Who: Fabian and Gideon Prewett When: Friday, January 21 Where: Fay's place What: Talking. Mostly just talking. Rating: Well behaved. Oh, except for the language. Status: Complete
His best behaviour. That’s what he’d promised. Gideon needed to talk. And fuck, but if Fabian hadn’t spent his entire relationship history making sure he’d never had to hear the words ‘we need to talk’-- but from Gid, it was okay. Even if he was absolutely certain that Gideon was going to try to tell him that it had been a mistake, what had happened in the kitchen a few days ago. That ‘oh, no, it was bad.’ It was okay. Fabian knew better than to believe that sort of nonsense. He knew it was coming, which made it easier to deal with.
He knew exactly the sort of things Gideon would say, because they’d be the same things plenty of blokes at school. In the early days of it, Fabian had believed them. He’d played it off well enough, but he’d hated the idea that he’d pushed someone into something they hadn’t really wanted. That maybe he’d manipulated or exploited them. But then they’d be back, a week or two later-- hot, hard, guilty bodies pressed against his. And it was always the same, the same excuses and apologies and phrases, like they were all drawing from the same sodding script. Fabian learned that it was pointless to blame them, because he knew it stemmed from a sort of insecurity, that they couldn’t own what they wanted. And hey, not everyone could be Fabian Prewett. So he indulged them.
There was a reason, he was now quite sure, that he’d been the poof. His adolescence had been an education in overcoming the reservations blokes had, but didn’t even want. Fabian Prewett: sexual liberator. They would write than on his tombstone. Maybe they already had. He’d have to ask someone.
But Gideon’s conscience wasn’t to be indulged. Or placated any more than was strictly necessary. It was a thing to be dismantled. He wasn’t even lying when he’d promised Gideon he’d be on his best behaviour, when he said he’d never do anything Gideon didn’t want him to. Fabian just happened to be a little better versed in what Gideon wanted than Gideon was. Which was handy. Having Gideon face to face, when he couldn’t lie even a little, would do the rest. Gideon thought they ought to stop-- which was worlds away from actually wanting to stop.
Either way, Fabian was shower-fresh, lounging around in his lowest-slung jeans and a button down shirt with all but the top button done. He’d debated about the second, but he figured it would count for something, if he appeared to be making an effort to keep his clothes on.
Gideon still wasn’t entirely sure he could go through with this. With any of it. He wasn’t sure he could keep on like this with Fabian, when every fibre of his conscience railed against it, but he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to end things, either. Not that ‘things’ had really started. But he had thought about it over the past few days. And while he could not deny that there was some part of him (okay, a rather significant part) that was … was actually happier this way, he knew better than to take that as a sign of moral uprightness. Because how could he be truly happy when he still tossed and turned all night loathing himself for dragging Fabian further down into this perversion?
Gideon knew things weren’t looking well for him, these days. Not counting the fact that he apparently died soon, in the real world, because that was actually more of a blessing than anything else. No. It was the way he couldn’t quite silence the wicked little voice in the back of his head, telling him it’d be easier to just … give up. That this was a losing battle. That sooner or later either the job would destroy him or he would use the job to destroy everyone he loved. The drinking, he knew, was just the first step toward a point he wasn’t sure he could come back from. And he couldn’t help but wonder if this -- this thing with Fabian -- if it wasn’t simply the next stage of his mental and moral decomposition.
It was down to him to put an end to it. So here he was, on Fay’s front steps again. Sober, for once. Gideon hesitated just a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath -- and then knocked.
It felt like an extra sense, the way his hearing seemed to hone just moments before the knock sounded at the door. And Fabian was sure it was Gideon. Maybe he should get up. Maybe he should have just been naked and saved them both a lot of time and talking. Right. Appearances. Plus, it wasn’t as though Fabian was willing to bet the house on the fact that it wasn’t Molly.
“It’s open!” he called from the couch. His feet were kicked up, crossed at the ankles, on the far end of the coffee table. He took another drink from the bottle of strawberry lemonade that claimed to be Italian in origin. Really, Fabian was making his way through every carbonated beverage the could find at the shop. All in all, this stuff wasn’t bad.
The best practice, he thought, would be to keep things casual for as long as possible. It wasn’t as though he really wanted his relationship with Gideon to change. He didn’t exactly want things to be different-- he just wanted things to be more. Less of the way things had always been in the past seemed like a loss. So. Best to just behave for a little while. Long enough for Gideon to get whatever he thought he needed to say out of his system, anyway.
Gideon let himself in, pushing the door closed behind him and for good measure -- just in case Lestrange decided to return -- turned the lock. He didn’t want to look at Fabian. Didn’t want to think about how casual Fay could be about this whole thing. Fabian had yet to alter from the same laid back, cool attitude they had mutually adopted around age fifteen when trying to pick up girls (or blokes, in Fay’s case). But Gideon’s ability to stay calm had been thrown wildly off-balance.
And -- yeah. When he looked up, there Fay was, lounging around on the sofa with his feet kicked up and some sort of pink fizzy drink in hand. Bloody hell. There was no way Gideon was getting out of this with his principles intact.
“Hey,” he said, pulling off his jacket and tossing it over the back of one of Fabian’s chairs. He was silent for a moment, before his mouth decided to put words to what he’d been thinking. “I don’t understand how you can be so damn relaxed. You know why I’m here.” For once, Gideon couldn’t quite regret what he was saying under the damn honesty spell. It was true. And he didn’t like the way Fabian could just be so fucking confident in his ability to talk Gideon out of ending this. He shouldn’t be.
Fabian just smiled out his greeting. Of course he knew why Gideon was there. The intent, however, didn’t change one simple fact: “I’m relaxed because you’re here. And I’m more myself when I’m with you than when we’re apart.”
For a moment there, he wanted to let his eyes just pour over Gideon, pretty sure that Gideon’s body would tense faintly, would set him on edge just a little. But that wasn’t so much what he wanted, not really, so he held Gideon’s gaze instead, taking another drink before setting aside the bottle. The tension was the same, the way it hung in the air when someone felt like they were at the cusp of something, but it was different entirely-- completely new, because this was Gideon. He didn’t want to discount the struggle it was for Gideon, but he was clearly worrying enough for the both of them.
“And you’re here because you want to talk. I reckon I’ve got a pretty good idea what you’re going to say, but it only seems fair to let you say it,” he said simply. And he didn’t exactly want to add, “Even if I’m pretty likely to disagree,” but he couldn’t quite help himself.
“Yeah,” Gideon said, and his voice came out a little rougher than he’d intended it to be. “Yeah, I do want to talk. And please don’t try to talk me out of this, Fay, because once you start trying to convince me otherwise I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold my ground.”
He stepped forward, toward where Fabian sat on the couch. He considered sitting down next to him but decided against it. It was probably a bad idea to be too physically close to Fabian right at this moment. Besides, if he looked too at-ease it would undermine the seriousness of what he needed to say. No. Best to remain standing.
“Look, Fay ….” Gideon had to take in another slow, deep breath, trying to calm the stutter of his heart. “Look, I know you’re in love with me. And I know I said that I … wanted you. I do want you. I mean. But this -- what happened, the other day …. It can’t happen again.” He could do this. He could do this. “I know you don’t agree with conventional morality or whatever and that’s fine, I wouldn’t have it any other way -- and I mean, hell, you know I’ve never been one to give a damn about the rules. But this isn’t like some school prank, Fabian.” Even though Gideon had likened it to one himself not too long ago. “This is real life, and what we do has real consequences. And not just for us -- can you imagine what it would be like, for Molly, or for any of our other friends and family here if we were to get caught?”
He needed a drink. He needed to stop talking, right now, and just turn around and leave and get his sorry arse to a pub. Where he could clear his head. Or muddle it further. He wasn’t sure which one would help more at this point. “It might feel great to just say fuck everyone else, fuck their petty standards of decency, but just because something feels good doesn’t make it right. And I think, deep down, you know that, Fay.” He couldn’t say anymore. He knew there was more to say, more words to force out into the open, but Gideon simply could not make his mouth work anymore.
It hadn’t escaped Fabian’s notice, that the phrasing tended to be you’re in love with me, which he was, and I want you, which Gideon did. Which wasn’t quite I’m in love with you, too. Fabian couldn’t even be surprised that disparity didn’t really bother him. When he’d never really thought that Gideon would be reciprocating any of this, he hadn’t really had any time to build up expectations. Gideon did love him, of course. And he wanted him. Two monumental blessings, all things considered.
“No, it doesn’t,” Fabian said, with only a little resistance. When he spoke again, it was with a measured sort of patience. “What makes this right is that it’s you and me. Just because something makes you feel guilty at first doesn’t make it bad-- do you have any idea how many guys who go for other blokes start out feeling guilty as fuck? Popular consensus isn’t how you figure out if something holds up. Get a room full of Death Eaters, and they’ll all vote ‘kill the mudbloods.’”
He pulled up his knees, so that the soles of his feet balanced against the edge of the table. His head tipped back atop the back of the couch and the focus of his gaze softened a bit. Maybe he did feel a little badly about having fetishised Gideon’s guilt a bit the last time; it wasn’t really funny, the idea that this was hard for him. Fabian, however, wasn’t about to let himself get sucked into that line of reasoning, that this was too difficult, or that maybe everything would blow up in their faces. They’d had things blow in their faces before. Literally.
“And yeah, I’d hate it if Molly found out. Not because it’s bad, or dirty, or because it makes us bad - or dirty - but because she wouldn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have a match, someone who’s made for you because they’re part of you. We learned the word ‘we’ months before we even figured out that ‘I’ was something that applied to us.” And sure, it wasn’t like Fabian actually remembered that, but their parents had thought it was funny, so it was a story that had gotten repeated often enough. That was how so many other people seemed to see it, as something funny, something cute and quirky and nothing more. “How could anybody who isn’t us understand?”
Gideon shifted uncomfortably, dropping his gaze away from Fabian, desperate to look just about anywhere else. “I thought I said I didn’t want you to try to talk me out of this,” he said, trying not to let too much bitterness creep into his tone. But it just -- it wasn’t fair of Fabian to talk like that, when so much of Gideon wanted nothing more than to believe him. And he knew that part of him could twist logic and principle into all sorts of contortions in order to believe what Fabian said was true.
And Fabian seemed to genuinely believe that there was nothing wrong with what they had done, or with what Fabian wanted them to do. No, not seemed. He did genuinely believe it, or else he would not be able to say as much. “And this isn’t like being gay,” he added. “It’s not like it’s a … a common problem, is it, wanting to be with a sibling? And yeah, my guilt might go away eventually, but I’m not so sure that it should.”
Fabian managed to arch a brow before he said, “If I was actively trying to talk you out of, or into anything, believe me, I’d be saying very different things. I’d be talking a lot about things you wish you didn’t want, things I would give you at the drop of a hat. Or your pants. But I’m not.”
And, strictly speaking, he wasn’t trying to prevent Gideon from taking his stand. It was the only way to move on to better, more interesting things, was to let him say whatever he had bottled up inside his head. Which, come to think of it, would have been true even if they weren’t obligated to be honest.
“You need to talk. I want you to talk. But I’m not going to act like I agree. It’s not like I can lie. And it’s not like I want to pretend that a concern for what’s common and a fear of getting caught have ever been viable excuses in the Prewett Playbook.” And even though his tone was still a bit light, he gave a small sigh. “It would be different, if we felt differently, if you didn’t like it just as much as I did. I mean, I’ve had a lot of sex, and I’ve never gotten off like I did with you. Have you?”
Gideon’s gaze snapped up to Fabian once more. He was not sure what he wanted to comment on first -- that for someone who wasn’t going to talk about sex, Fabian was talking about an awful lot of sex -- or that some part of him found it highly suspicious that Fabian wanted Gideon to list out all the reasons they shouldn’t be together -- or the fact that he couldn’t help but agree with Fabian on one point. Being afraid of getting caught was not the Prewett Way. Being common sure as hell was not the Prewett Way.
“No,” he said, answering Fabian’s question because he had to rather than because he had any particular desire to confirm Fabian’s expectations. It occurred to him again, the same way it had occurred to him the last week, that he ought to leave. This was going nowhere good at a speed Gideon was not at all comfortable with.
He took a step toward the sofa almost on impulse and then stopped, thrusting his hands in his pockets as if that would keep them from reaching for Fabian. “I’m a little worried that no matter what I say, I’m always just going to end up wanting to grab you and snog you despite all of it. I’m the worst sort of hypocrite.”
Fabian wanted Gideon to be sitting next to him, a sentiment that was halfway to his mouth before it was rendered irrelevant by the fact that he’d stood up. “I just want to be closer to you-- in a tame sort of way,” he hurriedly added, lest Gid get the wrong idea entirely.
There was something perfectly natural for Gideon to be sensitive about proximity and contact when so much of this was new. Or at least, it was different. And part of Gideon’s discomfort, Fabian was sure, had to do with the fact that Gideon was maybe fixating a bit. Sure, Fabian was a bit fixated on Gideon most of the time, but he’d had years to develop a natural balance. Not to mention, he’d gotten to do it at home, and at school, where they’d been together all of the time. It hadn’t been like this, where they could be painfully aware of the hours they spent apart.
“You’re not a hypocrite,” he said, his voice a bit softer, taking a step closer, though not so close as to invade Gideon’s space. Just enough, he hoped, to spark a bit of the naturally occurring magnetism that existed between them. “But you do want to grab me and snog me. I can’t talk you into that sort of thing. I think you’re just worried that you’re not going to be able to stop yourself. Hell, it worries me a little, but that’s all the more reason: if you sit around denying yourself what you want, what you know you have... it’s not going to last. What happens if you snap? A little regulated indulgence goes a long way to keeping things in check when they need to be.”
Gideon could feel his breaths going shallow as Fabian moved closer, adrenaline snapping up his spine, that same fight-or-flight response he recognised from every single time he’d gone wand to wand against a Death Eater. He thought he could identify every individual strand of Fabian’s hair, every fleck of gold in his eyes. Every sense felt on edge, and trying to ignore them only made it worse.
“That’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard,” Gideon said. But the words were scarcely out of his mouth before he was closing the distance between them -- goddamn it, some part of him thought to swear -- and sliding his fingers into Fabian’s hair and pressing their lips together. Fabian tasted like lemons and something else that was a little sweet. His other hand had found its way to Fabian’s waist as if on instinct, Gideon only just resisting the urge to grip him a little too tight, pull him a little too close.
Because -- because, fuck it. Because he wanted to, and because he missed doing whatever the hell it was he wanted, and because Fabian was right. If there was a reason not to do this, it sure as fuck shouldn’t be because he was afraid.
It actually caught Fabian by surprise, how quickly Gideon reached for him. Further proof, he thought, that there wasn’t much point in fighting this. Some fights were worth it, and this one wasn’t. Gideon would come around to the idea, and Fabian was perfectly content to be patient. Then again, it was one thing to laud patience when he didn’t really have to exercise. Actually, that was the best sort of patience, the completely unnecessary kind.
Slipping an arm under Gideon’s, to press one hand between Gid’s shoulders, Fabian couldn’t help the way his chest sort of inflated. It was dizzying, the feel of Gideon’s mouth. It was perfect. And he didn’t understand how Gideon could even entertain the notion that they hadn’t been made for this. His lips parted, and his tongue made to part Gideon’s as he slipped his other hand into Gideon’s hair. But he didn’t let himself go off the deep end. He didn’t want Gideon to think that every single time they started touching each other it was going to wind up with someone pressed up against a wall. Or counter. Whatever.
Gideon flattened his hand against the back of Fabian’s head; it was the only way he could keep himself from digging his nails into Fabian’s scalp. Moments like these, Gideon could tell what Fabian meant when he said they were made for each other. They were one organism that had by some biological error been split into two parts. A desire for the closest thing to reunion that was physically possible was only to be expected. Right?
He took a small step forward, and then another, gently guiding Fabian back toward the couch and sitting down slowly enough that he could tug Fay along with him without having to part their lips. For one wild moment the image popped into his head of Moody Apparating into the middle of the living room, demanding they show up for duty only to find them -- but obviously that wasn’t going to happen. That was a different world, now.
So Gideon let his tongue brush against Fabian’s and smoothed the hand that had been on Fay’s waist down along his thigh. “Strawberry,” he murmured after a moment, the word muffled against Fabian’s lips. “The sweet taste. It’s strawberry.”
Fabian went easily with Gideon’s lead, settling one leg along the back of the couch so that he could sit practically in Gid’s lap. It was like discovering kissing all over again. Oh, he’d kissed girls before he’d kissed boys, thanks to Gyrffindor rounds of Dare or Ultra Dare, and this was kind of like kissing Arthur from Hufflepuff all over again, only better. It was amazing in a way that made everything he’d done before seem pale and feeble. None of it had been this. Everything else-- everything else just felt like practice, like a warm up.
“Yeah,” Fabian mumbled, his head nodding just a little, though not enough to dislodge Gideon’s mouth. “Italian stuff. Got it from the shop.” Even if he only barely understood why they were talking. Right. Honesty. “I love the way you taste,” he said, the words stretched over something of a groan before he set to kissing Gideon in earnest once more. His hands, he let explore Gideon’s neck and shoulders, his sides and the way Gideon’s shirt carried the warmth of his body in a way that seemed to just make Fabian feel happy for some reason.
Gideon half-laughed against Fabian’s lips, the sound a little breathless, a little too high-pitched. Fabian loved the way he tasted. Fabian loved the way he tasted. It was stupid, trivial, a completely minor detail, but somehow it still managed to send a sharp little thrill up his spine. “I have … I have no idea how I taste,” he muttered. “Like. Like beer, I imagine. Beer and -- and spit.” Gideon’s fingers caressed the rise and fall of Fabian’s cheekbone. He couldn’t see how beer and spit would taste all that great, but Fay seemed to like it, so. So that was all right, then.
He wasn’t sure when (or if) he would ever regain the complete ability to speak in coherent, functional sentences in Fabian’s presence. Definitely not anytime soon, if Fay planned on kissing him like this quite a lot. It was like being drunk, the way the press of Fabian’s lips could send his brain spinning dizzily off into uncharted grey territory. It was like trying to breathe underwater. Euphoric despite the innate wrongness of it all. Despite the fact you knew this wasn’t going to, could not possibly, end well.
It was, Fabian knew, a very hand segue into a far more lascivious conversation. But that wasn’t really the aim. Okay, it was partly the aim-- but not the immediate aim. And it wasn’t even-- okay, maybe Gideon tasted a little like beer, but it was different than that.
“Something like that,” he said. “And it’s just...” Maybe the words didn’t exist, no matter how honest he had to be. Or wanted to be. “You.”
And this, this he liked. Sure, he was half hard already, but part of him really didn’t want to change anything about this particular moment. A greedy thing, he most certainly was. He wanted all shades of this, every aspect of affection. And he was hoping that maybe, if he could stretch out this part, that wanting part, where Gideon seemed okay with what they both wanted even when they weren’t both careening toward orgasm, that Gideon could see that the world was hardly about to implode over the simple fact that it was absolutely amazing when they were both careening toward orgasm. Together.
Smiling a loose kiss against Gideon’s cheek, he said, “Though I’ve got more of my frou frou drink, if you’d rather taste like lemonade and strawberries.”
“At least you willingly admit it’s girly,” Gideon said, a brow lifting automatically. “That’s a step for you, isn’t it?” He tilted his head enough to let his lips catch the tip of Fabian’s nose, a hand falling to rest on one of Fabian’s legs, sprawled across his lap. After a brief moment’s hesitation, he smoothed his hand upward, along Fay’s thigh and toward his hip, before slipping down over his knee and toward his shin again.
This … this, he liked. This, he could deal with. It was almost like how it always was. Gid teasing Fay, Fabian taking it all perfectly in stride, bound to come back with some colourful rejoinder of his own. The only difference was the physical contact. Gideon’s hand on Fabian’s knee, Fabian’s legs in his lap, the way both of them were quietly ignoring their arousals.
“Girly and delicious,” Fabian argued, leaning back just a bit to pluck up the bottle once again. And then there they were, as if Gideon hadn’t come over with any ridiculous sort of Talk in mind. Almost as if it had never happened, only better, because it was another small step.
He stretched his other arm over the back of the sofa, settling into the ease of moments like this, in the lazy simplicity of Gideon’s hand along his leg. Because simple as it was, it wasn’t simple at all, and that was part of what made it fantastic. His fingers found Gideon’s shoulder, then moved along to idly toy with the edge of Gideon’s collar, skimming along fabric and then skin and then back to fabric again. He very strongly considered the merit of spending the whole day like this. It hadn’t been a catastrophe, the last time he’d put up a little notice at the.... manicure shop? Was that what he was supposed to call it? Whatever.
“Besides, I think I’m quite rugged and manly enough to make up for whatever sort of anything I want to drink,” he said, letting a smirk drag up before he took another drink.
He nearly offered the bottle out to Gideon, but really, if Gid had wanted some, he’d just have taken it. So he’d just keep his girly drink to himself, using it to stopper his mouth from releasing any number of other comments about what he was rugged and manly enough for. At least for today, anyway.