Who: Torquil McTavish, Monte Cameron, & a SURPRISE! What: Flirting & a Fling When: 25 November Where: A pub, then Tor's flat Warnings: Fade to black for sexy times; walk of shame.
Tor was a fan of music and drinks. Two things that were often in abundance at pubs. Tonight was no different and he was at the pub to hear a friend of his from WADA. He was alone tonight, enjoying his pints as he listened to the rock band. He was dressed in jeans and a tshirt with a leather jacket over it. The set wrapped up and Torquil made his way to the bar for another pint. He was waiting for his glass when he spotted a familiar face. "Monte! Long time no see!" he said, throwing his arm around the younger back. "Let me buy you a drink."
Although the pub was a Muggle one, Monte had been sorely tempted to mutter a sound dampening charm over his own ears when he’d first arrived to the veritable roar of music and people shouting to make themselves heard. But, as the night had gone on, he found he didn’t much mind the steady, pressing thrum against his eardrums, wasn’t even all that annoyed that his throat was starting to hurt from all the yelling he’d done. The friends he’d come in with had disappeared into the dancing crowd, leaving him at the bar where he’d been nursing a pint for the better part of an hour now.
His brows shot up in surprise as Tor came into view, and he wondered for a moment if he was seeing things. A grin lit up his face, and he was glad of the warmth of the room for the first time, because it handily covered the sudden flush in his cheeks as the other man put his arm around his shoulders. “I’ll not say no to that. How are you? How’s the team?”
"Licking their wounds after the fall classic and trying to figure out what else Elsie's got up her sleeve. Not the same without you." Tor nodded thanks to the bartender when he got his pint and motioned for a drink for Monte. Of course, Portree had gone through so many changes in the last few weeks, Torquil wasn't always sure which way was up and dealing with three Macfusty's on the team was something else in and of itself.
He ran a hand over his hair, trying to bring the dark curls to some semblance of order. "What about you? How are things?"
Monte ducked his face a little in embarrassment. Tor was either being kind or vastly overestimating his worth to Portree. He tried- mostly successfully- not to stare at the path of Tor’s hand through his hair. “I’ve missed you lot too,” he admitted. “The Falcons are just as rough an’ tumble in practice as they are on the game pitch. I’m on first name basis with the team healer already.” He shot Tor a grin, clearly exaggerating, but honestly not by much, and then shrugged. “Other than that, I’m all right.”
He took his fresh pint in hand, and then nodded toward the stage. “Here for the band?”
"Aye. Went to WADA with the guitarist." Tor raised an eyebrow at Monte. "Oh? Do we need to send Florrie over to make a house call? Or should I check you over myself? Make sure they haven't damaged you too badly?"
There was no way to hide the sudden heat in his face, nor the widening of his eyes, or the sudden, convulsive way that Monte licked his lips. For a single, highly mortifying moment, his brain decided that words weren’t important in civilized discourse, but at least his mouth wasn’t hanging open stupidly. With a small jerk, he huffed out a small laugh and managed to shake his head. “I’m sure I’d call you first.”
Okay, wait. Had that actually come from his brain? Had those words actually bypassed his higher functions? He glanced down at the pint in his hand, and realized that maybe he’d had more to drink than he’d originally thought.
Tor couldn’t help but give a small smile at Monte’s reaction. Well, that was interesting. He’d wondered if Monte might be interested back when they were on Portree but Monte hadn’t made a move and while Tor and Luag weren’t exclusive, Tor wasn’t about to start shagging his way through the entire lineup. He moved a half step closer to Monte, crowding into his personal space.
“Well, you know, as Laddie I’m very good at kissing it and making it better.”
And now his mouth was doing that stupid thing where it closed and opened like a ruddy fish. Monte certainly felt like one, since his lungs were also doing that stupid thing where he wanted to breathe, but they wouldn’t draw in anything like air. It was a good thing that autonomic functions were a thing, because after a few seconds of chest-burning tightness, he managed to draw in a sharp breath that ended in a high, nervous laugh.
He reached up and lightly pushed on Tor’s shoulder, but didn’t take his hand away quite fast enough. Monte was pretty sure his blush was a permanent fixture. “Go on, then, keep having me on.”
Tor smirked, glancing 'round the pub. "I reckon if I'm going to start kissing you better it shouldn't be in the midst of a pub."
He moved closer, his hand brushing Monte's back. "I guarantee I'm not having you on."
“Are you-? You’re serious. Merlin’s beard, you’re serious.” Maybe it was his imagination, but Monte could swear he could feel the heat of Tor’s hand through the layers of clothing on his back. Something like a broken groan stuttered out of his throat, and he took in a sharp breath, eyes shutting tight.
When he opened them again, he seemed to have mastered himself again- if only a little. “Look, I-” He bit his lip. “It’s just… I’ve liked you for ages, okay? So, just…”
"Oi. Easy there… I'm not proposing anything.. This is well.. Just a bit of fun, yeah? If that's going to be a problem, well, I'm not trying to mess with you or make things worse for you.." Tor studied the younger man. He wasn't used to having lads or lasses fawning over him - that was more for the players. He certainly didn't want to leave a trail of broken hearts.
Yeah, that blush wasn’t going anywhere. “Never had…fun, ‘least not with a bloke,” he muttered, just before downing half his drink in one go. He set the glass on the bar, and then turned back to Tor. Feeling emboldened by the beer, Monte reached out and set his hand on the other man’s forearm. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
He leaned forward, putting his mouth close to Tor’s ear. “You said something about not staying here?”
Why did he always get the virgins? Although he did appreciate knowing going in. Tor chugged the last of his pint, not wanting it to go to waste before throwing some money down on the counter and leading Monte outside. "So, other than getting beat up by your new teammates, what else have you been up to?"
Now that they were out of the loud closeness of the pub, the chill night air hit him with the palliative effect of an ill-timed Pepperup potion. His stomach gave a traitorous little flip that had nothing to do with his company. The very last thing he needed to do was to lose the contents of his stomach in front of Tor, not when there was the imminent promise of snogging in his near future.
Monte blinked at the question, his mind trying to bring sense to the string of words, and then he brightened. “Oh! I found a flat in Falmouth. Gonna be moving in the first of next week. It’s been nice, so far. Bit warmer than Portree. What about you?”
"Still in my flat in Portree. Gwen's keeping me busy with lunchtimes with Laddie, trying to work on some new moves for upcoming games, the usual. Tor settled his hand on Monte's back. "So, still up for a bit of fun? I can side along you to my flat."
A shiver went through him that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold, and he turned a somewhat shy smile to the other man, but something snagged in his head, and instead of insistence that a side-along would be the very best idea, yes, thank you, Monte said, “Moves, yeah? I’ve always wondered- WADA- does it work like Hogwarts? Do you get an owl with an invitation, congratulating you on your imaginative talent? Or is it a bit like whatsit… the American school, er, Juilliard? You have to audition for it?”
He grinned over at Tor, lifting a shoulder. “I’d never have made it. I don’t have artistic bone in my body.” He raised his brow slightly. “Yet.”
His own boldness seemed to catch him off-guard, startling a roar of laughter out of him that echoed down the street.
"A bit of both. It's like auror or healer training after Hogwarts, but you have to audition - plenty of folks don't get in. But then after you get out, well, it's still up to you to find a job. Life's just one audition after another for me," Tor said with a bit of a smile. It was how he'd landed the mascot job after all - because he hadn't been able to get a part in a play. There hadn't been many plays during the war either. And well, it wasn't a bad job being a mascot.
"Is Juilliard or what's it muggle or magical? I don't know how they do things across the pond."
Tor smirked at the artistic bone comment and brushed his lips against Monte's ear. "We're going to have fun.." he said, before apparating them to his flat in Portree. It was a small studio flat - with slanted ceilings and a bed in one corner, but it was enough for him. Once in the flat, he slipped his fingers into Monte's belt loops and pulled him into a kiss. "So, what kind of fun did you have in mind?"
Monte could understand the feeling of constantly needing to be “on” all the time; it was a bit like Quidditch. “Always have to push yourself to be better, work harder, and even then you might not get it.” He ducked his face, and then glanced up at Tor. “Be mad to pass you over, though.”
He chuckled at a sudden memory. “It’s a muggle school. Isla would hex me for telling you, but she had a bit of a ballerina phase before she found out she was a witch. She researched all of the best schools and companies from all over. Juilliard was just one that stuck out to me.”
After the squeeze of the Apparition, it was something of a relief to his beleaguered stomach when it had passed, and he stood in Tor’s flat. He glanced around, taking it in with a smile. “Reminds me a bit of my new flat.” His face still felt warm from the combination of his explosive laughter and just the memory of the sensation of Tor’s lips against his skin. But then memory was suddenly reality, and he tried to will his brain to calm the hell down so he could just enjoy himself. If he melted a little, well, could anyone blame him?
He was still smiling when Tor leaned away. “This is a really good start.” He darted forward and stole another kiss. “What about you? I’m more than willing to put myself in your, er, knowledgeable hands.”
"My knowledgeable hands, eh? Well I hope I can live up to your fantasies, then?" Tor took Monte by the hand and tugged him towards the kitchenette. "Want a drink? Or would you rather skip right to the fun part?"
Something thrilled up his spine when Tor grabbed his hand. He considered another drink, but found that he really wanted his wits around him, wanted to remember every second of this without the haze of alcohol clouding his brain. Monte closed the distance between them, and freed his hand to push his fingers through Tor’s hair, and it was- finally- everything he’d imagined. He brushed his nose against the skin behind the other man’s ear, breathing deeply. “Fun. Now. Please?”
At some point the next morning, after quite a few instances of fun and now (and several pleases), there was a sudden knock on Tor’s door. Monte awoke at once, paused for just a second, and then hastily started trying to find his clothes. Without even waiting to see if Tor was awake, he vanished into the loo.
On the other side of the door, Ainsley was mentally kicking herself. What kind of witch just showed up at someone’s flat without owling first unless it was an emergency? Reconnecting with an old friend was not an emergency, but a sleepless night the evening before rendered any social niceties well and truly forgotten. “Tor?” she called through the door. “I’m so sorry to bother you, if you’re about, but it’s Ainsley. I brought muffins? Thought we might catch up.”
Tor groaned and patted the bed next to him, frowning when it was empty. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he padded to the door and opened it, smiling when he saw Ainsley and muffins. "I will never refuse you when you come bearing gifts."
Smiling sheepishly, Ainsley pushed a muffin basket toward him. She started to walk in when movement behind Tor caught her attention, and she saw a guy walk out of Tor’s loo. He looked vaguely disheveled, and seemed to be hunting for something.
“Accio shoe,” she heard him mutter, and watched a shoe spring from under the bed and into his waiting hand. He was looking anywhere but at the two of them, and Ainsley finally realized why he looked vaguely familiar. The lad cleared his throat, and then crossed the room, still clutching his shoe. He paused just in front of the door, and seemed to decide something. He flashed the two of them a wide grin, plucked a muffin from the basket, then squeezed past her. “Mornin’! Thanks for the muffin.”
A pop of Disapparition announced his departure, and Ainsley turned a bemused smile on Tor. “I’m pretty sure I just took his job.” She raised a brow at him, and her smile deepened. “Monte Cameron? I think I’m impressed.”