InsaneJournal

There were benefits about working at a pub. Unlimited access to alcohol was certainly high on the the list. Not that Bilius couldn't afford his own (and he did always put money in the till for what he drank). He was glad for the need (opportunity?) to go back to work on Monday. The farm felt a bit emptier without Hannah about (despite the ever growing menagerie) and he knew there was only so long he could stake out unused corners of the farm to dwell on his thoughts. Of course, he didn't want to dwell on them, which was the rationale behind nursing a bottle of Ogden's at the Hog's Head on Monday night. Monday's were slow. A few regulars, some black market trades, but in general, no one much to interrupt the numbing of his thoughts with mediocre whiskey. (There was no point in wasting the good stuff on a night like this. The good stuff was for savoring.)

He came home a bit later than normal, taking his time cleaning up the pub before creeping into the cottage, taking his shoes and coat off near the door so as not to disturb any of the residents. The jumper was shed over the arm of the sofa and quickly claimed by a feline as a pillow and there was just trousers and shirt by the time he made it to the bedroom. Changing into a t-shirt for sleeping (over the unnecessary bandages on his chest), he climbed into the bed, nudging a sheepdog out of the way as he curled up next to Gideon and pressed a kiss to an exposed shoulder before closing his eyes and settling down to sleep.

He’d never told Bilius, but Gideon always woke up when the other man came home, no matter how quiet he was. Too many years of having to be alert at a moment’s notice meant light naps at best, with only the deepest rest emerging from genuine, bone-deep exhaustion. At least the silver lining often meant he could fall asleep just as swiftly, as if his body knew to grab rest where and when it could.

Sometimes, he’d merely drowsily roll over and slip an arm around Bilius waist, curl up around him and do little else to disturb the long night’s peacefulness. Sometimes, those smouldering embers would flare up in desire, his hand would slip lower. In the last week, with Hannah kipped out on the sofa, it was more of the former than latter.

Tonight, the heavy stringent aroma of liquor made itself known long before the mattress dipped beneath Bilius weight. After a terminally long weekend filled with events both uncomfortable and upsetting, the way Bilius had retreated into quiet solitude after, this now did not bode well. When Gideon turned to face Bilius, his eyes were wide open, accustomed to the dark and able to make out the edges and angles of his face.

Bilius opened his eyes when Gideon shifted, giving his lover a fond smile. "Go back to sleep," he whispered, leaning in to brush his lips against Gideon's before closing his eyes again and settling in for the night, dislodging a cat at the foot of the bed. "It's too early for you to be up for the day."

The scent now was even stronger; he could still taste it stinging his lips. “What’s wrong?” he asked instead, because while it had been a question lingering on the edge of his lips all weekend, it was only here now in the dark, comforting cocoon of their bed that he found the courage to ask it.

"Nothing's wrong," Bilius huffed, pressing another kiss, this time to Gideon's jawline before trailing kisses down his neck. "Slow night but people didn't want to leave. You know how it goes." Another kiss as a hand slid under the covers to skirt over Gideon's side. "It's late, love. Sleep..."

“It’s Monday,” he said, still unmoved by the hot press of lips, the warm touches in the dark (though they were sparks of temptation -- still). “Bit early in the week to change up cologne, isn’t it?”

Bilius groaned in frustration, hand skating over Gideon's hip, fingernails grazing the warm flesh as he sucked at a spot on Gideon's neck. "Like I said," he mumbled. "Slow night.."

“You’re…” his breath caught, sensation skirted over the surface of his skin, down his spine like a current. It would have been so easy to let it go then, just as he had so many times before, sink into that sensation and let it consume him, bow and buckle against its insistence. His hand had already slid over Bilius’s hip, nearly of its own accord, muscle memory. “You’ve been quiet. You’re never quiet. Even when you don’t say anything. Your very existence is loud, demanding and frenetic. So when you’re quiet, something is wrong, and something has been wrong for awhile. You’ve been quiet in all the moments you didn’t think I noticed.”

Too. Many. Words. "Apparently we're trading places since Gideon 'Silent Brooding' Prewett is now talking too much." A nip of teeth on Gideon's collarbone and a leg sliding between his. "There are better things for your mouth to be doing."

His ankle slid beneath Bilius’s. Greater strength, frame and muscle mass was utilised to suddenly roll Bilius onto his back, hands trapped now within his own above his head in one smooth, efficient flow of movement. Pinned. He stared down at Bilius, enjoying, for a moment, the dominance of it, of his smaller body beneath his, and the imprint of memory of all the things done until it. And for a moment, he allowed himself to lean down and capture Bilius’s lips in a hard kiss, savoured the flames it stoked before pulling away. “You’re avoiding this.”

Bilius' body responded to Gideon, arching under him and smiling at the change in position, legs spreading as much as they could in invitation. At the accusation, he turned away, trying to pull his hands out from Gideon's grasp. "Gideon. I am tired. And horny. And not in the mood for whatever you're on about."

After a beat longer of stillness, of being as immovable as stone, Gideon released Bilius's wrists and rolled off of him. "Alright," he said, looking up to the ceiling as if a cooling balm could be sought there. Eventually, he rolled back onto his side, away from Bilius.

Bilius sighed. Well, the night had clearly gone from bad to worse. Rolling out of bed, Bilius wrapped his dressing gown around himself and headed for the living room, pulling a bottle of whiskey out from the cabinet. Sinking down on the sofa, he ran a hand over his hair and took a swig from the bottle.

At first, he did strive to return to sleep -- it wasn’t as if the things Bilius had said weren’t true, he’d be up in a few hours yet, a natural alarm clock innately cultivated after years of reinforcement -- but all the sounds floated back to him, the opening of the cupboard, the hollow pop of a cork being pulled out, the splash of liquid against the sides of the bottle. Gideon took in a breath, held it, and then released it slowly before sitting up and pushing away the covers. Clothing was found in the dark and put on. His feet padded across the wooden floorboards, instinctively avoiding all the places where they creaked. Animals rose their heads, ears alert, as he passed.

He had a chair, the one by the fireplace, the one where he sat and read, or sometimes sat and drank when he had been alone. He sat there now, across the small room, across from Bilius. A cat jumped up into his lap and wound itself into a ball. His palm came to rest upon its glossy back. “I was in the bloody closet for over forty-five years. I’m the last person who will drag out someone’s secrets by force.”

"Oh, but confronting them about it in bed after a long day of work is perfectly fine?!" Bilius snapped tiredly, taking another swing and scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm not trying to be keeping secrets from you, love. It's just, I've just a lot on my mind I'd rather not deal with. Whiskey helps me not deal with it."

“Maybe it’s time you better had, considering.” Not dealing did not appear to be a feat that yielded successful results. Gideon sighed. He loved Bilius, but he could not say he was overly fond of times like these. He stood and displaced the feline onto his vacated chair, moving to to the kitchen to fetch a glass and fill it with water, then setting it down on the side table next to Bilius.

"And maybe you ought to go back to bed." It came out harsher than intended, but Bilius was not in the mood. There was too much in his head and Gideon was too bloody nice. He much preferred to deal with this on his own. There was a heavy sigh as he glared contemptuously at the glass of water. "Things are fine, Gideon. If you want to talk, we can talk tomorrow."

The corners of his mouth tightened, turned up in a slight, mirthless smile. “Right.” His gaze shuttered and he left the glass on the table, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before shrugging on his jacket and then sitting down near the door to put on his boots.

"That. Is not. Bed." Bilius said, looking over at Gideon. "For fucks sake, Gideon, it's too early to start the damned chores."

He took another drink and stretched out on the sofa, a bare leg propped up on the back of the sofa. "Besides, you said you didn't want to hear about Order stuff."

“It’s not as if I’ll be getting back to sleep now,” Gideon said, continuing to tie his laces, finishing one boot and then moving on to the other. “And I said, I didn’t want to hear details about what the Order was doing, or not doing, as it were. Is that what all of this is about?”

"Course not, not directly anyway. There's nothing going on there at the moment anyway," Bilius said, turning the bottle in his hands. "It's..." The words stuck in his throat. Even now, even with the Irish courage, he still couldn't form the words. "Do you ever think about what might have been? If things had been different?"

Gideon paused, finally straightening and giving Bilius a quizzical look. “That’s a broad set of what-ifs. What things?”

"Everything. If we were n-" He bit back the word normal. "-straight. If we'd gotten together earlier. If you hadn't gone to Azkaban. If my parents were still alive. If the world was different. If-" A lump in his throat was concealed by a swig of whiskey. "You know. All the various what-ifs. Just been swirling around in my head the past few days."

After a long moment of consideration, Gideon finally said, “Sometimes. Not as often anymore. It’s not a particularly rewarding activity.” Part of the process he liked to term his recovery had been learning to let things go, to accept what was, though the process was not, he swiftly found out, a journey towards an achievable goal, but a daily, lifelong battle. And such was another, he dreaded to ask, because he feared the answer. “Are you unhappy?”

"Hence the whiskey," Bilius said, raising the bottle. He knew the questions were pointless, that they would do nothing but eat away at him. The question took him by surprise. "Unhappy? Godric, no… just… thoughtful. Maudlin probably. In a bit of a funk, perhaps."

A long pause. "Worried that our honeymoon paradise is going to come to an end, maybe."

He braced his elbows on his legs and leaned forward. Still one boot remained untied, its laces now the victims of curious, playful cats. “Do you think we moved too fast?”

"What?" Bilius asked, turning to look at Gideon. "No. I think the world is fucked up. I think Lady Noir is an idiot who needs to be stopped. I think Fabian is damned lucky he escaped practically unscathed the other night. I think Hannah's father is an idiot. I think it's stupid that I was scared of your parents. I think I haven't written anything worthwhile in years. I don't know what to think about being in the Order - but I know very well how you feel about it. I hate that it upsets you that the scars upset me. I think our lives are complicated and I don't know how to make this work - you, me, Hannah, Madoc, your parents - but I wouldn't trade it for the world. But no, I don't think we moved too fast."

“I wish there was something I knew or could say that would...fix those things. I wish it were that easy.” He could, at least make this decision -- sitting up, toeing off the unlaced boot, struggling a bit more with the other, but managing to eventually slip it off too. Jacket, then, left on the chair as he move to the sofa, pried Bilius’s legs up, sat down and then rested them atop his own as he sat back against the cushions. “I can only say….I hate those things too. And there are many things in this world that terrify me, the biggest being this, us.”

"There's nothing to be scared of, love. We've survived your parents, the appearance of your son, Hannah staying here for a weak, Aurors interrogating you, a Death Eater attack… I doubt there's anything we can't face. Fucking invincible, we are." The fact that Bilius still didn't take the shirt or bandages off was another story. Or that he'd spent most of the night at the pub drinking and brooding. That was irrelevant.

“Of course. Right,” he said softly, and if his voice did not hold in it that invincible conviction, there was a fondness nonetheless. “Will you stop with that and come to bed then?”

"As I recall, I was in bed until someone wanted to know why I was so quiet," Bilius said, nudging Gideon with his foot. But the incessant circle of doubt was back now, swirling in his head and Bilius feared it would take another bit of whiskey before he could quiet his mind down enough to sleep.

“Well, now that I know, we can return to it and carry on,” Gideon said smartly, removing Bilius’s legs from his lap to stand, and if Bilius were thinking about that last sip, he’d have to go without as Gideon plucked the bottle from his hand and continued on to the kitchen to re-cork it and stow it away. “Drink that water, then come on.”

"Oy! I was drinking that!" Bilius exclaimed as the whiskey disappeared from his hand. They'd only skimmed the surface but it was enough to satisfy, apparently. Bilius took a sip of the water before carrying it to the bedroom. Setting the glass on the nightstand, he undid the dressing gown, a hand sliding under the t-shirt he wore to check that the bandages were still in place. "And here I thought you'd be making me talk about why I keep the scars bandaged and how I'm jealous of what you have and all the other rubbish I've been brooding on. Good to know a little goes a long way with you." There was a voice telling him those words weren't meant to be said aloud, but who listened to voices anyway?

As Gideon placed the bottle back in the cupboard, his fingers briefly tightened around its neck, and with conscious effort, he released it, taking care to shut the door carefully before moving towards the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why you keep your scars covered, but it does honestly baffle me that there’s something I have that could possibly inspire anyone’s jealousy, because I have known near and total loss of everything I’ve held dear, so...yes, now? A little does go a long way, and just as gratefully too.”

The flask Bilius kept in his nightstand was already unscrewed and tipped back by the time Gideon returned from the kitchen. (It was there for medicinal purposes of course - to help him sleep.) "The bandages are protection, you see. More than a shirt. I can't get to the scars through the bandages... But it upsets you. You get that frown on your face like you're trying not to be upset but you are."

He chuckled before moving on to the next topic. "But you have parents and a child, love. I know they're not perfect, but they're things I'll never have. No babies. No Septimus Weasley - not that I would name a child that - no freckled spawn of my own, no parents to introduce you to. None of it."

Gideon swallowed and looked away, there was that distinctive whorl of wood in the floorboard, there were bitter words and slurred edges. He felt hot, then cold, then simply weighted with pressure. “...I’m sorry,” he whispered, “you do not get to have those things. If I could reverse our fortunes to give you everything you ever wanted, I would, if it were in my power to do that. I’m sorry I’m upset by the scars. It’s not directed towards you, and it never was.” He clenched his jaw, blinked back a hot spring of moisture, and his gaze hardened. “But you should probably stop drinking now.”

Another few gulps from the flask. "See? And now you're upset. I've gone and upset you. This is why I didn't say anything. Because it would pass. I'd get over it eventually and there's no point in both of us being upset." Some of Gideon's words filtered through the haze. "Don't apologise. It's not your fault. None of it is your fault. That's the other thing. You're too damn nice. I'm not used to being around anyone when I'm in a mood and then poof, you're here and nice and loving and I certainly don't deserve it and it's just easier to do it alone sometimes. Not to face you when it looks like you're hurt. I don't want to hurt you and I don't want to upset you. I'm just... I'm a bit rough around the edges. Not the person you bring home to meet the parents. Not anymore. Maybe once I was but half the time I'm a maudlin has been writer masquerading as a tipsy hedonist."

“I love you. And I made a commitment to be with you, to accept you with all your virtues and flaws. Do you think me an idiot? That I don’t see you for who you are? That you’ll always be a bit strange and say and do inappropriate things that constantly shock me and my parents will never really like you. That you use your whiskey as a crutch. That you think yourself a coward for not being able to fight and for running away, but you’re a coward for not wanting to face the truth, one of them being you’re a remarkably ugly drunk right now. Do you think I’m some naive, ignorant, selfless boy who doesn’t understand that ugliness? Who isn’t just a little bit ugly himself, if you only knew…? Your burdens become my burdens -- that’s what love is.”

It was too much. Too honest. Too accurate. Bilius got to his feet, flask in hand and moved towards the door as quickly as he could in his inebriated state, attempting to push past Gideon. He couldn't deal with this right now. He just needed to get away. There was nothing to say in his defence, but if he was lucky, he could get away.

“Don’t -- don’t run away this time.” Hands laid upon Bilius’s shoulders to stop his unsteady progression, Gideon tried to turn him to face him. “Not like this. Please.”

"I can't-" Bilius protested. "I'm not-" He tried to pull away, stumbling slightly over his feet. "You're right… can't face it."

“You’re drunk. Where do you think you’re going to go?” As far as Gideon could see, Bilius didn’t even have his wand, to say nothing of the last time Bilius had wandered about completely pissed -- wand or no. His grip upon Bilius’s shoulders tightened. “At least...stay here until you sober up.” He swallowed. “And if it’s me -- I’ll go. I’ve work to do anyway.”

Away was the first word that died on his lips. His eyes tried to focus on Gideon's face, noting shadows and worry there. "Circe's tit. It's not you. It's never you. This is your home. I'll not be kicking you out just because I'm pissed." He stumbled back into the bedroom. Wand. Trousers. Those would be good things to get.

He was quiet for a measure, watching Bilius’s dubious progress, until he quietly said, “I thought it was our home.”

Bilius stilled, hand closing around his wand. He wasn't sure if he was too drunk or not drunk enough for this conversation. He swallowed hard and drained the rest of the flask before setting it down on the nightstand. "I didn't mean-" Or did he? He wasn't sure he knew anymore. He'd made himself at home here, certainly, but Gideon had been here for years. If Bilius left, the farm, Gideon, it would go back to normal, keep going as it had for all those years. Sure, his oversized, overfriendly dogs made their presence known and he'd bought a bloody pony for Hannah, but it still felt like Gideon's with touches of Bilius here and there. Out of place eccentricities. Maybe that's what he was. It'd certainly felt like it at the dinner. Gideon had tried so hard and Bilius could pretend, but maybe he'd never fit into Gideon's life. He sank down onto the bed, still trouser-less, and ran a hand over the sheets. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight.

"I love you."

It needed to be said. To be affirmed. Especially after Gideon's declaration. Godric, he was pissed but still too far away from passing out.

“Funny. Every time you say that, it gets less and less reassuring.” He still remained by the door, thought to move away from it, maybe try to move further into the room, if he could sit down next Bilius, could encourage the both of them to simply draw a line under the early morning and continue, always continue. But he was rooted to the spot, hands hanging uselessly by his sides, unable to grasp the tangible thing he was missing.

"And what should I say instead?" Bilius asked, exhaustion evident in his voice, unable to bring himself to look at Gideon just yet. "I stay quiet, you worry. I talk, you worry. I drink, you worry. I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to face this. I tried. After the incident, I tried to not drink as much. I know what I'm doing. I know how idiotic this is, but in some twisted way, it helps. Dulls the thoughts so I can forget about them for a bit. Hell, I didn't even drink at the bloody Order meeting. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I drink too much. I'm sorry I woke you up. I'm sorry…"

"You always wake me up. I like it. It let's me know you're okay," Gideon admitted, smiling sadly. "I believe you do love me, and I so very much love you -- but I'm not sure if I'm not doing you more harm than good right now. This place, my son, my parents." Me.

"Don't-" Bilius got to his feet and made his way towards Gideon, only stumbling once. His hands went to Gideon's face, thumb brushing over those sweet lips to silence them. "Don't say that. You are the best bloody thing that's happened to me in years. Never doubt that. Without you, I- I'd be lost. Or worse." Memories of the incident floated to the front of his mind and he shuddered. "I'm just not used to having someone in my life again at every turn. It's harder to hide from one's demons when there's someone by your side."

His hands covered Bilius’s, he turned to press a kiss into his fingers. “Then you need to stop hiding. Because this can’t...they don’t go away. They only get worse, if left alone. The next time you feel you have to -- just, talk to me.”

"Speaking from experience?" he quipped, resting his head on Gideon's shoulder and closing his eyes. His body felt clumsy, heavy as he leaned against the younger man. Probably the whiskey. "Case you missed the owl, I'm not much good at talking when it matters."

“So I’m beginning to learn.” Gideon drew his arms around him, one hand coming to rest upon the back of his neck, cheek pressed against his hair. “Will you come to bed now? Or do you still intend on walking out without your trousers?”

"I thought you liked me without my trousers," Bilius teased with a smirk, hands sliding under Gideon's shirt. "Bed sounds delightful. Will you stay? At least till I fall asleep?"

“I like you without trousers in our bed,” Gideon corrected, finding the impetus to carefully guide them further into the room, until the backs of Bilius’s knees touched the edge of the bed in question. “Yes, of course.”

Bilius scooted backwards onto the bed, tugging Gideon with him and letting out a strangled noise when Gideon tumbled on top of him. Setting the wand on the bedside table, Bilius wrapped himself around Gideon, not caring that the other man was already dressed. His hand slid under Gideon's shirt to find warm flesh. "We'll be okay…" he whispered. They had to be, because he didn't know how to live without this man anymore and he didn't want to.