WHO: Baz Snell & Jez Dearborn WHAT: Two times they didn't talk about their feelings and one time they did WHEN: A couple of times prior to Thursday night and then Thursday night! WHERE: Restaurants, flats WARNINGS: Nah.
“Am I talking a lot? I feel like I’m talking a lot. Too much, maybe.”
Barnaby drummed his fingers on the table, gaze roaming over the picturesque Italian restaurant he’d picked out for his date with Jeremy. His date with Jeremy — just the phrase made his stomach do somersaults. He only hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt, but that seemed impossible. He had never had much of a poker face. In an attempt to calm his nerves, he pretended to be captivated by a very mundane painting of a bread basket for a few heartbeats. Finally, his eyes returned to Jeremy, sweeping over his face with open appreciation.
He affixed his most disarming grin to his face as he leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You’ll tell me if I start rambling, right? I don’t want to embarrass myself any more than usual.”
“You aren’t embarrassing yourself,” Jeremy replied, leaning forward a little before he could stop himself. “But you are talking a lot. Maybe even rambling a bit, but please, don’t feel like you need to stop. I’m kinda into it.” It was a bit of an understatement, but to admit how into it (and Baz) he really was seemed like too much on a date that had only barely been acknowledged as a date.
He was glad it was though. It made making eyes at him a lot more acceptable.
“You’re into rambling? That’s a weird fetish, Jez,” Baz replied, propping an elbow up on the table and leaning his cheek against his fist. “Unless it’s rambling dirty talk, in which case — good to know?”
His words were punctuated with a wink.
“I meant that I like listening to you talk, but sure, please ramble dirty to me later. I’m expecting good things.” Jeremy met his eyes, holding the gaze for a long moment before finally breaking it with a laugh. His own nerves were fluttering in the bottom of his stomach, but it was mostly in a pleasant way rather than a scary one.
“This is nice.”
“It is nice,” Baz replied, vaguely wondering if Jeremy was referring to the date or the restaurant. It felt safer to go with the latter, so he added, “Who doesn’t love Italian? Everybody loves Italian.”
He glanced almost shyly down at the table before he rolled his shoulders, using his free hand to reach for his wine glass. Baz took a very large gulp — Jeremy’s presence made him nervous in a manner he wasn’t accustomed to — before a slow smile spread across his face. “The movie should be nice, too. Even if it’s bad.”
“It’s going to be bad,” Jeremy said simply, propping his chin in his hand. “You know it’s going to be bad. But I’m hopeful it’s going to be the fun sort of bad. The trailer seemed like it, at any rate.” It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest they could always get handsy in the theater if it sucked, but he held it back. It wasn’t that the idea wasn’t unappealing so much as other ideas were more so.
He hadn’t been talking about the restaurant, but decided not to comment. Instead he reached for his own wine glass, if only to have something in his hand. “Even if it’s bad bad, we’ll still make the most of it.”
Baz’s smile turned sly as he leaned forward again. “Yeah, we will. I know you’re hoping it’s bad so you can get your hands on my—” A server materialized with a fresh basket of bread for the table. Baz’s eyebrows shot upward as he swapped his suggestive expression for one of innocent surprise. “Thank you so much.”
With a laugh, he reached for a piece of bread. “My focaccia, naturally.”
“I can just get my hands on your focaccia later,” Jeremy said, not able to suppress his own laugh at the server’s timing. He took a sip of wine before adding, “In fact, I’m planning on it.”
“Good,” Baz said brightly. “I’m glad something good is going to come out of this — I mean, you know.” There was a dismissive wave of his hand before he took defensive sip of wine.
Jeremy raised an eyebrow, watching Baz for a long moment. He didn’t really know what he meant, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say so. He reached for a piece of bread, leaning back in his chair as he picked at it, pulling it into smaller pieces without eating it. “I don’t think there’s really anything bad coming out of this…” he said finally with a shrug.
“No, no, no, I know,” was Baz’s hasty reply. He felt simultaneously embarrassed and uncomfortable, and he raked a hand through his hair as he tried to think of a way to recover from this misstep. “It was just a joke! In my experience, the only good thing to come from—” There was a fractional pause. “—dates, I guess, is the sex.”
He leaned back in his chair and tried not to look at Jeremy for too long.
“Well!” Jeremy replied, feeling the shift in the mood and deciding he wasn’t a fan of it. It suddenly came to the forefront of his mind that it was possible that this didn’t have to go well. It could go terribly and reinforce the idea of this all being a mistake in the first place, no matter how much he didn’t want it to be. He dropped the bread onto his plate and leaned forward slightly again, offering a smile. “Then I guess we’re changing your experience.”
“I guess so.” A sheepish expression flickered over Baz’s face before he mirrored Jeremy’s movements, leaning forward with a face-splitting smirk. “You should tell me more about how you like to listen to me talk. Does that mean you’re an avid fan of The Pitch?”
“Sure, I listen to it any time I need help falling asleep.” Jeremy had a smirk of his own as he leaned forward just a little bit more. “And don’t make the joke about your voice helping me through a lot of lonely nights, because look, I’ve beaten you to it.”
Baz made a crude gesture with his hand as he affected a poor imitation of Jeremy’s accent. “Oh, yes, Baz, those statistics are so hot. Don’t stop!”
Jeremy could feel his cheeks going a little warm as he rolled his eyes and kicked Baz’s foot under the table. “You got me. Statistics just make me sooooo hard. I’ve been lying all these years when I said Quidditch bored me. Oh baby, oh baby, so on and so forth.”
“I think Quidditch does bore you,” Baz replied, nudging Jeremy’s foot with his own, “It’s just that I don’t bore you. So you’ll put up with me talking about statistics because I can make anything sound hot.”
He leaned back in his chair and reached for his glass, his eyes flashing with amusement as he sipped at his wine.
“Is that so?” Jeremy reached for his own wine, meeting Baz’s eyes and holding the gaze. He decided to ignore the way his heart was speeding up in his chest by finishing the glass in a few large gulps, although it felt like it was all starting to go to his head instead. “We’ll have to see if you can really make anything sound hot. But you’re right. You don’t bore me.”
A flush crept over Baz’s face as he met Jeremy’s eyes, though the intimacy of the moment came crashing down as insecurities rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind. Jeremy always grew bored with his significant others. Why would he be the exception to the rule?
He glanced down at the table, shifting in his chair as he cleared his throat. “I think the server is bringing our food now.”
“Oh,” Jeremy said stupidly, a hand running through his hair as he glanced around. He felt vulnerable suddenly and his own uncertainties about everything started to creep back in. He was glad that the server really was on their way with the food. Food was a nice, easy, neutral topic.
He offered a small smile. “Great then, looks good.”
“If I fall asleep on you, please just let me sleep. I’ll even forgive you if I wake up to find you’ve changed the tv to something you like more,” Jeremy said as he shifted on the couch, his head finding Baz’s shoulder before he could think too much about it. His day had already been long and exhausting, but he still found that he wanted Baz’s company at the end of it. He was struck by how nice it all was, though he wouldn’t dare admit it. Every time they seemed like they might be heading towards something, they detoured sharply and suddenly in a way that tended to make his stomach drop in a really unpleasant way.
He didn’t want to think about that right now though.
“Well, in that case, go ahead and pass out. I’ve been dying to catch up on Long Haul Ice Road Paranormal Ghost Truckers,” Baz replied, rich laughter seeping into his voice. The warmth of the man nestled beside him was a comfort, and Baz relished the novelty of whatever it was they were doing. The key was to not overthink things.
He didn’t second guess himself as he turned his head, tilting down to press a fleeting kiss into Jeremy’s hair. “Although I won’t lie, I was hoping I’d get to tire you out myself.”
“Okay fine, let me sleep the length of an episode of Long Haul Ice Road Trucker Ghost Whatevers,” Jeremy made a face as he tried to recount the absurd title, the words out of his head nearly as fast as they’d come in, “and then you can wake me up to tire me out again. I think that’s an excellent compromise.”
In direct counter to his words, Jeremy ran a hand lightly up Baz’s thigh.
Baz didn’t bother to conceal his laughter as he grabbed Jeremy’s hand, covering it with his own. “That’s not a bad idea, but I have a better one.” He spoke with warm, open affection as he lightly patted the back of Jeremy’s hand. “How about I let you sleep as much as you want because you just worked a twelve hour shift and that sounds impossibly difficult?”
He smoothly turned Jeremy’s hand around and entwined their fingers. It was a sweet gesture — a romantic one, though he refused to think of it that way — but a mischievous smile tugged at the corner of Baz’s mouth as he said, “I can be patient, I promise. I’ll just make it worth your while tomorrow.’
Jeremy looked down at their hands with a smile that he couldn’t seem to stop, that felt stupid and bigger than it ought to be. He almost didn’t want to say anything — he wasn’t sure he trusted himself not to say something that would make Baz run for the hills even though a part of him wanted clarity on it all. The rest of him wanted to keep sitting like this more though. He liked it too much.
He gave Baz’s hand a light squeeze. “Deal. Thank you in advance for being an excellent pillow.”
“It’s no big deal.”
Later on, Baz would pinpoint this moment as the moment he should’ve said something. The realization did not strike him suddenly — no, it was as if some cloud had been lifted from his mind. He knew what he wanted, had known for a while, and as they sat there with their fingers interlocked, it occurred to Baz that he should mention it to Jeremy.
But he didn’t.
Instead, they settled into a comfortable silence, Baz’s arm turning into pins and needles as Jeremy drifted off beside him. He didn’t mind, though, and he soon dozed off as well.
“Jeremy,” Baz called out, the name punctuating the air like the first shot volleyed. He had apparated into Jeremy’s flat shortly after warding him, alight with the anger and irritation he felt. Anger at Jeremy, anger at himself. He had been tempted to dip into a bottle of firewhiskey before this conversation, but part of him knew they both needed to have a clear mind for this — argument, discussion, whatever it was going to be.
But his temper flared as soon as he spotted Jeremy, meeting his eyes in a level stare. “Is this a good time to talk or are you too busy?” It was needlessly petty, but Baz added air quotes as he lifted his chin.
“Depends. Are we actually going to talk or are you just going to insist it’s not like that and then go flirt with half the population of Britain?” Jeremy shot back with an edge to his voice, his own irritation obvious. He’d been sitting, still and silent through most of the journal fight but he stood up now that Baz was in his flat. He could feel an unpleasant combination of emotions building uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach — anger, frustration, hurt, embarrassment. Especially embarrassment.
He crossed his arms over his chest as he held the gaze.
There was a flash of guilt in Baz’s eyes as he thought about his very public conversation with Richenza, but he brushed it aside in order to focus on his anger. He refused to let it become anything else. Shaking his head, he took a step toward Jeremy as he folded his own arms across his chest. He let out a slow exhale. “I’m here, aren’t I? Because I could be with Richenza Selwyn right now and I’m not. So let’s talk.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Do you want me to congratulate you for being here instead of out fucking my coworker? Because if that’s what you want to be doing then you should go do that. You should do that and you should say that instead of acting like you like me one second and then insisting you don’t the next.” The urge to look away was strong, but he didn’t as he held his ground.
“What?” was Baz’s incredulous response. He stared at Jeremy for a long beat before he threw his hands up in the air. “I cannot believe this. I’ve never insisted I don’t like you. I thought it was pretty fucking obvious that I did!” He dragged a hand across his face as shook his head. “I publicly invited you to a bed and breakfast, but obviously I don’t like you. Sure, that makes a lot of sense, Jez.”
Jeremy flinched just a little as he finally diverted his gaze, looking down at his feet. “You never said you did, Baz. In fact, you have been insisting this isn’t anything, and it can’t be anything and will never be anything at basically any opportunity.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, eyes searching the room before finally settling back on Baz.
“That’s not what I want.”
Baz’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, one panicked thought colliding with another as he struggled to think of an appropriate comeback. “Well, that’s not — I mean, this isn’t all my fault,” he stammered, realizing with a jolt that he was suddenly on the defensive. “I thought you just wanted to be, you know, friends with benefits. I don’t do relationships, you barely do relationships.”
He shrugged, although it didn’t come across as casually and nonchalantly as he wanted. He looked away from Jeremy, his gaze honing in on an edge of the coffee table. His discomfort was obvious as he continued, “You always get bored and then you force people to break up with you. It seemed easier to insist that it’s not like that.”
“You freak out every time someone expresses a feeling. I mean I get that I don’t have a great history here, but for what it’s worth, I’m usually not that into them to begin with. I—” Jeremy broke off, looking first at the ceiling and then at the floor and then to the right of Baz’s shoulder and basically anywhere that wasn’t at him directly. He wasn’t any more comfortable as he tightened his arms over his chest, feeling vulnerable and exposed.
It was more out of frustration than anything else when he finally said, “It’s not that I’m not worried about things because I am, but I don’t know how to pretend that I don’t really like you.”
Baz let a pause dangle for one stunned moment before he recovered. He knew what he was supposed to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. Before he knew it, he was stepping forward, closing the distance between them in order to reach out, his palm skating up Jeremy’s chest. “Of course you really like me,” he told him, his voice low. He smiled. “No one can blame you for that.”
Jeremy went still as Baz’s hand made contact, the response not really being among the ones he was looking for in his head. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, and he was starting to realise that maybe what he wanted was really just not going to happen. He reached up, a hand wrapping around Baz’s wrist and pulling his hand away. “If that’s all you’ve got to say,” he said quietly, “then get the fuck out of my flat.”
Baz looked visibly pained. “Are you really going to make me do this?”
“I’m not going to make you do anything,” Jeremy replied as he released his grip on Baz’s wrist and started to take a few steps away. He tried to not look as dejected as he felt, but he had a feeling he wasn’t doing a very good job at masking it. “Bye, Baz.”
Baz opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden upswell of anxiety had his throat in a vicegrip. He grabbed Jeremy’s arm and held him in place, hoping Jeremy would be able to read the seriousness in his eyes. “Fine. I think about you all the time,” he admitted, his nerves in a wild clamor. “I always want to see you, I always want to hear what you have to say, and everything you say and do matters more to me than anything else right now. I think about your eyes and your smile and how your hair smells. It smells good, by the way.”
He let out a short, sharp breath. “Is that enough?”
Jeremy stared for what felt like a very long moment, unsure of what to say as he ran the words around in his head. There was a hint of a smile though as he shifted and took a step forward again. “If I point out that you could admit you like me too, are you going to keel over and die right there?”
Bashfully ducking his head, Baz tugged Jeremy closer. “The feeling is mutual, Jez, all right? Do you want me to serenade you with a Whitney Houston ballad or can we move on?”
“Yeah, actually, a Whitney Houston ballad sounds great,” Jeremy said easily, his hint of a smile turning a bit more decidedly smile-like. But he stayed serious, even as a hand reached out and lightly tugged at the hem of Baz’s shirt. He hesitated slightly, taking a breath. “I don’t want to be friends with benefits, I don’t want to pretend that I don’t care if you sleep with other people, and I know we’re both shit at relationships but I want to try anyway. That’s where I’m at, Baz.”
“Okay. I’m good with all that if — and this is a big if —” Baz paused just long enough to press a brief, chaste kiss to Jeremy’s forehead. “—you agree to go to the Gentle Green with me for a weekend. Any weekend.”
Jeremy laughed before he could stop himself, nodding slowly. “I can agree to that. I think you picked up on this, but I’m not actually busy.”
“I did pick up on that, you right.” Baz leaned in again, though this time his gaze was on Jeremy’s mouth. The kiss was brief but it felt right and familiar, as though they had done it a million times. He planned on doing it a million times more. “I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement. I would’ve hated to have to ask Rhys’ brother to join me.”
“Not as much as I would’ve hated for you to ask Rhys’ brother,” Jeremy admitted before slipping his hand under Baz’s shirt and leaning up for a longer kiss, the sort that he didn’t intend to end any time soon. When he did, it was only to murmur into Baz’s ear, “I think I also lied when I said I wasn’t sleeping with you right now.”
The corners of Baz’s mouth tilted deviously upward as he hooked his fingers through two of Jeremy’s belt loops. “Lucky for you, Dearborn, I’m willing to forgive you.”