "Mirror, Mirror." This one is definitely gonna be turned into a (much) longer story as soon as I have the time, because AWESOMENESS.
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, and I'm not making any money off this.
###
Harry fumed. Ancient Mai had said her car was dropping him off at home! Come to think of it, that had been suspiciously nice of her. She'd been kind of suspiciously nice all afternoon, in fact, and now Harry was paying the price for thinking maybe she was just having a good day. This wasn't home; this was some rich asshole's forty million dollar mansion, and Harry had no idea where the fuck he was. He was going to have to walk up that five mile drive and ask to use the phone, and be condescended to by some butler-type figure, and then spend money they needed for the gas bill on a taxi.
He finally found himself dripping sweat on the shaded plantation-style porch. The door opened at his knock, but instead of the snooty servant he'd expected, there stood...Bob?
"For God's sake, Harry, is using the telephone too difficult for you?" Bob snapped. "I've been worried sick!"
"But Bob, you can't---" use the telephone, Harry was about to say, ignoring all the other surreal crap because this was Bob and Bob was pretty much normalcy-in-a-can---or really, Harry thought, normalcy-in-a-skull, and okay, maybe normalcy wasn't really the right word but---when Bob reached out, put his hand on Harry's arm, and yanked Harry into the house.
Harry could sense that somewhere, far away, his mind was rambling on, wisecracking and babbling nervously, but he couldn't really hear it anymore. All his senses had concentrated on those few square inches where Bob was touching him. Bob was touching him. He raised thunderstruck eyes to Bob's face, and realized that wasn't all that was different.
Bob had a beard. One of those dapper, evil, world-ruling type beards.
"What the hell is going on, Bob?" he asked.
"I might ask you the same thing," Bob said. "Is she dead?"
"Wh--who?"
"Mai, of course," Bob hissed. "We've only been planning this for the past six months!" He, too, seemed to really look at Harry for the first time. "I thought I threw those clothes away," he said with distaste.
"Um...no, Mai's not dead," Harry tried.
Bob's eyes narrowed.
"She got suspicious," Harry improvised wildly. "I thought it was best to lull her into a false sense of security..."
Bob rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "Well, you'd better take a shower. You look awful."
"Thanks," Harry said, stung.
The corner of Bob's mouth quirked wickedly, and he leaned in to whisper in Harry's ear. "If you're lucky, I might join you," he said, his breath hot against Harry's neck, and sent Harry up the stairs with a decidedly possessive hand on the small of his back.
Well, shit, Harry thought. This had all the earmarks of a parallel-evil-universe-type situation, which meant...fuck.
It meant Evil Harry was in his universe, with his Bob.
Oh God, would Bob be all right? Harry thought about all the decidedly evil things he'd thought about doing to Bob over the years and quietly panicked. Then another, even more frightening thought struck him. What if Bob liked Evil Harry better? Apparently Evil Harry knew how to free him from his curse.
You'll figure it out, Harry pep-talked himself. You usually do. In the meantime...might as well take a shower.
###
you can send me feedback at belmanoir at gmail dot com!