What Christmas? This?

The game would help him concentrate, he was sure. Although, Baldric wasn’t entirely convinced and ate a few more bits of cheese to help him – though, being that it was washed down with wine it was a half-futile matter entirely. Still, the game would help and he was determined that he was going to sober up. At least if he went to bed half-sober he’d perhaps be able to feel his head in the morning. He wasn’t particularly confident, though, and decided that in the event that he’d not feel his head – or remember what happened – he’d do something worthwhile.

“New ones aren’t so bad,” Baldric hiccupped, cutting a lump of cheese off of the bigger piece. He placed it on a bit of cracker and chucked it in his mouth before chewing, swallowing and playing out his part of the game.

“I am meant to grow up and play Quidditch. I’m on the Puddlemere United Youth Squad and I’m meant to be a very famous Chaser or Keeper or whatever and I’m meant to marry a spoilt little wife and spoil ‘er more and have lots of ugly kids. That’s the idea. That’s more than one thing but the point is… I don’t wanna. I want to study history at Edinburgh ..in the magic department.”

Baldric sighed and drank some more of his wine, realising that, indeed, that was exactly what he wanted to do. He hated Quidditch because of his father. He wanted something else, something better for himself. He didn’t want to be out of a job aged 35 because he couldn’t keep his bum on a broom. He wanted to be more than just an ephemeral celebrity. He wanted security, longevity – and a more sensible salary.

“Don’t want a spoilt wife either.” Baldric hiccupped again and set the wine away from him, reaching for a cigarette which he promptly lit. He shook his head firmly and looked at Bentley pointedly before gesturing wildly with his hands. “Don’t want any wife really. Not sure how I’m going to work being a dad into that with no wife but maybe I’ll get wizardry or something .. something… yeah.”

Nothing was making sense anymore.

Bentley shrugged at the reply to his statement of truth. It wasn't bad, no. He found that he actually rather loved his folks. Even if they weren't meant to be his originally.  It wasn't something he could ever not wonder about, his folks and what had happened to them. But he pushed the question away, as he always did, when the subject changed.

Without thinking, Ben raised the glass again after another slice of cheese. He would need to pour another, soon. Very soon, he decided as Baldric went on about what his father wanted. It wasn't that he didn't feel for the guy. It was just that he didn't want to have to think about fathers. But he could understand the pain that came with being expected to do things one didn't want to. Just that morning he'd been stuck in a lift with a snooty blonde who had questioned him until the point where he just sort of wanted to throttle her. Or attempt apparition.

“No wife?” Bentley asked, looking at Baldric out of the corner of his eye. “What is it you do want, then? Living alone isn't too completely horrible,” he mused, “but at the same time, one might want someone, even if it meant you wanted another man.”

What was he on about? Bentley barely heard himself speak. He had never had an issue with the idea of being interested in all sorts of people, nevermind just the one gender. It probably explained how cold he was to all of them. Equality for all.

That was it. He must be drunk, he decided. He had drank more than he realized, and faster than he meant to. Otherwise he wouldn't even be asking such things. His eyes felt a little heavy.

“Let's see.” Bentley had understood from Baldric's confessions that the man was more interested in stating the negatives in his life. Ben couldn't seem to think of anything other than the rubbish he had nearly shouted at the Ministry woman that morning. Only, he realized now that he had actually been quite serious when he'd first mentioned it. “Well, my job is to buy businesses, fix 'em up, and either sell or give them back. Make 'em work and all. Save people from debt and the like. Apparently this doesn't impress snobbish Ministry employees, though.”

His head lolled back so he could look up at the ceiling. It tilted to the side to look at the young Gryffindor once more. He was a little blurry. Bentley was probably headed in the wrong direction with his drinking. Too late now.

It was absurd: no, he was absurd. Baldric Wood was not coherent in the slightest measure. He couldn’t tell whether his loose tongue was caused by delayed shock after the fight that had seen him walk out or just, singularly, the alcohol.

Despite himself, though, he was feeling as though it was a good thing. He had never really been as freely opinionated. He’d never ever actually said what it was he’d always thought.

He’d never wanted to be a Quidditch player. He hadn’t wanted the life that his father hadn’t gotten for himself. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want for his father to live through him. He wanted his own life. He just didn’t know how to explain that.

“Yeah, maybe,” Baldric considered wistfully, stifling a yawn. “Dunno, though. Just wanna be me for now.”

Baldric arched a curious eyebrow at Bentley when the man spoke and he chuckled a little, his mind recalling his mother’s favourite movie.

“If I stay with you for a week will you pay me three thousand and let me play with your credit cards?” Baldric asked with a dogged grin. “You can even treat me like a prostitute if you like,” he added.

Growing up in as many as ten or twelve homes – Bentley had lost count after a while, when he couldn't find it in him to actually care a whit about who he was trapped with (that's what it was, really) – he had found himself accustomed to strange folk and strange things. One house in particular – and he remembered this specifically, because he had only ever spent time among wizards and witches – was a partly Muggle home. The children, Muggleborn, were friendly enough but equally strange in their activities. The mother, heaven help him but he couldn't recall her name, had been particularly obsessed with films.

Baldric's words caused a bit of a tickle in the back of his mind, suggesting that Ben knew what the Gryffindor was talking about. But after a moment, he attributed it to his drunkenness, and not some strange penchant for movies that he might have considered picking up from that woman. Either way, Baldric's words gave him pause. How much of a shit did it make him if he laughed or grinned at the suggestion? Probably a massive one, he decided. So he did neither.

“Have you really nowhere to go?” Ben asked instead. “I cannot give you credit cards. But I daresay my flat is big enough for two.”

What.

What? Where had that come from? Bentley set his glass down decisively. He refused any more drink. But how long would that last with this strange Gryffindor sitting there next to him? Well, of all the stupid things to do. Now he would be stuck to that unless the lad was too smashed to remember any of this. But then, would not the guilt get to him when he remembered what the younger man had no where to go and but a little money to keep himself up on?

Ben decided the decision could be made later, shaking his head. Right now he was too out of sorts and too easily distracted. He was just starting to notice how hot it seemed in the room. Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he let it fall over the back of the chair. Why on earth he decided not to change after work he couldn't recall. Perhaps it had been that he hadn't wanted anyone to talk to him. To understand his uptight nature. Too bad all of that had been chucked out the window.

When Bentley spoke, every inch of Baldric’s body seized up. He stared at the other man like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding oncoming car without anyone there to save him. His words had been stolen from him and his mind was sharply sober as he realised the ramifications of such an offer. He was very tempted – not least because then he wouldn’t have to deal with his father within the coming days. He would have to go home for Christmas, though. That was a non-negotiable thing – though he definitely hoped to be out at some point during the day and certainly Christmas Eve. His mother being ill meant that she couldn’t really influence his presence or lack thereof. That would all rest on how amiable Oliver was towards him. He was fairly confident he’d leave though.

Still, at Bentley’s offer he was frozen and confused. Did he really want to go? Going would mean having to dart back in to get some clothes, wouldn’t it? But he did have somewhere he could go: he could go to his best friend’s flat and sleep on the couch. Surely that counted as somewhere to go? But then, they were having Christmas with Sonia’s cousin. That wasn’t his place to intrude. So no, not really, he didn’t have anywhere to go apart from home. He couldn’t show his face there. He’d said some fairly irreparable things he wasn’t proud of. His father, if he ever spoke to him again, would never forgive him for it. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth, this he knew, but, still, it wouldn’t have brought to the ‘Cauldron. He wouldn’t have met Ben.

Though why meeting Ben was particularly important, Baldric still couldn’t work out in his mind. He was still drunk, shocked into half-sobriety or not he was still wasted.

“Maybe,” he chuckled, finally. “We’ll see if I remember this conversation this conversation in the morning, buddy.”

Baldric leaned forward and poured out some more wine into the glasses, coming to end of the bottle with a rather sorry look on his face. He set it back down and lifted his glass up, clinking it with Bendric’s before knocking it back, swallowing it in four large gulps. Then, Baldric slammed the glass down on the table and got up.

“Tell me something,” he inquired as he made his way over to the bed, tugging at the fraying hem of his jumper before pulling it over his head. “Are you still not an axe murderer because I need to be sure before I go to bed with you.” He tossed the jumper over to the pile he was steadily creating and dropped his hands to his hips, pulling tighter to him the thin t-shirt he’d been wearing underneath which was hopelessly see-through in the yellow candlelight.

“I do think it’s time to crash.” He added finally as a weary look crossed over his features.

Ben heard Baldric's response, but had trouble focusing on exactly what the Gryffindor was doing or saying. Until a clink brought his mind back to the fact that there was now more wine in his glass. Ben couldn't remember the last time he was so drunk. Possibly because he was so drunk. But either way, he never allowed himself to get even remotely close to this level of inebriation around other people. If he ever wanted to just drink, he would do it in his flat after work while reading or with dinner. He probably had never been drunk. Not really. But the point, Ben directed his thoughts with a good amount of effort, was that he always ended up back at his flat alone. And that, he decided, was a lot less interesting than sitting here drinking even with someone he didn't know.

He slammed back the drink, watching as Baldric stood next to the bed, talking.

“Not an axe murderer. Businessman.” He replied vaguely, pushing the chair back but hesitating to stand. Not only was he concerned about the possibility of having trouble walking, but he was fairly worried about where his train of thought was headed. The words 'go to bed with you' flew through his mind faster than any other thought he'd had all night. That was particularly distinctive, considering the amount of alcohol he had downed that night. And his new acquaintance or whatever he was had to start wearing better shirts. Or just not wear them at all.

Finally, at another prod from the younger man, Ben decided that though the night clearly wasn't going where he had expected, perhaps it was better than sitting about in his flat alone again. In a couple days he would be with his new folks, but right now, it was still the holidays, and he was still by himself. How pathetic that sounded.

“Alright, Rick,” Ben stood slowly in an attempt to keep his balance. He ignored the jacket that fell off of the chair, discarding his shirt entirely, as he was used to sleeping without one. A few steps and he had reached the foot of the bed, turned on his heel, and let himself sink down onto bed that wasn't quite as comfortable as the one at home but at least still a bed. “C'mon then.” He gestured to the space next to him, laying on his back and glancing over.

He stopped trying to make sense of what he was saying or thinking, instead pushing the pillow up against the headboard and leaning against it. It felt better than lying flat. He had a sudden urge to reach over and just pull Rick over and sit him down. The bloke looked like he was going to fall down where he stood. Ben passed a mental 'screw you' to propriety and did just that, tugging on Rick's arm until he was set on the bed properly. “You should probably try not to fall as-asleep while still standing.” He suggested belatedly, releasing Baldric's arm.

With an audible ‘oof!’ and the awkward flail of arms and legs, Baldric found himself down on the beside his new business man non-axe murderer bedfellow who, recalling himself suddenly, released Baldric without so much as a shilling. The Gryffindor frowned a little bit and opened his mouth to comment on what he perceived to be rudeness before reminding himself that dude law meant that touch was a little bit ambiguous and weird. It didn’t happen. Touch girls all you like – grope them if they let you – but not your fellow man. The soap incident is one that no one talks about, also. So he was rather silly for expecting Ben to linger.

“Rick…” Baldric drawled hopelessly as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Quidditch had done the boy a world of favours. Puberty was long over, happening all in a flash and sending him up to the dizzying six foot plus height he calmly endured. What Quidditch had done was sort out all of the bits and bobs that had been shifted and moved around by the old snap and break of bones and expulsion of endearing baby fat and fixed it all to lean muscle which suited him. It was gentle. He wasn’t built like a brick house like some of his friends on the Puddlemere Youth Team but those were the Beaters. He, bless his heart, could beat but not like them. They were pros – terrifying too.

“I like that,” Baldric affirmed with a smile as his hands fell to the belt of his jeans. It didn’t occur to him that he could stand up to take his trousers off and so with effort he wriggled out of the jeans and threw them to the floor with a huff – the socks following along with them until he was left in nothing but a pair of seasonable boxers – saucy reindeers, courtesy of Baird, decorating the front – and his St. Mungo’s identification tags on a chain around his neck just in case there was the off chance that he was hurt one day and ended up in hospital without a loved one around.

“Benji for you then,” Baldric endeared himself to the name immediately, a bright smile lighting up his features before he paused to consider his boxers. He decided to leave them. Sleeping naked with someone he didn’t know wasn’t one of his better plans. Sleeping with someone he didn’t know wasn’t a good idea at all. Hold on. He wasn’t going to sleep with Benji. Surely not. That was just bizarre. What a funny thought.

Baldric threw back the covers on his side of the bed and at once he was underneath, dropping his head on the pillows with an audible ‘ahhhh.’ He grinned brightly before reaching up to prod at Benji.

“Get under. You will freeze.” He frowned, adding with a smile, "I'll keep you warm."

Bentley didn't mind the nickname, although he was fairly sure that Rick had no idea what his name really was. But at this stage of drunk – and knowing how far gone Baldric was – he wasn't really going to feel bothered about complaining.

Ben had to actively keep himself from glancing over when Rick started dashing clothes onto the floor to get to where he felt suitably dressed for bed. Unfortunately – or not, depending on how one looked at it – Baldric had reached over to poke at Ben, drawing his attention regardless of his efforts to avert his eyes. All of that had gone out the window at the younger man's words. Ben nearly lifted an eyebrow, but instead decided that he was already this far – he didn't exactly have the ability to claim embarrassment at that point. He was sitting there, shirtless, next to someone who was even more undressed than himself, who also happened to be a particularly attractive male.

His mind was clearly heading in a strange and foreign direction, but he couldn't find it in him to be concerned. He got up for a moment to pull back the covers, trying not to be obvious about his watching Rick for a sign of any awkwardness. In his lack of attention to what he himself was doing, Ben practically fell on the bed. Damn, that'll be the alcohol. He found himself laying sideways across most of the bed, including the bit Rick was meant to take up. Hell..

Bentley lifted himself up with his hands, staring at Baldric as he hovered above him. “Sorry, I-” He frowned. They were too close, and he couldn't figure why he was so distracted. Blame the wine, he decided. “Sorry.” He finished, moving back towards his pillow.

All of the air in Baldric’s lungs withered and burst, splitting into nothingness as the proximity between himself and the man hovering above him shortened to a slither. Reflexively, Baldric’s tongue darted out and wetted his lips. His eyes roved over the face of the man before him and what little sputtering of air that was still lingering got caught somewhere between his mouth and his throat.

Bugger.

Caution was discarded on a passing breeze and Baldric moved after Bentley. The mattress beneath them squealed its protest but nothing within Baldric could bring him to care as he reached for Bentley, his hand curling around the back of the elder man’s head as he drew up before him.

“Rule three,” Baldric murmured, his eyes falling to Bentley’s mouth. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

Tugging at Bentley, Baldric sliced his lips against the other man’s. The air around them crackled with magic as the drunken, younger wizard lost whatever last deep-rooted control he had over his desires and he collapsed into the kiss he’d instigated so willingly.

Merlin’s beard, Baldric thought as he pulled away, his eyes flicking open. He licked his lips again, savouring the taste on his tongue that was unique to the other man and he extricated his fingers from where they had involuntarily knotted themselves in the hair at the nape of Bentley’s neck.

The clichéd ball was in the equally overused court that belonged to Bentley. If he didn’t respond they could roll over and go to sleep. In the morning it would be a bad dream. Then they could part company and it would’ve never happened. If Bentley did act though… Merlin, what was Baldric doing?

Rick was staring at him, and Ben almost regretted moving away.

Rule Three? What the f-

Ben couldn't think. He definitely regretted moving away. It suddenly felt like he hadn't touched anyone in ages. Like this made perfect sense. Neither were true, though he couldn't process that fact under the influences of both the alcohol and Baldric's nearness. By the time he could truly realize what had happened, the Gryffindor had pulled away.

Blood was rushing in his ears though the room was silent save their breathing. Baldric's lack of comment made it clear: this would be up to him. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Ben was suddenly very awake where he'd been content with the idea of simply sleeping until morning. The shock of it all combined with his discontent with losing contact made it impossible to think about sleep.

His mind was working impressively well for someone so surprised and drunk as he. This wasn't something he did. Or thought about. He had only ever been involved with women, though he could admit to himself that he had glanced across rooms or pubs and thought longer about another man than he perhaps should have. At least in the relative darkness of their room, he didn't have to consider those around him or whomever he was with that would think it strange. No, indeed, the person who was with him was the one who had technically started this. Unless you considered starting a conversation 'starting things', because then it was Bentley's fault.

It took a breath to run through the thoughts, as well as the pros and cons to their situation. On the one hand, Ben was entirely unsure what he was doing. But on the other, he really didn't care. Come morning, he probably wouldn't even remember. So why should he worry about it?

Before Baldric could settle back into his spot on the bed, Ben reached out and pulled him back over.

The best he could think of to say was, "I always finish what I start."

Then he decided to ignore the strange urge he'd had that evening to talk and just let himself go. It wasn't something he could usually do, but the mix of the lingering taste of red wine and that of Rick's lips was far too much. His hand strayed to the Gryffindor's back, side, and chest before moving to the back of Rick's neck to connect them more firmly. Most things in his life that day hadn't made any sense. Like talking to that blonde at the Ministry or his meeting at work lasting two hours. But in the moment, this of all things made perfect sense.