Absit Omen RPG
Role-Play Boards => Diagon Alley => London => Floriblunders Florists & Gamp Flat => Topic started by: Cepheus Gamp on March 24, 2018, 02:08:32 PM
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Early hours of October 1st
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Slowly and steadily, Ceph’s guests[1] had begun to retire. The newly-engaged were confined to the spare room, and in the next room, a set of wardrobe doors were wide open, revealing one of Ceph’s most expensive investments in furniture, lit by candlelight. It had been a logical progression, once he and Virgil had realised they were of similar size.
Cepheus sat on the end of his double bed. To either side of him, there were several items of his own clothes laid out carefully on the bed, and Virgil was browsing the expanded space inside. Cepheus smiled to himself as he remembered browsing the costume racks at Stardust[2] the night Virgil had given him and Ariadne a tour, only this time it was Ceph’s actual taste in clothes that was being examined.
“You could always try it on,” he told the younger wizard, gesturing to the hanger Virgil was currently holding up.
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It seemed entirely unfair that, in addition to being sublime and loving books and having wonderfully weird cat mugs, Cepheus was also in possession of an enviable wardrobe. Virgil was quite high enough to ignore any inhibitions he had about looking through the clothes but the tea from earlier in the evening had somewhat grounded him enough to focus onsomething. Besides simply staring at the older wizard’s visage.
Everything in here smelled like… like cedar wood cologne. Old leather and wizarding tobacco, which he could still taste on his lips from their smoke outside, earlier. Traces of a cold September evening.
He was examining the fine suede of a navy leather jacket (https://www.polyvore.com/paul_smith_mens_navy_leather/thing?context_id=234133716&context_type=collection&id=221592826), trailing his fingers along the collar, when Ceph said it was alright to try it on. Oh!
Virgil grinned, blushing. It was so easy to get caught up in details when he wasn’t really sober. “Thanks. It’s very nice. And so hard to find good leather in navy these days,” he unbuttoned his vest with one hand and shrugged it off. “I always think I look a bit pretentious when I try to wear leather jackets.”
Handling it more carefully than his own vest, which he let drop to the floor, Virgil slipped on the article and lifted his arms to give a graceful little twirl for Cepheus’ benefit.
“No?” he glanced at the other man, sticking his bottom lip out in thoughtful pout. “Too bratty, perhaps?”
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“Bratty?” Cepheus asked, “You?”
Had that been Ariadne answering, those two words would be laced with sarcasm as she knew the true Virgil when he wasn’t swooning.
“No, darling, well - I suppose I do wear it when I want to muster a dose more confidence and swagger.” He shrugged his slender shoulders, his dark brown shirt (https://www.polyvore.com/starman/set?id=234378894) unbuttoned lower than it had been while out, creasing to reveal a pale collarbone. He had long rolled the sleeves up to just beneath his elbows when they were out, such had been the warm day. Now the temperature outside had dropped to remind them autumn attempted to arrive, and a cool draught tickled Ceph’s bare feet on the bedroom floor.
He wriggled his toes as he leaned back to give Virgil a look from head to toe in his jacket, a grin forming, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth in contemplation. He hoped he looked that good in the jacket. Maybe he ought to wear it more if Virgil didn’t borrow it.
“You’ve got all the confidence, so Gods help us if you wear that out. You’ll be beating the boys off left, right and centre.”
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For a moment, like any moment in which he could sense Ceph’s eyes on him, Virgil felt raw and vulnerable - flayed to his core. He had to stop himself from hiding his face when the other wizard drew out the observation. Did he know what he looked like? Sitting there on that bed with stupidly beautiful hair, a sliver of a clandestine moon peeking out from behind his shirt collar?
The final verdict caused Virgil to duck his head, and he self-consciously examined the sleeves of the jacket - it was too warm to wear it over his striped sweater but he kept it on a little longer because it smelled like Cepheus.
“You’re awfully kind to say that. It’s not really confidence….” he trailed off and leaned back slightly against the wardrobe door, something shy in his drunken gaze. “I just act confident, until I feel it. Then I can be anyone at all. Almost anyone, I mean, I don’t think I could be you..”
Virgil, even with his knack for imitation, wouldn’t dare it.
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“Me?” Cepheus asked, taking a second to catch up with Virgil’s train of thought. “Oh, you think I’m confident?” He looked genuinely surprised, and a little flattered. “I fake it ‘til I make it, Virgil. Honest to Merlin.” He leaned on only one elbow and raked his right hand fingers through his untamed mane of dark hair self consciously. “At least you’ve the talent to act the part.”
He extended his arm out towards Virgil, fingers splayed in gesture.
“You’re welcome to borrow it, you look better than me in it.” He chuckled, “Unspeakable in leather…” in my bedroom, Ceph added in his head, and propped his elbow back beneath him and the mattress.
He glanced left and right of himself, “You are going to leave me some clothes, right?”
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“Is it really talent or just loads of practice, if I’ve been doing it all my life?” Virgil threw out this philosophical query, though more to himself, and found the rest of his words had caught in his throat. Better? Nobody could look better than Cepheus in anything, especially not this jacket. Especially not when he was doing that awful, awful thing with his hair. How dare he.
”Unspeakable in leather….” the comment seemed harmless, only it was followed by a thought that made Virgil suddenly aware of where they were. A brief moment of lucidity in their night of liquor and gillyweed. Bedroom. They were in the bedroom.
He was in Cepheus Gamp’s bedroom. Shit. Shouldn’t have read that thought. He was so so high and he was in the man's most personal sphere, his sleeping area. A place of rest or intimacy.
Virgil decided to take the jacket off just then, the heat in his face and chest already threatening to colour him pinker than porcelain. He turned around to face the innards of the wardrobe once more.
“It’s not my fault you have good taste in attire,” the younger wizard glanced over his shoulder, returning the leather jacket to its rightful place and drawing out a black lace shirt (https://www.polyvore.com/topman_black_lace_short_sleeve/thing?context_id=224302499&context_type=collection&id=213033416) he had spotted earlier. It was easy to find by touch, delicate against sensitive fingertips. “Clothes are my weakness. And pastries. And gillyweed. I am approximately eighty percent weaknesses and twenty percent Shakespeare.”
With a coquettish little turn, he held the shirt up to Ceph, blonde eyebrows dramatically arched. “Have you actually worn this before?”
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Cepheus tittered gently at Virgil’s declaration of what he was made up of.
“Eighty percent?!” He exclaimed softly, shaking his head playfully. Never, could anyone be eighty percent weaknesses. They’d be a puddle of a person. He tilted his head to one side as he contemplated his own weaknesses - lovely books, buying nice clothes and keeping pretty but good company - when Virgil turned back with a rather more daring shirt.
“Well, yes, but it’s definitely a summer look. Leaves nothing to the imagination.” Ceph smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Try it on, you’ll see.” He crossed one leg over the other, and wiggled his foot, but his eyes didn’t leave Virgil. He was rather entrancing to watch try on all these things. Ceph wasn’t sure he’d be able to pass off any of the younger wizard’s wardrobe - not unless he lost his beard to restore the more youthful appearance beneath it. Still, they had different colours, Virgil most brilliant blonde hair, and Cepheus nearly black mane. They could easily while away a whole day doing this somewhere in London. His sister might be put out, but it seemed he and Virgil had a common understanding when it came to purchases.
The more he got to know Virgil, the more they had in common. He was surprisingly good company, and he could quite forget he’d still been at Hogwarts the last quarter.
He licked his lips as he observed.
“You’re not meant to wear anything under it, see.”
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The hanger very nearly slipped out of his hand when Cepheus suggested he try it on. It was perfectly natural considering he had just spent the better part of a half hour shamelessly nicking jackets and button-up shirts to model for his own amusement, playing dress-up in the way anyone might if they were vain enough or enjoyed pretend games. Only this particular shirt meant… it meant…taking off his...
Why in Merlin’s name was he acting like a blushing courtesan?
“You’re not meant to wear anything under it, see.” Cepheus clarified without looking away, and something about the licking of those lips stirred purient sensations lower than Virgil’s already chimeral gut.
Oh. Oh, he was in so much trouble.
“Of course,” he cleared his throat as if everyone knew you shouldn’t wear a daring lace shirt if you weren’t going to go all out in it. “Would pair really well with, um, with fitted trousers I suppose…” his muttering faded into silence and he approached to bed to put the shirt down a moment.
Virgil hesitantly reached for the hem of his own sweater (https://www.polyvore.com/you_are/set?id=234324368)and tugged it off, taking a deep breath in surprise as the relatively cool air of the flat hit him. It was cosy indoors but he had hidden under layers until just now.
“Bbrrrr!” the blonde giggled, shivering theatrically as he glanced at Ceph and tried to ignore the sensitive prickling of goosebump flesh, or the inevitable hardening of his nipples against the cold.
He didn’t hesitate to pull on the lace shirt. “Certainly a summer look.” Virgil conceded, clever fingers sliding each button into its home. It didn’t look too bold when he had it on.
“Shirt tucked in or left out?” he asked, glancing at Cepheus who rested against the sheets like an oblivious Grecian statue. Virgil’s knees knocked against of the bed and he completed the final two buttons up to the delicately framed neckline.
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[M] - For inference!
Cepheus, in his hazy state after their smoke on the steps outside, was at ease reclined on his bed. He couldn’t stop his smiles, and the world felt soft. Virgil’s lithe torso was revealed from his evening’s outfit, and Cepheus pressed his lips together as he failed to divert his gaze.
The last time he’d had someone strip off in here with him had been altogether more heated, and they’d gone to bed next door. Had there not been a party of five… The colliding thoughts made Cepheus readjust his folded leg for comfort as Virgil drew close, buttoning up the lace shirt. The older wizard blinked, seeing Virgil again in focus once he had, looking upwards when he posed a question.
“Hm, well, what’s your waist like -” Cepheus replied, reaching out to touch the shirt tails and lift one to consider Virgil’s trousers when he noticed something unexpected. Was Virgil… aroused? The tell-tale swelling in his trousers was unmistakable.
And the pause between question and consideration was now conspicuous. Cepheus thought to pose a question, to ignore it, but surely Virgil realised he’d clocked it now, and he still had hold of the tail of the shirt.
“Out.” Cepheus decided, and looked up to Virgil with a soft, inviting smile. “You look tired,” he always did a little, “won’t you come lie down?”
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He wanted to pull away all of a sudden, mortified when the front tail of the lace shirt was lifted- and yet the combination of gillyweed and Ceph’s generally intoxicating presence had frozen Virgil to the spot. In spite of the sensations felt upon being an object of the other man’s attention, it hadn’t occurred to him that…. that it might be so obvious. But of course he was turned on! Gleaning it in Cepheus’ thoughts didn’t make this any less provocative.
The words that came weren't direct, however. No needling or knowing jokes or crude teasing.
Virgil was brittle, like he could dissolve into dust if somebody touched him now. He could sense the heat in his cheeks spread to the pink tips of his ears and he very carefully sat on the bed. His heartbeat was so fast it felt more of a light humming in his chest. Was this alright?
It wasn’t like they were doing anything, not really, even if he suspected they were misbehaving, somehow. The younger wizard did feel tired. Perhaps it showed on his face.
“Thank you.” Virgil said softly, not sure what he was thanking Cepheus for, as he let himself melt into the navy blanket - laying his head down and curling up on his side in an attitude that he hope made his plight a little less obvious. He had long ago tugged off his woolen socks.
The sheets were redolent of Claude’s fur and his owner’s scent, which made Virgil want to roll around like an indolent cat himself.
He had lowered his gaze to avoid meeting Ceph in the eye but now he raised it, because how can you avoid looking at such an impossible face?
“Cepheus.” Virgil pressed his lips together, mouth sulky with insecurity and desire. “May I ask you a question, please?” That was how this had all begun: him asking Cepheus Gamp a question[1] in the Hogwarts library. “It’s a little personal.”
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The pale young wizard relented, blushing as he settled beside him on the blanket. Flanked by the clothes laid out during the wardrobe exploration, they lay together a little more closely than the might have if the bed was empty. Virgil’s cologne mixed with the soapwort and eucalyptus scents lingering to washed linens and the lasting tang of gillyweed. All they needed now was Claude to prowl in and pointedly stand on them both, making out he was missing out on attention.
“Of course,” Cepheus replied softly, so soft his voice barely made more than a whisper given the hour and how close they were. He could see how Virgil’s crown of golden hair was quite a blend from white to deep barley shades. The low light in the room drew out the brightest strands.
Would this be another query about courting vampires? Possibly not. Would this be a more awkward question about what he’d just seen stirring? He’d cross that bridge if Virgil led him that way.
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He drew in a deep breath, stifling the butterflies threatening to spill out in place of words. That would be all too easy.
“That is. Um.” Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, “....how do you get your hair to look that good, exactly?” Virgil cursed internally and sighed, covering his face with his hands in an obvious fluster. “That’s not it. Sorry.”
Ceph’s eyes instinctively glanced upwards at the question about his hair, but when Virgil clarified it wasn’t his intended question, he blinked and looked down, momentarily confused. “It’s alright,” he reassured the other wizard, “something on your mind?”
Not wanting to disappoint or frustrate Cepheus, Virgil peered through his fingers and then slowly reached out with one hand to touch a lock of dark hair framing the delicate incline of his chin. It seemed miraculous that he could come this close to a person like Ceph. A breath away from touching, close enough to examine beauty in detail. It really was a beautiful mane of hair.
“Do you find me attractive?” he asked in one go, swallowing his nervousness the way you took your medicine whole. “Not just… not just objectively.”
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Cepheus swallowed, lips coming apart in mild surprise at the question. Gods, how to answer that without hurting Virgil’s feelings or giving him false hope. He’d never had the balls to ask an older man that when he was eighteen.
Hell, Virgil was eighteen.
And he would be lying if he said no.
“Yes,” Cepheus replied, voice barely there again, he wet his lips, looking a little worriedly to Virgil, “and would I be correct to assume you do me?”
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Virgil thought that his heart had momentarily vacated his chest - he couldn’t register it, couldn’t even tell what his expression looked like, whether it was calm or dread in its boyish countenance. It was as if he didn't exist at all for a single prolonged second.
Ceph didn’t look happy or excited or anything that he thought someone should be if they actually liked him.
“I do,” he said in a tone that carried more conviction than he meant to assert. “You’re more than attractive. You’re kind. I don’t think you know how nervous I am around you.” Virgil paused, lips still trying to grapple with a conflict of emotions and finding it impossible to stifle them all at once. “I’m never nervous.”
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“You must get-” Cepheus replied hastily, and then stopped himself. He dropped his gaze as if ashamed. That response was defensive, deflective through being startled. It was his first thought to react, and his first ideas were never the best.
“I mean, thank you.”
He looked up again, resolving to focus properly on Virgil. He couldn’t help but feel that the younger man had lost his way. A lost boy, just like Peter Pan, oh.
Cepheus twisted onto his side, and propped his head up with his right arm. “You have everything going for you, you know?” He began, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. The sort he’d talk kindly to house elves with, and Ariadne when she floundered. A smile forced its way to the surface of his face, dispelling the shock.
“Brains, beauty, talent,” he reached out and gently brushed Virgil’s golden tresses from his clammy forehead. “Just because you’re nervous doesn’t mean you’re not brave.”
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It was getting harder and harder not to draw thoughts from the man next to him - the gillyweed had already been chipping away at Virgil’s sensitivity all night, threatening to reveal the world’s interiors to his own. Now it was a raw nerve that could only be encouraged by their physical proximity, their eye contact, their outstretched hands. He could pick up on the surprise emanating off Cepheus.
Had he never noticed, at all? Not even a little bit? Oh, but he thought Virgil was like Peter, like the boy who never grew up. Something akin to annoyance plucked at Virgil's nerve.
“You don’t… you don’t have to say those things. I’m not a child. I’m not Peter Pan,” the words came out in a hot rush before he realised what he was saying. “I’m not even that nice Cepheus.”
Virgil blushed at the admission, pulling his hand back. Of course Ari had never told her uncle, which was sweet of her, but it didn’t change the fact that he was, by default, an arsehole to most people. Cepheus brought out the parts of him that didn't want to step on anybody's nerves or trip them up over their own words.
“I’m nice around you. I can’t seem to work like normal around you,” he lowered his voice into a whisper. “You make me feel like I can be good, maybe.”
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From shocked to confused, none of this was quite making sense all of a sudden. Hadn’t they just been discussing what to pair a shirt with? The merits of a jacket? Tired, and a little disconnected from reality, faced with a crisis of attraction on his own bed, Ceph’s mind grappled with what Virgil threw at it.
“I - Virgil, I never said you were - where did that come from?” A fleeting memory of Rascal mentioning Carstairs was ‘particularly perceptive’ crossed his mind. At the time he’d thought it a compliment to Virgil, but on the receiving end it was reminiscent of his father. Cepheus withdrew his hand, deciding affection was entirely the wrong route.
“Gods, I’m not sure what you’re hoping I’ll say.”
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Shit. He was starting to confuse himself, merging together the words being said out loud and the ones trickling through Ceph’s consciousness. This was precisely why he didn’t like to mix alcohol with gillyweed! Virgil felt a jolt of panic when the older man drew his hand away - the slim space between them might as well have been a yawning chasm. Was he annoyed? Angry? Would he get angry if he knew the truth?
It occured to Virgil that he had never tried to picture an angry Cepheus, and the thought made him uneasy.
“I’m sorry,” he crossed his arms over his stomach and curled up further, burying the side of his face against the soft blanket. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to… to do it. Cepheus. I, um. It just happens if I’m not careful. People’s thoughts.”
The walls inside his mind struggled to raise themselves to more sober conditions, although his own psyche was keyed up and anxious enough to distract from Ceph’s. His chest was hot with humiliation. He bit his bottom lip and stared gauntly at the beautiful wizard, who had imparted such kind things to him before.
“You don’t have to say anything.” Virgil could feel the heat behind his eyes and the dryness in his throat, telling him he was fucking this up at an unprecedented rate. “I just wanted to - to say how I felt. I’ll go if you want me to.”
And he would have gotten up right that moment, if he could have brought himself to move at all. He knew he had to leave if this kept the way it was: having to explain his juvenile feelings like a misbehaving child.
He didn’t want to cry in front of Cepheus.
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People’s thoughts.
Cepheus looked away from Virgil, the creeping realisation like a drop of cold water down his neck. He pushed himself upright, legs still folded one over the other as his bare foot pressed to the bedroom floor. The cold sensation was pooling in his stomach.
Has he been reading me?
He sat stiffly on the foot of his bed, contemplating matters. Cepheus and Virgil had run into each other more than once, and tonight he was here, an addition to the regulars. Cepheus and Arcturus were near neighbours, Ravenclaws, cat lovers, with their shared routine of searching for books on a Sunday morning before putting the world to rights with tea. Balfour and Johann had progressed past work friends to something lustful, as only they could, and hadn’t he only just been contemplating how the night might have ended?
How had he not noticed? His sister would call him an idiot, she’d have noticed right away. What he would do for Andromeda’s observation!
Gods, Virgil had asked him things Cepheus would never have ever dared to ask, and now the poor soul was curled on his bed ashamed.
Do better, Cepheus.
He swallowed and turned slowly to look back over his right shoulder at Virgil’s red face. Gods he never wanted to hurt him. They were having fun.
“You don’t have to go, Virgil.” He made flinching eye contact and cleared his throat. His eyes picked out the leather jacket behind Virgil and he summoned the confidence it brought. “Forgive me,” he tried again, “if I have been oblivious.” He sought out the half-buried face. “You are good, and I very much enjoy your company. And well…” he pressed his lips together, “if you don’t believe me, take a look.”
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When Ceph sat up it felt, for a moment, like maybe the older wizard was simply going to leave the room instead of request that his bed companion go away. But Virgil was slowly beginning to understand that he was rubbish at predicting what Cepheus was going to do or say next - not in the same way he knew what other people wanted to hear or what they didn’t want to hear. His social instinct, which had little to do with Legilimency, was like a compass in the presence of a magnet when Cepheus entered a room. It lost all bearings.
He could barely interpret the eyes that turned to him now, too soft for a brutish brow.
Virgil unclenched the tension in his gut and propped himself up on his forearm, reassured by the gentler words and their delivery. Was he…? Oh. Nobody had ever invited him to read them, not if they couldn’t defend themselves against it.
His first instinct was not to do it. And then he thought better of this because he had felt earlier what it was like to be the relative fledgling in a group of older, more experienced men.
This was a precaution.
Virgil nodded once, licking his sulken lips, trying to hold Ceph’s gaze. That only made him blush further so he dropped his eyes to the exposed collarbone instead. The barriers of their minds, encouraged by insobriety, dissolved.
“Ariadne knows.” Virgil swallowed, ducking his head slightly as he sensed the concern. “She’s known for ages,” he peered up at Ceph through pale eyelashes and knew the flush in his cheeks now mottled his neck, his chest… because he could sense the physical attraction too, beyond the thoughts.
The lace shirt made Virgil feel transparent. “You like me.”
-
There. It had almost made it easier to let him see, only now it was out, the guilt for liking Virgil, rather than just liking him, rushed forth. He averted his gaze entirely to the wall in the opposite direction, beyond which two of his other guests had retired. The attraction there would only remain lust. Meanwhile, the attraction in the living room seemed set never to surpass friendship, and the attraction Virgil had queried in their very first question was both illicit and complicated.
“I wish she’d told me.” Cepheus muttered, scratching nervously at his forehead. “She’s had a merry game with us, hasn’t she?” He remembered Ariadne’s eager suggestion on where to take a smoke at the careers fair, unusual questions in letters passed off as homework. Even if coincidental, they were now observed under a different light in his memories.
-
They had scarcely moved from the bed but Virgil felt as if though he had been to the moon and the depths of Hades, multiple times, in the last five minutes. His heart had given up knowing what to do - it only raced wildly and aimlessly in his narrow chest.
He could almost see the aura of guilt emanating off Ceph’s dark crown as he spoke about Ariadne’s light-hearted attempts to appease this dire infatuation.
“Ari was only trying to… to be nice to me.” Virgil liked her very much and didn’t want anything contrite to rise between niece and uncle, “I don’t think she ever thought I’d have the guts to say anything to you.”
But he did! Merlin, he’d gone and blurted it out, half-dressed in Cepheus’ clothes and laying in bed together with a hard-on. The younger wizard hesitated, then placed his free hand forward against the sheets. A diffident offer.
“You don’t think this is a good idea, do you?” he asked softly. “You think I’m too young to know what I want.”
-
Cepheus glanced back round, first to Virgil’s hesitant face, and then to midway.
“I think you’re well aware of what you want,” he murmured in return, now not knowing quite where to look. “It’s more that…” Cepheus grappled with the words, though wondered if Virgil might glean the thought anyway.
“... more that I can’t help but feel like the responsible adult.” He dragged both hands through his hair, gripping it. “And I know you’re not a kid, Virgil, but you’re the same age as my niece.” He dropped his hands, one gently gripping Virgil’s calf as he twisted to lift both feet onto the bed. “I used to babysit her, Virgil. Do you see why this is a bit weird for me?” He gestured animatedly between them as he spoke.
He had peppered his sentences with darling earlier in the evening, uninhibited by these worries about Virgil’s age. Just enjoying his company, their mutual interests. “This isn’t … you aren’t … Virgil... I’m trying to do the right thing, but I admit it isn’t always what I want to do.” He gave a crooked smile of consolation and squeezed Virgil’s leg.
-
He could see what the other man meant. The problem was, he could see all too well - not just how Cepheus might feel about the age gap between them but how it might be perceived by everybody else if it got out. His friends might tolerate a crush and tease him about it but they didn’t take his intentions seriously, did they? Not even Ari did.
Even as he tried to reason himself out of these feelings, the touch on his leg gave him a jolt. As did the smile. This was Ceph saying no to him. I want to, but no.
“Then don’t do the right thing.” Virgil heard himself protest ardently and shifted so that he could sit up and place his hand over Ceph’s. “Or what you think is the right thing,” he glanced down at their hands, faltering for only a second.
If he had any self-respect, he would go away right now. The gillyweed would wear off eventually and he was afraid of how he would feel when it did.
“I like you and you like me,” he tried to pretend his voice hadn’t cracked. “Isn’t that worth us trying?”
Virgil risked looking up properly at Cepheus, trying to be as brave as the older man said. Wasn’t this feeling alone worth the risk of trying? Wasn’t he worth it?
-
Cepheus didn’t move his left hand when Virgil’s closed over it. He tried to even out his expression, blinking softly, and think clearly. It was difficult, given the long night before them, and the relaxing smoke.
Virgil closed in, hopeful, appealing. Cepheus had to remain strong, even if this was the first time he’d had a younger man as striking as Virgil proposition him. He’d never had anyone attempt to seduce him dressed in Ceph’s own clothes, on his bed. Given Ceph’s desultory lovelife, such an opportunity did not present itself delicately, and there were parts of him that thought it very worth trying.
The Division Head inhaled falteringly, and leaned forward. He pressed his lips to Virgil’s forehead tenderly, holding still for a second before he withdrew enough to meet the younger man’s yearning gaze.
“Not when we’re both drunk and high, darling.” He lifted his right hand to Virgil’s cheek, “not to mention exhausted. You’re worth a clear head.” Cepheus gave a sorry smile, and let go. “I’ll get you some water, you take the bed.”
-
Cepheus’ lips were cold - that was how Virgil realised he was still burning on the inside, from some strange combination of desire and alcohol and unreasonable hope. The words being spoken weren’t the ones he wanted so much to hear but they weren’t cruel, either. Somehow that made it hurt even more. Darling. No, no, no he didn’t want to hear that word, please don’t say it. There is nothing behind it now.
He was being tucked into bed like a little boy who had been throwing a tantrum.
“Alright.” Virgil agreed, suddenly made weak by the emotions that had gotten so strong a hold of him tonight. “Alright,” he repeated and fell back on to the mattress with a soft huff!
There was nothing to do but sleep, supposed the younger wizard. He had tried, hadn’t he? And been found wanting of…. of age or maturity or something awful that he couldn’t change? Virgil buried his face in the sheets, even though they smelled like Cepheus and every breath was both wonderful and painful. Sharp pin pricks of starlight riddling his lungs.
Of course he had always known the distance between him on earth and the heavenborne constellation was an unbridgeable one. But why did he have to be right?
By the time his host returned with water, the Lost Boy was already lost to dreams. He scarcely heard a glass being set down on the bedside table - barely felt the warmth of a blanket being pulled over him. All was dark. The stars went out one by one.
End