Lounging on his sofa, Darian dozed until a knock jolted him suddenly alert. He leapt to his feet, shook his head like a dog. Then he raked the curls back from his face and shot a smirk into the wall mirror, one that said, show time.

He knew who it was, and he was looking forward to the day. Striding forward he yanked the door open in one great rush.

From Tapendra's side of the door, it was a sudden appearance. Darian was dressed perhaps as casually as the man had ever seen him in a loose shirt and tight dark jeans. His bare feet were sunk deep in the lush carpet of his flat, and he was grinning like the devil himself. "Tapendra," he purred. "Come in, come in!"

Though he was so at ease, the curve of his body graceful where he leaned against the lintel, pose open, welcoming, friendly, there was something about that shark flash of teeth that discouraged disobedience. The casual flex of lean muscle  in his arms as he shifted, bracing a hand on the door, suggested that he was 100% willing to lunge - nay, tackle - should Tappy try to turn and run.

He had been well-prepped by Dolly, even if it weren't for his own experience with the other man. That was why he had invited Tappy over so early in the day before nerves might get to him. Little did Tappy know, there was no leaving Darian's flat from now until the Gala. Darian had made a promise that he intended to keep.

He hadn't slept well the last few nights - or this week, really. Christmas had been...it had been good. A bit different, but the girls had been happy, Sasha had been happy, he'd been happy and overall it had hadn't been normal but it had still been fun. The rest of the Christmas break was in no way a break, though. He was up early, cooking; he was up late cleaning up. The stresses of the situation with Malvivicus were getting to him - and not just because of the rows he'd had over it, first with Aileen and then with Luthas.

So - in a way, Darian's invitation had been something he'd been a bit too eager to accept. It'd get him away for awhile and let him think about something else. Of course...the Gala was just a different kind of stress. Sod!

He'd sent all of the children to spend the day with the Blairs, which was his usual precaution in such occasions. When he'd left, the house was empty save the cats. He'd have to hope they didn't burn the place down or something.

Therefore when Darian opened the door, the man all a flash of teeth and youthful, smooth limbs, Tapendra stood in the cold outside clutching a steaming paper coffee cup, several days overdue for a shave and generally looking not quite himself. The overlarge jacket and hat didn't help, of course.

"'ello," he said, surprised at the speed of Darian's answer but more surprised by the man's attire. It was a better look than he had on, certainly, but oddly casual. The flat was fashionable as they came, as usual. He stepped in around the door frame, sniffed, and looked at his own attire sheepishly. He hadn't put much effort into it. It'd been on top, the shoes ones he liked but never wore.

"I didn't know you owned any of those," he remarked, nodding at Darian's attire.

"What, jeans?" Darian asked, amused. He reached up and plucked Tappy's hat off his head, attempting to look more like it was a helpful gesture rather than one borne out of the distress it caused him to see Tappy wearing it. He took Tappy's coffee long enough to help him peel of his coat for similar reasons, playing his role of thoughtful - if pushy - host.

He gave him back the coffee quickly, though, as quickly as it took to slide each arm out of the coat. Poor Tapendra looked like he really needed it. The smell of it twigged something in Darian more used to responding to strings of all-nighters, and he went to make some for himself - sending a quick gesture over his shoulder that implied Tappy was to follow. "Everyone owns jeans. Designers own jeans. Merlin owned jeans. Everyone."

Tapendra thought nothing particularly odd about Darian rushing to get him out of his hat and coat. Belatedly he remembered he was supposed to take his hat off indoors anyway, but watching Darian pluck it away was amusing enough, in a tired sort of way. Tapendra paused to kick his shoes off as Darian handed his coffee back, and then he shuffled after Darian across the plush carpet.

"Sorry," he said, sipping his coffee - which was, naturally, full of sugar and milk and chocolate and probably some coffee, really, underneath all of that. "I meant your t-shirt. The jeans - I'm pretty sure Merlin didn't wear jeans, Darian. And half the purebloods these days seem get all sneery over them. The other half are wearin' em." But they did certainly seem to be catching on, something he wasn't about to complain about. "Or maybe it's just the way I swear them that gets me sneered at," he added, rather more quietly, idly watching the sway of Darian's hips as the shorter man headed into the flat's kitchen. Darian certainly wore jeans better than he did.

Once there, he leaned against the far counter, trying to be clear of whatever Darian needed to get. The kitchen was sparsely stocked, as usual, and he found himself looking about curiously. It was more or less in the same condition as the last time he'd been here.

"You don't eat in much, do you?" He remarked, idly. 

"Oh." Darian glanced down, then shrugged as if to say, well, I do. T-shirts could be fashionable, though one wouldn't know it to look at Tappy. But he was aware of the integral difference between the two of them - which was to say - he was Darian Bloody Morgan, and he'd look good in a sack. His shirt had other advantages, being soft to the touch and tissue-thin. It was almost like wearing nothing at all, really.

He rummaged in a cabinet for the ground coffee beans, a quick wave of his wand setting the kettle to boiling. "You have those jeans you wore that one time you threw me over your shoulder," he reminded Tappy. "Those were fine. Fitted. If not skinny, you'll need to go for straight-leg ones - never baggy." As he talked he poured the grounds and the water into his french press, leaning back against the counter as he let the coffee steep.

"You don't eat in much, do you?"

"No," he agreed, equally casual. He did not need to glance around to note that his kitchen was rather bare. He didn't eat much, period. And while at this point Darian had no problems letting that little tidbit drop off his tongue in front of Tappy, he was too mindful of the other man's tendency to fret where fretting wasn't wanted. The concerned crease Tappy got between his eyebrows was mildly entertaining, but perilous in the long run.

Tapendra raised his cup to his lips rather quickly at Darian's comment - but the shield of plastic and paper didn't hide the slight flush that warmed his face. "Well, I - I don't usually go for baggy jeans, anyway," he said, looking down at the ones he wore. He usually went for for fitted boot-cut or, well, skinny jeans. Skinny jeans less often, these days. Hogwarts tended to find them alarming.

"Sorry about that," he added, referring to said shoulder-tossing. He was still - well, going out and getting high and drunk like Darian did did worry him (in line with this line of thought, the worried crease appeared) but, well, in hindsight..."From now on I'll be sure to only throw you over my shoulder if you ask," he added, half-jokingly.

The kitchen was all aflutter. Tapendra was happy enough to watch it, not awake enough to clue in on the comment he'd just made. "Why do I imagine you never going within meters of fast food?" He asked, the comment mostly a musing one rather than a real question.

"Nothing to worry about, then," Darian said. He turned to smile at Tappy. The other man would never be able to pull off jeans and a t-shirt in a way that didn't get him sneered at by some percentage of the populace, but there was no advantage to making him self-conscious about it. Truthfully it was less about the clothes and more about the confidence. Life was always that way.

And Tapendra did have the advantage of being able to take off that t-shirt and stun all his detractors, so he could be worse off.

"Yes," he said slowly, tasting the word with his mouth. "That was very rude." The expression on his face faded completely as he watched Tappy, giving no hints to his mood. They both knew that Tappy had made himself scarce that morning before Darian had even woken up, taking from him the opportunity to speak his mind under sober circumstances.

He let him off the hook when he turned again to grab a mug, some sugar, some milk. The muscles in his back shifted as he leaned his weight onto the plunger, the slight tension in his arms much more visible than it would have been in his normal buttoned-up, full-sleeved, high-collared ensemble. The difference between work clothing and casual had never been so apparent.

"Do you want a top up?" he asked, gesturing towards the coffee left in the press after he'd poured his into a mug. His eyes lingered on the cup at Tappy's lips.

Tapendra clutched his coffee cup and sort of curled up around it, feeling rather a tit. There was nothing quite like apologizing and having the other person acknowledge the apology without actually…well, without letting him know if he was in trouble still or not. And with a man like Darian, who he did not know well…

He wilted under that impassively neutral gaze, his own gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He murmured a further apology, the sound not exactly words but more sort of a vocalized emotion. Tapendra basically shrank into himself, his height making this especially evident.

Darian turned away and Tapendra stayed that way, fingers twisting around the cup, which distorted slightly under his grip. Darian was doing something coffee related; he could smell it, now. He looked up in surprise at Darian’s casual inquiry, blinking for a second before he replied.

“Uh – sure,” he said, extending the cup .

Tapendra squirmed under his long stare. Darian's eyes drank in the wilting with curious detachment, Tappy's shoulders slumping, curling around his cup, giving in. Not enough. Not enough. He was not sated, and he would never be sated until he had everything Tapendra possessed. But perhaps he was being harsh. This was no way to begin their afternoon together.

He filled up the other man's cup, fragrant steam rising to fill the kitchen with that dark, distinctive scent. He made things normal again, the usual animation returning to his movements. The turn of his wrist was a graceful line interrupted only by the faint jut of bone; his eyes were a vivid blue in the sunlight that stole into the kitchen, a blue nothing dark could live in. Sympathy, tenderness. Normality and deception. He looked up at Tappy, face creasing in an easy, open smile. "How were your holidays?" he asked. His spoon chinked against the side of his cup as he stirred in cream and sugar.

The moment of awkward had, apparently, passed – but Tapendra was not so easily able to forget it as Darian apparently was, as much as he was quick to leap upon the chance to. He murmured a thanks as the man refilled his coffee, unsure what to make of the sudden return of Darian’s bouncing, youthful energy.  He was in some ways grateful for it, however, unable even in the midst of awkward guilt to find this aspect of Darian unappealing.
   
In the kitchen, the man was more relaxed, more…well, perhaps the best word was smaller. He seemed to take up less of the space here.  In other places and with other people, his personality was loud, appealing, like some sort of beacon that drew others towards him and fascinated them. Tapendra found that aspect of Darian just as fascinating as others did, but also found it overwhelming, separate – it was something he could not relate to. The easy charm and boundless wit was something of which he was envious, but not something he could bring himself to approach and possibly sully with his own inability to match it. Here, Darian was approachable, casual – human and non-threatening.

The sudden question made Tapendra look up, his smile genuine but awkward – eyes locked for a moment on interplay of sunlight in Darian’s hair, the way the fabric clung to Darian’s slim frame just so.
   
“Hectic,” he answered automatically, lifting his refilled cup to his lips – his glasses promptly fogging up, as he hadn’t replaced the lid. “I have 6 children in a house built for 3, and half of them don’t really have much to say to each other.  They eat like starved hyenas.” He gestured to the bags under his eyes, sniffing and setting the cup down – plucking off his glasses to wipe the steam off.
   
“Most of them don’t know about muggle technology, either. When I’m not running about trying to make sure they don’t accidently break my things, I’ve been stuck cleaning up or shopping or cooking.” He smiled again, a bit more tiredly.
   
“I do hope yours have been a bit more interesting, in comparison.”

He grinned at that. Six children was rather a lot for one man; no wonder Tappy looked so tired. When the Morgans came together, there were 10 of the newest generation - but then he was the eldest at 28, and the youngest was a first-year at Hogwarts. "Are you taking in strays now?" he asked, leaning against the counter. "What a noble calling professor must be."

He drank some of his coffee, in what was his first morning cuppa, and sighed a little at the taste in that familiar satisfaction. "You know, I did a fair amount of child-wrangling when I was younger." He counted them off on his fingers. "For my... eight younger cousins and brothers. I'm afraid that's what comes of being the oldest. Landis had to help, too." That sparked a widening of his grin, as he watched Tappy from under lowered lashes. It was more fun to talk of Landis with someone who knew him and thus could properly appreciate that mental image.

"You won't have to deal with any of that tonight. It should be a nice break. Dress up, go make small-talk... easy." He continued to watch Tappy with much the same sly, subtly amused expression, tapping fingers against the side of his ceramic cup to the tune of some imaginary cabaret. Dolly had said that the man didn't want to do this, but Darian personally would find it welcome relief if it meant getting away from that household. The drudgery of domesticity was something he'd never, ever chose. Surely Tappy had to find this preferable to cleaning, cooking and shopping?

“I do hope yours have been a bit more interesting, in comparison.”

"Family." He shrugged as if to say, not particularly interesting at all. "Parties." Better. "Friends." Yes, indeed. The holiday rush was over now, nothing more that he could do after he'd shipped out the orders for Christmas and New Year's. The beginning of the new year would find Libertine adrift in a dead sort of lull. While it would get boring quickly, his sleep schedule and Misa would be grateful for a little less activity.

Tapendra frowned ever so slightly at the term strays being applied to the menagerie he currently had holed up in his house, mostly due to him not really liking to dehumanize children in that manner. That said, well…Darian was likely just tugging his chain, he decided, and chose to say nothing of it.

What Darian said next erased any of the mild offense Tapendra might have felt, instead causing him to raise his eyebrows in surprise. He had had his own experiences with babysitting as a child – in his case, usually more an aspect of ‘make yourself useful, why don’t you’ than a familial obligation. But he had never really considered what Darian must have been like as a child – and now that he did, he had trouble creating a picture. Somehow, he could only imagine some great mop of red hair falling over huge eyes…and possibly a rather Cheshire cat like grin.

The mention of Landis made his lips twitch into a smirk. Somehow, a child Landis was easy enough to imagine – mostly with the same scowl he so frequently wore as an adult. “Dare I ask who needs my sympathy more – Morgan, yourself, or your cousins?” He ask, lips finally curling into a mischievous smirk, his eyes bright with amusement. “I can’t say I see poor Morgan taking to that job well at all. He glares enough at the students in the Library, and our students are rarely…well, sticky.” That was one quality he remembered vividly from his teenage years. His daughter and sister had not gained that, thankfully.

His gaze looked to his coffee as Darian mentioned the Gala, the brightness and energy in his frame diminishing slightly. His smile stayed, but grew a bit more reserved. “Get sold off to some woman I don’t know. Try to be charming.” He spoke the word not with revulsion, but with an awkward sort of hesitation. Tapendra was not charming, though he might try. He was also not a good actor, especially with women about. The things he did for friends…”Maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll be someone I know, at least.”

Darian’s summary of his holidays made Tapendra consider, for a moment. The Morgan clan seemed as varied as they came, and he had to wonder what sort of Christmas dinners they had. Were they full of awkward silences, or did they chatter through them with only a few of them remaining sullenly silent?

“So the same, but more?” He asked, halfway jokingly. That summary did sound rather like how he understood Darian’s life – glamorous official occasions bookended by a sort of decadent alter ego, life a endless parade of parties and galas and fashion.   

"My cousins loved me!" Darian protesting, laughing. He set his mug down on the counter with a clink so that he could better gesticulate, body language lit with his usual animation. Now he heaved a regretful smile and cupped his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the counter and soulful eyes fluttering up at Tappy. "It is entirely possibly his misopedia is the result of teenage trauma," he confessed. "Stemming from all those times the adults put him at the kids' table. You can't  hold it against him, Tapendra, you really can't. If we hadn't outgrown the chairs to a laughable degree I'm certain we'd still be there now."

“Get sold off to some woman I don’t know. Try to be charming.”

"Help a charity event," Darian corrected him. "Make a new friend. Possibly one who wishes to reward your charitable soul with sex. There are so many pros here, I can't even begin to tell you. Only you could make a date sound like the second battle of Hogwarts, Tapendra." He shifted away from the counter, picking up his cup again and heading for the living room.

"More or less." His voice floated back over his shoulder. He sounded satisfied.

Tapendra gave in – the combination of Darian’s animations and words made him laugh, and the laugh grew from a sort of snicker to a soft, deep laugh, hand going to his mouth automatically as his shoulders slumped and he looked away. It was far too easy to picture the dour expression on Landis’s face as he sat at some small table, a young Erin Harper yanking Landis’s long tresses and a teen Darian grinning at him from under a wild mop of red hair.

“That makes a bit too much sense, Darian,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d rather imagine he has a naturally dark soul, though,” he said, grinning – the line almost a quote from one of Gigi’s poems. “It makes him so much more mysterious.”

Darian’s counter-points were good ones, and his grin stifled away as he struggled to find a believable way to admit the sexual reward worried him almost as much as any other disaster. There wasn’t any way to make that believable, even to him – there had to be circumstances where that wouldn’t be awkward for him, right?

Instead he sighed, and looked at Darian with a momentary relapse of his tiredness as he turned and followed the man.

“A new friend, maybe. The sex, probably not.” His tone took back on his darkly amused air again as he sat down on Darian’s dark couch, crossing his feet at the ankle. “You know me well enough to know I’d mess up any chance of that, anyway. The ‘seduction via awkwardness’ method is a wonderful way to strike out.”

Naturally, he made airquotes as he said this, slumping against the couch back.

Darian only shook his head. Landis was rather mysterious, he supposed, what ran through his mind carefully hidden so that he might be thinking of anything from mealtimes to murder with none the wiser. But Darian had grown up with him and so possessed a not-so-secret delight in undermining his cousin's grave composure, a delight that did not hesitate from translating his pale and brooding mystique as something closer to misanthropic snits.

"Dark soul my arse," he laughed, well into such a translation now. The glint in his eyes was distinctly mischievous. "Dare you to ask him whether or not he was hugged enough as a child."

He sunk down into the other sofa, folding his feet up carefully underneath himself as fastidious as a cat. "You never know, do you? It might be a pleasant bonus." He brought his cup up near his face but didn't yet drink, instead watching Tappy over the edge of it as the aromatic steam wafted damply into his face. "You're thinking too much about it. If anything happens it happens, and if it doesn't - c'est la vie. But this preemptive giving-up dooms you to failure far more than any of your other characteristics."