221B

Thank Merlin he hadn’t tried to apparate back the night before. Just getting back with the lingering remnants of his hangover seemed to cause issues. The idea of even attempting as much while drunk made Bentley want to groan. It would’ve been miserable. That wasn’t to say that he found himself regretting his meeting Rick or what had happened or having invited the Gryffindor to stay. Truthfully, he was sort of moving around in a bit of a vague blur. Yes, all of that had happened, but he also had trouble convincing himself it was true.

Stepping into his flat, he’d nearly forgotten that he only had a one-bedroom space and had failed to mention it. Raking a hand through his hair, Ben turned and held the door open for Baldric, choosing not to say anything about it until the time came when they needed to.

“Kitchen left, bathroom right.” He offered vaguely, letting the door shut on its own as he ambled into the main room and sank onto the couch. Without a plan of going to work, Bentley hadn’t exactly figured out what his day would entail. Clearly, it would have to include Baldric, but that idea didn’t really put him off.

“Do you need to pick up anything?” He asked after a bit of silence on his part. Somehow, just talking to Baldric wasn’t something Bentley knew how to do. They hadn’t really done that much, and when they had, both were at least a little drunk. “Now that you know where it is you could always just apparate back and forth.”

Deciding that appearing awkward was worse than just feeling it, Ben sprawled out over the couch, one leg bent so the foot touched the ground and the other dangling off the armrest. His attempt to look relaxed was almost forced, but he closed his eyes and waited for Rick to make a decision about the day.

(OOC: Blahhhh. Crappy intro.)

The feeling of being squeezed through a tube too small for him to truly fit in was compounded upon by using side-along Apparation and it was an even more horrific experience when one’s head felt like it was in a vice anyway. The movement of their bodies just made it feel as though the vice itself was in a vice and need a good squeeze. It was as though the world was trying to tell him something – something like: don’t drink to excess. Be teetotal. He wouldn’t listen, though.

The boys landed with all of their bits and bobs still attached and while that was a miracle in itself, Baldric didn’t think he’d truly find it in himself to care much if he happened to lose a toe or an arm along the way. He needed some more sleep yet and he wasn’t sure whether he was going to find it before sundown. A little snooze in the watery winter sunshine was what he needed but whether he would get it would be an entirely different kettle of fish indeed.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Baldric grunted, the strangeness of the situation finally beginning to sink in as he slumped down into one of the arm chairs, his legs giving out just as he reached the plushness of the recliner. His head lulled against the back and he lifted his legs up into the seat, slipping his feet out of his shoes as he did so.

“Mmmm, yeah.” He nodded absently, his eyes sliding shut as his arms curled up over his chest. “Later, though. Snooze now.”

Thus, Baldric had already thrown in the towel and while he was sure he wouldn’t get away with camping in the armchair and rendering himself unconscious. He would need to be sprightly and entertaining eventually, he knew. For now, he’d get forty winks – for the sake of his sprightly and entertaining requirements.

It wasn’t until Bentley heard the tapping at the window that he realized he had followed Baldric off to the land of dreams. Forcing his eyes open, Ben pushed himself up onto his hands and realized that he was still lying on the couch. Apparently the time had slipped away, the sun no longer shining into his face through the window. It wasn’t quite dusk, but Ben wasn’t complaining about the lack of sheer light shining into his face.

Glancing over at the arm chair, he found that his new acquaintance (friend?) was still lying there as well. Another round of tapping prevented Bentley from spending any time peering over at Baldric. Not that he wanted to, of course. Not really. Because that would mean that he was curious about the younger man or that he cared a little. And neither of those things necessarily should have been true.

He did his best not to groan audibly as he lifted himself from the couch to receive the letter from the owl at the window. A slight chill flew in as he opened the glass, but it was quickly dispelled as he closed it once more, eyeing the letter warily. Ben wasn’t quite sure he wanted to open it, though he was equally unsure as to why he felt so nervous about it.

Glancing at Baldric, he moved into the kitchen to get a glass of water and mull over the letter in his hand. Taking a sip from the glass once it had been poured, he tore at the seal.

“Oh hell.” He breathed, taking in the words on the parchment in front of him. If there was anything he was not looking forward to, it was certainly the damn meeting he had the next day. The Ministry seemed keen on ruining the lives of everyone under their control. Why couldn’t he just claim he wasn’t interested in being in their domain anymore? Bentley seriously doubted that would work. They would sooner send him to Azkaban than let him pull something like that.

He looked into the living room again, wondering what would have to be done in the morning. Undoubtedly, Baldric would still be staying, as Ben wasn’t sure what the issue or plan was at the man’s home. He supposed that when Rick woke they could discuss what would happen in the morning. Then, he could have the time and ability to consider whether or not he was concerned about Rick staying at his flat without him.

From what Bentley had seen, he didn’t have all that much to worry about, but that didn’t mean that he actually knew very much about Baldric or knew for sure that the bloke was trustworthy. He just had to hope he had mad the right choice. Until then, dinner had to be prepared.

Tossing the letter down onto the kitchen table, Ben pulled open the fridge door and dug around until he found what he wanted. Cooking was one thing he actually enjoyed and could even go so far as to calm him. He could only hope it worked this time, and that Baldric could deal with pasta and chicken parmesan.

When sleep finally released him, the last dregs of his hangover slowly beginning to abate, the light was low and stifling itself beneath a rainy cloud cover that seemed to make the evening even darker than it already was. A light breeze had somehow penetrated the walls of the flat through a crack between the window and the sill, chilling Baldric despite the manner in which he’d curled up in the arm chair. A fire was crackling splendidly in the hearth, flickering to its own delight, shedding a sumptuous, golden glow on the living room swathed out before him like the apron fixture of a stage. When Baldric finally lowered his feet to the rug-covered floor, his bones creaked out their admonishment for his abuse and soon enough his weight settled into standing and he took his eyes off and around the room in search of Bentley – or at least an exit.

As his senses slowly began to wake, the smell of freshly grated parmesan and the sound of bubbling, boiling items in a pot on the stove. The clang and crash of bits and bobs moving about the kitchen also met his ears and as a rumble clawed its way through his stomach, Baldric propelled himself forward towards what he presumed was the kitchen and it was there that he found Bentley. The elder man was roving around, his feet pattering a light path across the tiles, his tender hands finding all that they set about to grasp. Baldric’s eyes were furtive and gentle, hesitant as they swept across Ben’s shoulders lest he somehow disturb the man’s rhythmic dance about the kitchen space. It was such a movement that it made Baldric think twice about disturbing – thus making him linger in the doorway, watching openly regardless.

“Smells excellent,” Baldric murmured gently, begrudgingly breaking the spell around the kitchen. His sockless feet found the cool tiles and he stepped into the adjoining room. He carefully padded across the room, peeking over Bentley’s shoulder at the alchemy going on across the counters and in and on the oven. Food was a subtle art that Baldric hadn’t ever really mastered. He could bake – that was a triumph he could openly boast about – but he couldn’t rustle up a real dinner kind of meal. He could, perhaps, provide a chilli but if you inquired for something above and beyond that you would be hard pressed to get anything edible.

“Do you need an extra pair of hands?” He inquired, wanting to make himself useful, “or would you like me to be on dish washing duty?”

Baldric’s fingers touched absently at the base of Bentley’s spine and he smiled a little, his hand lingering just a second too long before brushing away. He smiled, the twitch of his lips a little weak through his fatigue but it was no less genuine as he took his eyes across the countertop before flicking them back to Bentley, questioningly.

Ben tried to ignore the fact that Baldric’s voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Or that he didn’t quite want to mention the letter yet. Maybe it would be better if Rick ended up near the table and just saw it? Then again, Bentley couldn’t see why the Gryffindor would actually care. They’d met only yesterday, and very late in the evening at that. They’d slept most of the time they had known each other, anyway.

Glancing over his shoulder at Rick’s approach, the elder of the two men gave a muted smile, not wanting to appear too very pleased with the younger being there. Because that would be both silly and obvious (not that Bentley allowed himself to register the idea that he really didn’t mind Baldric’s being around).

Deciding sooner was better than later regarding his informing Rick about his meeting, Ben looked over to answer the man’s question. “Maybe set the table? There’re dishes in the cabinet, there.” He gestured to the cupboard closest to the dishwasher before turning to snatch up a clean rag. Ben squatted down briefly to open the oven door and reach inside with the rag to pull out the pan of chicken.

“If you put the plates and things on the table I’ll bring over the food.” He offered, trying to ease Baldric into heading over to the table. He couldn’t quite ignore the fact that the younger man had immediately gravitated towards him and apparently felt the need to settle his hand on Ben’s back. He wasn’t sure if he was complaining or not.

Bentley told himself that it was just the fear of leaving the flat under Rick’s charge, but at the same time he had to wonder why he was so focused on this. Maybe it was just that telling someone meant that he had to actually go, had to accept his fate and get married. Yes, that had to be it. Definitely.

Baldric had never been workshy and so he happily, albeit not at the same time, parted from Bentley’s side to retrieve the plates and cutlery. He carefully placed them out, supposing on where Bentley’s favourite spot was before picking his own across from the other man. Once the cutlery was set, Baldric hesitantly began to move the things sitting on the table, also, to the far end. It was then that he caught sight of the letter, sealed by the Ministry. He glanced over at Bentley once before taking his eyes across the parchment, his heart simultaneously quickening and sinking in his chest. There was someone out there for Bentley that the Ministry had demanded he make a permanent part of his life. For Millie, it had been a blessing in disguise. For Baird, the letter had been the push he needed to get him to marry Sonia. Bentley could go either way and Baldric had to take a moment to swallow the ugly jealousy that had welled up within him, adjusting himself to the fact that he had no right what so ever. Sharing a bed, a shower and then a home was one thing but that still didn’t give him leave to harbour envy that was unwarranted. He didn’t even know Bentley. Not really. Not at all.

Flicking the switch, a brilliant beam of light began to swan down over the table and chairs. Smiling a little to himself, Baldric took his seat and eyed the letter furtively once more, desiring, suddenly, to cast it out of the window in a ball of flames. As tempting as it was, however, he wondered after whether or not Bentley had committed the date and time to memory. Failure to appear would result in an Azkaban sentence and while Baldric staunchly opposed the idea of Bentley getting married to anyone – at least in his slightly still-hungover head – he knew that being in Azkaban was that much worse though depending on the wife it might have even been preferable. Once again, Baldric swallowed his jealousy and took a smile up onto his mouth for the benefit of his friend? Roommate? Lover?

“It looks brilliant,” Baldric complemented enthusiastically, mentally putting to bed the weirdness of the whole thing. Who were they and why on earth had it made sense to move in together? Baldric was running away, wasn’t he? Away from his father’s expectations and his mother’s illness. He found solace in his friends and a safe haven in a stranger with whom he had been intimate in more ways than simply exchanging bodily fluids and a bit of information. Who were they really? What had made them rush to this point in time where despite the bizarreness, everything seemed to fit – as though somewhere two stars had aligned, orbiting one another as each became the centre of each other’s universe.

At the office, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that chatting with Bentley Pierson was a bad idea. He did not approve of small talk, didn't want to know about your day, and certainly didn't want to tell you about his. Why, then, was he so desperate to hear another sentence fall from Baldric's lips? It shouldn't have mattered. In fact, it didn't, he decided. Because there was no way he was letting this Gryffindor turn him around and fix him. Bentley did not need fixing, thank you.

Frowning down at the pot in front of him, he reached over to turn off the stove. Fine. He perhaps didn't mind all that much. People could change - just not usually this easily or rapidly. It didn't make sense, but Bentley couldn't deny it. Somehow, though, he doubted things would change at work. Wasn't he the same way with Derek and Nancy as he was with Rick? Well, no. That was a stupid question. Not quite the same, no. But in the sense that he actually wanted to talk to them, yes.

No comment, then? Bentley had to admit he was a bit surprised. Wouldn’t someone usually – even if they didn’t actually care – offer some fake or attempted condolences? It wasn’t like he’d lost a family member or a favored pet or anything like that, but it certainly felt about the same. His mind offered a faint, Especially now, but Ben couldn’t quite tell what was meant by it. Now, what? A glance over at Baldric as he settled plates and the like on the table immediately suggested that Ben knew exactly what his subconscious was telling him.

But that, of course, would be ridiculous. Because Ben hardly knew the first thing about Baldric Wood – he’d barely managed to catch the bloke’s last name, and was massively shocked to note that he’d been sober enough at the time to remember it now.

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” He mumbled in return for Rick’s words as they were tossed in his direction. For someone who prided himself on being eloquent enough to scare people away and make business deals, Bentley sure had lost his tongue. Snatching up the pot of pasta, he used the transfer of food from the stove to the table as an excuse for not saying anything else. Reaching for the uppermost cabinet, he extracted a wine bottle and two glasses. Only after he’d returned to the stove to take up the plate of chicken could he find his voice again. “Had to cook for myself for years. Got in a lot of practice.”

Lowering himself into a chair, Ben waited until his … whatever Baldric was… sat down as well. Glancing over at the letter, he blinked a few times before extending a hand to pick it up, setting it back down between the two of them. “I have a meeting tomorrow morning. You can stay if you want. I mean, I offered, so… Yeah, just avoid breaking anything and we’ll get on just fine.”

He punctuated his last word with a nod, picking up his wine glass and downing far more of it than he should have considering the previous evening. He let the taste settle on his tongue for a moment before he turned to reach for the pasta, offering several spoons of it to Baldric. Turning to his own plate, Bentley decided it was best to either let the conversation be up to Baldric - everything else seemed to have been left to him in the time they'd known each other. Whether or not they would actually get involved in certain things. Whether Rick was staying at his. This one was on the Gryffindor.

Clichéd though the very concept was: the idea that Baldric would find himself potentially beginning to share a home with a virtual, no literal, stranger was not one that he ever would have considered if you’d turned back the clock to a few days before. However, the idea that he’d be so bereft of sense that he’d break things did rankle with Baldric somewhat. Regardless, he kept a smile on his mouth and nodded, knowing better than to challenge someone in their own home. That didn’t stop him from mumbling that he wouldn’t, though. He wouldn’t ever think of breaking anything. But of course, Bentley wasn’t to know that so his fears weren’t completely unfounded. Still, Baldric couldn’t help but be left smarting at assumption – but he moved on.

“To the Ministry?” Baldric inquired, picking up his fork with his right hand. He played with it momentarily, balancing it on his fingers as he studied Bentley’s face. Finding something in the way of an indication that he was on the mark, Baldric nodded and held his fork properly in order to spear some of the pasta. The matching process that Baldric himself had gone through had been delayed a while – the lady in charge having been bogged down with officiating and dealing with runaways and the like. He was thankful for the leave time. He didn’t want to face his own reality. He dreaded to wonder after what Ben must have been thinking.

There was a part of him that wanted to express sincere consolations or congratulations or something but there was a far larger, more potent part of him that wanted to lay down the law and explain all of the good reasons why a marriage shouldn’t happen for either of them. That aspect was one that Baldric couldn’t qualify with the rest of his head, though, so he kept quiet. He began to happily plod through his dinner instead, wondering after what it was Bentley was expecting him to do. He did want to flip a table and grab Bentley by the shirt and snog him stupid but that would have to be left to a point where the wine would be an excuse out of the awkwardness.

Taking a sip of said wine, Baldric took a moment to consider his next move before setting it down. Forgoing all sense, he rose to his feet and didn’t quite flip the table – lest he spill the wine – but he did take Bentley by the scruff of the neck and cover his mouth with his own. The Ministry could shove their law wherever they bloody well wanted to in Baldric’s eyes but in that flat in that moment it no longer had any effect for him. His own predicament was shoved from his mind and that of his lover’s went along with it, compartmentalised and locked away for later viewing and worrying over. Right now, it didn’t matter. None of it did. Just Ben.

So Baldric had seen the letter already, then. He knew. He knew, and all he could come up with was a question that had a painfully obvious answer. Bentley just let out a “mm” and a subtle nod before turning to his plate. He’d only just managed to swallow a few bites before the silence got to him and he decided that a drink would be needed if he was going to get through the evening – nonetheless the meeting tomorrow. Undoubtedly, he would regret it if it made him wake with a headache before his meeting.

Of course, though, this didn’t stop him from taking up his wine glass and knocking more of it back. When Baldric stood, Bentley stared up at him in surprise, immediately setting his glass down. He had nearly managed to open his mouth and ask what the blonde wanted, but before he could do so, a hand was on his neck and pulling his mouth to Rick's. Even past the taste of the wine on both of their lips, the underlying something that was distinctly Baldric pushed through.

Immediately glad of his decision to abandon his glass, Bentley shoved his chair back with his feet, refusing to pull away. He wasn’t sure what had started this, what he had done, but he didn’t give a damn. Clearly, because he decided to hang any sense of self, abandon any thoughts that might make him reconsider. Turning in his seat, Bentley let his hands roam up the other man’s chest and into the sandy-blonde hair waiting to be raked through. One hand tugged gently on Rick’s hair as he stood so they were the same height.

He very nearly pushed Baldric back into his chair but instead used one hand to lean the younger man’s head back as Ben’s tongue brushed over his lower lip. His free hand slipped under Rick’s shirt, fingers curling against the skin that the lion tattoo covered. Ben would sooner re-heat their plates than say no to this, food be damned. Although he couldn't remember when he started thinking about other men in the way he thought of this Gryffindor, Bentley couldn't find even the tiniest reason to complain. Tugging Rick’s lips between his teeth, Ben muttered the other man’s name in an almost growl.

The need for air finally kicked in, making Bentley pull away and drop his forehead against Baldric’s shoulder. “We’re never going to have a real conversation, are we?” He gasped out roughly, the hand on Rick’s side pulling him even closer.

Amidst the moans that rose so eagerly into the air, Baldric found it within him to chuckle at Ben’s words. Their methods of conversation involved mingling, flirting tongues and wandering hands. Their language was their bodies and that worship was uttered in pattern and tumble and fall that took them from room to room until Ben’s back sank into the softness of the bed and Baldric moved over him, his tongue reaching out once more to spar with Ben’s. Clothes were shed, forming their pile which, just like the in the pub, was neat and almost tidy in its very creation. Then, like the budding explorers they were, their fingers and lips traced once more paths that had grown into familiarity, looking ever closer into the scalding skin for new caverns and crevices to lay worshipping kisses upon.

Feverish and desperate for his lover though he was, Baldric endeavoured to take his time and prolong the sensations. Ever section of Ben that he discerned from the rest was precious new ground he needed to catalogue lest this was one of the penultimate trysts they would delve into. Whether he had cast the concept away or not, Baldric knew within himself that they were still subject to the will of the Ministry. Until that reality took hold, however, the flat tucked away where they could hide was a perfect haven. There they could just simply be.

Their tangled limbs grew caught and twisted in the sheets. The heat of the room steamed the windows inside out. The room rose to a crescendo and then fell, abruptly and suddenly with the tangling limbs and twisted sheets. Their collapse was gradual then all at once as they found themselves decimated by a sudden and final fatigue. As they extracted their arms and legs from the clinging bedclothes, the air about them filled with an ephemeral contentedness that Baldric quietly revelled in. His lips found Ben’s skin once more, as though the few moments that they were divided could go on no longer, and they roved lazily back and forth over the elder man’s collarbone and shoulder, Baldric’s eyes closed and his touch gentle and steady.

“We can talk now if you want,” he murmured, a crafty, cheeky smile on his mouth. “About anything you like … we can have a proper conversation.”