It was a misty day, fog clinging to the rooftops and the alleyways around Diagon Alley, blanketing the place and muffling the din of the usual crowd. It made the streets quiet and somewhat claustrophobic, the fog now seeming more dangerous than it might have otherwise. Perhaps it was that most of his visits to London recently had ended in disaster, but Tapendra found himself looking over his shoulder rather more often than he would have liked. He wasn't taking any chances, this time; his wand was stashed up his right sleeve, and the weight in his other sleeve was just as reassuring.

Darian's apartment was in the more upscale district, away from the crowd but certainly not away from prying eyes or danger. The incident at the show hadn't left his mind since it happened. It was frustrating, to be scared and worried in London, and despite his desire to dismiss it as a concern for the Aurors, he couldn't quite delude himself into thinking that. It was hard to ignore one fact over all, though; Darian and the man in red knew each other. Given the more recent concerns Darian had had...he needed answers, both as a fellow victim and as the man's friend.

Friends, was it?

He stopped at the corner of the street, resting his gloved hand on the cool brick of the nearby house. No, he couldn't quite convince himself they were friends, not with the memory of Darian's kiss and the way the man's dark blue eyes had glittered. He'd almost been grateful to their attackers, that night; they'd distracted him from the sheer frustration of being in the same room with Darian, from having to confront his own misgivings and desires. But here he was, about to step back into that...

No - they could keep this businesslike. He was determined to. An evasive Darian was...not something he wanted to face, if the man's last attempt at evasiveness was an indicator. He certainly didn't want to...face that -

The sound of a door slamming in the distance awoke Tapendra to the simple fact he'd been standing still for quite some time, his fingers tracing his lower lip. He looked at his hand in surprise, then forced himself to set off.

The stairs were wet and unswept when he scaled them, reaching the door to Darian's flat just as the clouds gave in and rain started to platter onto the bricks around him. Even as the rain started to grow worse, turning the rooftops a shimmering silver, he paused. He could go back to Hogwarts, he knew. It would be so easy -

He knocked, knuckles rapping on the polished wood.

Darian had dragged himself out of bed a few minutes before ten, headed straight to the living room to doze his way into unhurried wakefulness. The benefits of being self-employed - he set his own schedule and preferred restful mornings, to counter all of his very late nights.

Supine on his sofa, he roused faintly at the knock. His eyes opened a crack and he looked over blearily at the door, wondering if he'd imagined it - oh, no, here it came again. Leisurely he drew himself up, stretching til he sighed, running hands through his hair, generally in no great hurry. "Who is it?" he called, now beginning to look for some pants - and after that trousers, and then probably also a shirt.

"Tapendra."

Head halfway through his favorite soft tee, Darian stopped to give the door a startled, speculative, and slightly more awake look. Huh. He pulled the shirt down, smoothing it over his stomach with meticulous care. His fingers traced the jut of his hip absently for a moment, then -

"Just a minute!" And then, partially because it was the truth and mostly because this was Tapendra, Darian continued, "I'm trying to find clothes."

It gave him something to smile about as he darted into his bedroom for a pair of trousers. He would need this humor, because he was very sure Tapendra was going to try to talk to him about something Deep and Serious related to the Jean-Luc incident and Darian really wasn't in the mood to speak on that. Tapendra would want explanations, and Darian was so tired of giving them; he'd already spoken to several Aurors, and of course Misa had wanted to know what had happened, and there'd been a sudden boom of reporters coming to Libertine after the news broke. He knew he owed Tapendra the truth, he just didn't care to give it to him yet. If he'd known who it was at his door, perhaps he would have pretended to keep sleeping. Perhaps that was why Tapendra hadn't announced himself before.

"If you're here to talk about last weekend," he said when he opened the door - knowing that Tapendra was, rather not awake enough for it even if he'd wanted to, "I'm afraid you'll have to let me kip on you a bit first. It's morning, Tapendra, really." He was boneless against the doorframe, clothing crumpled and soft, and his yawn - well, it wasn't entirely feigned.

Darian's comment worked perfectly, of course; the mere mention Darian needed clothes worked the required images into Tapendra's head. Damn the man. Tapendra rubbed his face as if that'd help with the blush, the sudden heat in his cheeks making the cold rain that ran down the back of his neck all the worse.

Of course, Darian opening the door helped him ignore that, for now. There was something remarkable about the man, how he could look so put-together in an outfit that was clearly as casual as any of Darian's came. His tee-shirt sat loosely on his fame, the cuffs accenting the slim, smooth skin of his arms; the collar was low enough the show off his collarbones, a cut that was strangely enchanting on the man. Tapendra barely heard his words, his eyes tracing the distinctive lines of Darian's throat, of his jaw, watching the way his dark red locks twisted and curled against his skin.

He managed a smile, tried to make it wry. "It's 10am, Morgan. I work until the wee hours and even I consider it morning." Darian was going to be evasive, of course. There was a part of him that welcomed it, some tiny, hidden part of him that found the idea of trying to coax the information out of the man oh so very intriguing.

Tapendra sighed, the sound somewhat put upon and somewhat relieved. "If you must," he added, after a moment, reaching up to wipe the rain from the nape of his neck. "Kip away."

"Ah, but I'm an artist," he replied, hanging back at the doorframe, arms crossing against the draft of cold and rain that got underneath the admittedly thin fabric of his shirt. "You must humor me. And of the two of us, I'll remind you that I'm the only one who's self-employed."

"If you must, kip away."

Darian grinned, a sudden shock of teeth. "Come in, then," he said, moving out of the doorway to let Tapendra enter. Once the man was inside he let him stow away his jacket, a rather fetching leather piece, then reached out for him.

"You're wet," he complained, but still he prodded Tapendra towards the sofa, pushed him down onto it, and proceeded to drape himself half over Tapendra's lap and the rest of the sofa precisely as if he did intend to go back to sleep and atop the other at that. His arms wound around Tapendra's waist and he curled close, cheek to Tapendra's stomach, hair tickling the man's wrists. He was sleep-warm and stripped of his usual glitter, a combination he hoped would prove fatal to Tapendra's resolve. Besides that, he wasn't going to pretend they were still simply friends. Piss on that. He glanced up with sly, satisfied blue eyes as if to reinforce, you said I could.

"Point taken," he said, as he stepped inside. Darian's flat was, as always, impeccable. The man had a way of making clutter and casual still highly fashionable. Did they ever mess the place up, Tapendra wondered - did Darian and Dolly ever get so rollicking drunk they over turned the coffee table and threw bottles and crisps all over the kitchen? Undoubtedly. Yet the flat showed no sign of that, the only indication of its owner's disarmed state being the chair that sat pulled away from the dining table, the way a throw pillow was about to fall off the arm chair, the blanket tossed aimlessly over the arm of the couch...

Tapendra let himself be led to the couch, forcing himself to dismiss the way his heart had fluttered when Darian reached for him. Rainwater soaked the edges of his blue shirt and dampened his hair, but he found himself almost grateful for it. Darian draped across his lap was, at the moment, about the last place he  wanted the man. It would be entirely too easy for the man to feel his way through many of Tapendra's defenses from there.

Darian was warm, a relaxing and languid sight, his red hair spilling into an interesting contrast atop Tapendra's dark vest and blue shirt. Tapendra found himself relaxing, pushed into the couch or not, his hips shifting downwards as Darian settled against his stomach, left ankle resting atop his right knee.

He took his breath in, let it out in another sigh, and tilted his head back against the soft leather of Darian's couch. He hadn't slept well; there was a temptation, a terrible one, to let himself relax too, to let the warmth and the drumming sound of the rain lull him off to sleep, to let the moment linger. He'd missed this kind of thing; the feeling of Darian's breathing and the soft, gentle press of his fingers brought back memories, awakened an ache he so often forced himself to ignore. His hand went unbidden to Darian's hair, and he tangled his fingers in it, finger tips gently running down the side of Darian's head, along his ear and neck.

Sleeping would have been a better option than looking at Darian, and he made the mistake of looking down as Darian looked up. The twist of Darian's lips, the way the man watched him with a satisfied gaze; they struck him dumb a moment, his mouth slightly open, his glasses suddenly a shield. He tilted his head just enough they caught the light of the nearby lamp, the reflection giving him a moment of privacy.

No - he couldn't fall for that. It was what Darian wanted, wasn't it?

"You're a bastard, you know that?" He said, and there was no way to make his tone anything but a bit defeated.

Darian blinked languidly, lashes falling to half mast as Tapendra ran light fingers through his hair. He let out a low, appreciative murmur, luxuriating in the faintly tingling sensation. Yes, this was perfect, warm and comfortable with Tapendra's body slowly relaxing under his. He was awash in gratitude that the other seemed willing to wait until later to make him discuss things. For now, this was exactly right.

Then Tapendra spoke, ruining that illusion.

"Why?" Darian answered, a little petulant that Tapendra was blaming him. His arms tightened stubbornly, shoulders hardening too. "Because I won't let you pretend?" He closed his eyes, nestling in. "If you don't like it, I'll move." Obviously he did not want Tapendra to move, but if he was going to be a tit about it Darian could kick him out and sleep on his own.

His fingers hadn't moved from Darian's hair. They didn't move now, save to lightly run along the shell of the man's ear, feeling the contours with an almost curious air. Tapendra's breath was soft as he smiled, a sad sort of look that he soon turned away from Darian, lest the man see it.

"Something like that," he said, though the words hit home, doing their damage as Darian likely knew they would.  His fingers tightened in Darian's hair a moment, a habitual twitch, a response to Darian's pertinent tone. He weighed his words carefully, knowing that he was likely making a mistake - but wasn't he always? The way he shifted his hips uncomfortably gave away his indecision before he said, "I didn't say you had to move."

No, oh no - it was things far larger than whose lap Darian wason that made the man a tit. A convincing, seductive little siren, what was what he was - and he knew it, damn him, under his soft-eyed casual innocence. Sometimes he thought he caught a glimpse of the real man, under all his dramatics and carefully chosen words, but it was a fleeting glimpse. It just added to the mystique around Darian, though. It was that danger that drew him in, as much as it was what repulsed him. The very thought he shouldn't be attracted to the man made the undeniable fact that he was so much more thrilling...and terrifying.

He let his hand slide, unconsciously, down Darian's neck to the turn of his shoulder, fingers ghosting along the line of his t-shirt where fabric met skin, feeling the other man's pulse under his finger tips. Again came that inexplicable little thrill, the one that made the warmth and comfort of this scene twist into something else. That it was another man in his lap mattered little. One the one hand, it felt better than he could describe to be like this, with someone else's arms wrapped around him, their breath and body warm against him. On the other, it was Darian Morgan doing that - the man with the most damnable eyes in the world, with that twisting, catlike smile, with that witty dagger of a tongue...

"What am I pretending?" He asked the empty air above Darian, gaze locked somewhere a thousand miles away.

Tapendra was giving him just enough credit for what had turned out to be a very lengthy, involved seduction. It wouldn't be at all accurate to say Darian was unaware of how he looked, how he must feel, the tempting physicality of his weight and his soft, tactile clothes. There was a part of him, always, that calculated such things. It was also true that he simply craved as a person affectionate contact, that now as he slumped into Tapendra's stomach he was genuinely enjoying the closeness and the warmth. He was tired, and he liked this. He liked the feeling of Tapendra's hands in his hair and on his back, the potential sensuality of it equal to the simple animal comfort. Just because his impact was planned didn't mean he wasn't genuine in his reactions. Darian could be both, he could be both drowsy and directed, pay attention to me. Want me. I'm here for you. Effortlessly.

Yet Tapendra was still struggling to think of him as anything but a trap.

He was a trap, but Darian thought a nice one. Good-looking, clearly interested, fantastic in bed. It was about the chase, of course, but it had been over a year. If it was just about the chase, didn't Tapendra think he would have given up by now? It was a little disheartening. Darian had been working on him for such a long time that he absolutely refused to admit defeat. His confidence was boundless, unassailable, unbuckled by Tapendra's resignation and how clearly the man wished he didn't want him. He certainly was a serpent. Still, being treated as one after so long pained him. Tapendra should either trust him - or he shouldn't - but perhaps sometime soon he could make up his mind about it.

Thinking about it irritated him, making him more alert. He couldn't actually fall asleep. Tapendra had shifted uncomfortably under him, his "reassurance" lacking weight, and so Darian had to consider that the man might just be humoring him. Which was - yes, fine, he wanted to be humored, always - but for whatever reason he hated it suddenly, that he had to make all the moves and Tapendra always acted as though he was being dragged into Darian's orbit against his will. He treated him like a very attractive plague. And it was true, Darian had engineered or at least assured this, he had gone at Tapendra until he'd had no choice but to notice him.

It was still irksome. And if Tapendra was only humoring him, body giving away clues on which he had no intentions of acting, Darian didn't currently feel up to dancing the denial tango. It was Tapendra's turn, he'd made it clear in the Astronomy tower, and if the man didn't want to continue this then that was bloody well fine.

The coil of his body around Tapendra's as he thought became gradually less relaxed and pliant, a subtle tension singing through his muscles. His eyes were still shut but in a deliberate rather than a natural way, he growing angry at being made to feel unwanted in his own home. He could give Tapendra answers, if that was all he was interested in, if it would make him leave, but Darian didn't want to and he was irritated that Tapendra thought he had the right to demand them.

His throwing himself very suddenly off the couch was not a surprise but an inevitability, though the other might disagree, removing all his limbs and his touches and his own self from Tapendra's proximity. He stalked off to his kitchen and there came the noisy sounds of him making tea. He wasn't hungry in the slightest, but it gave him something to do.

He didn't move his head when Darian tensed up, nor did he really react when Darian moved away, stomping off to the kitchen. Tapendra sat quite still, though he felt the man's departure keenly, the warmth against his side gone, the unspoken message in that action loud and clear. What had sent the man away like that? Tapendra wasn't sure. But he had plenty of guesses, and they all involved him.

He opened his eyes as Darian vanished into the kitchen, left him alone in a living room that suddenly seemed greyed out and small. The gold of the coffee table faded and the light from the lamp grew dim; the walls seemed to close in. A buzzing in his ears almost blocked out the sounds of Darian in the kitchen, but it couldn't disguise the agitated edge to those sounds, how the teapot's lid slammed down just a bit too hard.

Tapendra slumped forward, his face in his hands as he sucked his breath in sharply, heart hammering, a stinging at the corner of his eyes betraying what he tried to hold back. He was a fool; a fool that tried to force himself onto what was right and what was wrong without any comprehension of which was really which. It was so easy to try to blame Darian for this situation; to try to make himself hate the man for what he made him feel. But he knew that was little more than delusion, try as he might to believe it. The truth sat in his mind, simple, even easy.

He wanted Darian, in a variety of ways. The man had a creative and devious mind, one that made him enthralling in his ups and terrifying in his downs, one that made him unpredictable and exciting and so terribly, terribly sensual. Tapendra wanted to believe that feeling was wrong. He'd trained himself to think it was, to blame that for the memories that still sometimes jarred him awake in the middle of the night. But this was different, wasn't it? It didn't feel at all the same. It felt...

Safe. It wasn't a thing he felt often. Yet he felt it now. Oh, it wasn't love between them, though he was fond of Darian. But it wasn't a mere fleeting thing, either, wasn't something that would be done overnight. And as the warmth on his side faded, Tapendra knew he didn't want it to be fleeting, whatever it was. He'd come here for answers. It was easy to try and say the answers he was after were those about their attackers.

Easy. That was always the path he'd walked, wasn't it? Try as he might to deny it, it wasn't right or wrong he dodged; he took the easy path, the simple path, the one that had led him only to long nights alone with the cold golden band on his finger as his only companion. He didn't wear his wedding band, now, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd been using it as a shield. Did he really cling to her memory like he thought he did? Or was that simply the easiest thing to do?

Glass clinked in the kitchen, drawing him out of his thoughts. He looked at the rectangle of light at the end of hall, knowing what laid beyond. An argument, no doubt. It would be easy to leave now, wouldn't it - to bypass all of that and retreat into that empty tower. His jacket was by the door, the route to Hogwarts not a lengthy one - it promised safety, quiet, and yet another opportunity he could run away from rather than risk.

Life was about risks, in the end. He knew the answer to Darian's question, to his suggestions. It'd burned its way into his mind until the very idea of it consumed his nights, until the very sight of the man could undo him. What did he gain by walking away from it? But letting that feeling die out without even trying to reach for it?

The girls, Judy, everyone else...they mattered. They hung on his mind like weights. But for all he clung to them, they didn't help his feel less lonely. And, in this apartment...they could hang. They didn't need this; it wouldn't help them. But it would help him, and...at least for now, this could be about what he wanted.

He got to his feet, smoothed out his vest and tie habitually. His hands weren't shaking, and he looked at them in surprise. He felt like they should be. No doubt they would be, soon.

The kitchen wasn't exactly a long walk. He let his breath out and sucked it in again just outside the doorway before he stepped in, leaning on the doorway and running a hand through his hair. Darian had his back to him, the kettle in his hands, and Tapendra took a moment to watch him. He wanted to walk up to the man, to hold him; as if he could communicate in a touch what he knew he didn't know how to say. But the tension that ran across the man's shoulders dissuaded him, held him back at the doorway. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Darian," he said, finally, all the words he'd tried to think of suddenly useless, unable to communicate what he wanted Darian to understand. He steeled himself for the man to lash out, but - no. Retreating, making himself smaller; how would they help, here? Had they ever helped?  He walked towards Darian, set his jaw, and let himself step to where Darian could have easily struck him if he wanted to.  "When you can to the tower, you...asked me about us. I haven't answered you." He wanted to say more than that - wanted to explain - but the words died on his lips, overpowered by a simple urge to say the truth and lay it bare.

He reached out, then, fingers just touching Darian's shoulder. "I don't know if you still feel that way about me, but - I want you."

Tapendra left him alone for several long minutes, and Darian was viciously glad that he did. He drew out the milk, sugar, and a cup, reaching for the kettle without conscious thought. Then he stopped, considering his actions. Coffee was his usual beverage of choice, but the routine wasn't as soothing. Tea... was fine. He poured the water, lit flames under the kettle with his wand.

Deliberately he only fixed for one. Tapendra didn't deserve a cup. Darian didn't want him here. Not if he was only going to ask questions about the incident with Jean-Luc, his only reason for showing up. How typical, that he'd track Darian to his own flat for this. He hadn't said it specifically but Darian knew, he knew, it was less than a week later and when had Tapendra ever sought him out if not to question him, or to scold him, anything other than what Darian actually wanted? It was so unsatisfying! Apparently Tapendra felt responsible for him or something, which was not Darian's intent. It was ridiculous to put his time and effort towards this and receive in return... what? The admitted interest only of a father, a professor, a friend? He hadn't realized it was such a tired routine or just, it had never nettled him until now.

It was a bad time for Tapendra to come over, that was it. Darian did get jittery sometimes, usually while in the midst of one of his projects, but he was agitated now. Catapulted into it, almost, though the potential had been there. He had been thinking about Jean-Luc all week, realizing there was nothing else that he could do. He didn't want to talk it over. He didn't want a father, a professor, or a friend. But that was his fault! Eager to begin them, he tired of games and people so very fast. It would seem abrupt to Tapendra, but this one wasn't fun anymore. The enticing hold-out was proving less a reward and more a brick wall. Oh, he had no doubt Tapendra wanted him physically. In that he had entirely succeeded. However as every other person Darian knew wanted him physically, that lone fact wasn't interesting enough. He needed Tapendra's recognition. He craved his acceptance of this fate.

Tapendra was predictable in a boring, spineless way. That was death to the appeal of this, death to Darian's expectations that if he pushed he'd find something else. The way the other could so easily be made to stammer and blush! That he did have such nice shoulders, that he was an intelligent and well-educated man - charming. That he refused to make up his own mind, had to be coaxed into spending time with Darian, and called Darian a bastard for challenging his sense of heteronormality? A good deal less.

Ugh, how unnecessary was all this. Darian should just kick him out, drink his tea, spend the night with Dolly or Éloi having huge amounts of really enthusiastic sex. He would feel ever so much assured and fulfilled and he could drop this little project. Hmm, no, maybe he needed something new - Darian snapped his fingers - yes, he needed a little change. He could move to France for a couple of months, maybe a year, neatly dissolving his problems with Jean-Luc. Take in the fashion scene in Paris. Make new lovers and new friends. It seemed a perfectly refreshing vacation, and it wasn't as though he had to worry about his work.

Whether or not this plan would survive the introspection of the rest of the day, it settled him now. The steam of the kettle grounded him as he felt it rise like hot breath upon his face, as he cut the flames and poured the water. Static. It was just that he couldn't stand static things. But no matter the pathetic flops of Tapendra's stubbornness, Darian had other things and other people he could do.

It really wasn't a big deal.

He heard, rather than saw, Tapendra enter the kitchen. Darian was now steeping his tea, but he made a sharp gesture with one hand without turning, yes, I'm listening, when Tapendra spoke his name.

He expected the other to segue directly into his questions - only an idiot would have been able to miss that Darian was annoyed, but he assumed Tapendra would ask after what he wanted then get out rather than confront it. He expected him to skitter away, cowed, as he tended to do when he was unsure. He was surprised. Tapendra went straight to the root of the problem and though his touch was hesitant, his words were not.

Expression beyond of Tapendra's sight, Darian pursed his lips. On one hand, thank Merlin. He'd almost doubted... well, he'd not expected this. On the other, Darian was still feeling particularly... critical. Ah, but he should be kinder. This was what he'd worked for, no? It would not be a waste because Tapendra was responding to him now. At least the man had managed to act. Should he not be grateful? Pleased? He shouldn't let his sour mood ruin it. This was the moment he'd wanted. This. It meant that he'd won.

"Are you certain?" he asked, eyes lowered to his tea. His tone was even. A little tart. Tapendra was touching his shoulder, but the weight didn't make him turn. Instead he dipped the teabag idly, tiny jerks of his finger on the string. "I won't take the blame for what you decide."

Darian was tart, crisp, and to Tapendra's ears a bit icy. Tapendra was unsure if that was better than the yelling he had expected. It was certainly more thoughtful, more drawn out than the yelling would be. It tested his resolve, certainly, the coldness uncharacteristic of Darian. He wasn't sure what to do with it other than continue earnestly.

Of course, that Darian said wouldn't take the blame did sting - it meant the man knew what Tapendra did, inside his own head. Tapendra did not, and could not, protest that remark. It was true, and he hated it, but it was true - whatever ensued from here was entirely his own fault. And he so often made mistakes in who he trusted. He restrained a shaking breath and scowled, out of Darian's sight, the expression drawn from his annoyance with himself. He did want this. He knew he wanted this. Would it make him happy? He didn't know - in life, there were no guarantees. He'd only find out if it did one way...and he knew, as much as he wished he could pretend, that his alternative didn't make him happy. Was there any way but forward, if he didn't want to go back?

"Yes," he said, moving closer to Darian, turning slightly so he was in the other man's view, not touching him but quite close by, hip against the counter. "I'm certain."

Tapendra crowded in, moving closer until he was like a wall all up and down Darian's one side. Darian glanced sidelong at him, the gaze lingering. A little warmer, a little speculative. Tapendra's decisiveness was what he'd been seeking - not the only thing, but it helped. "All right then," he agreed, deceptively subdued. The line of his shoulders softened as he visibly - and deliberately - let go of what'd been bothering him.

His tea was finished, the perfect cuppa. Now it seemed he might not need it.

Darian turned, putting his back to the counter. His hands were empty; he crossed them loosely over his chest. He nudged Tapendra with one bare foot, toes bumping the cotton of the other man's sock. "I still feel that way," he said, looking at Tapendra directly.

He relaxed, visibly, the tension in his own shoulders gone. He slumped visibly, looking away for a moment. What had he done, that that response was the one that made him happy, that Darian admitting a mutual attraction was the good option? Yet the protesting thoughts seemed more out of habit than anything. Tapendra thought them but with them came no feeling, no worry, no panic. His heart beat faster, but not with worry or fear. What flooded through him was relief, hope, and no small amount of joy.

The gentle nudge of Darian's foot served as much to relax Tapendra was the man's words did, and Tapendra found himself reaching for Darian automatically. Whether the touch came from gratefulness or fascination or something else, he couldn't say, but he reached over and ran his knuckles along Darian's jaw, bringing himself in closer, Darian's lack of protest encouraging him. How long had it been since he'd stepped forward like this? Dolly had been overwhelming, easy to let himself be overcome by; she'd all but thrown him across the bed, gently though she might have done it. Initiating this sort of thing...it felt like decades. Maybe it had been.

He kissed Darian hesitantly, a rather shy kind of kiss. Every other kiss he'd shared with the man had been carnal, even desperate on his part; this was different. It was inquisitive and soft, even searching.

Tapendra was happy. Darian could tell from the look on his face. And if he was still warring with his indecision he for once had the good sense not to show it. He was the one who moved in first, which was what Darian wanted to see; he wanted Tapendra to choose him deliberately. Anticipation pooled in his stomach like warm honey.

He almost wanted to purr, tell Tapendra what a good boy he was being. Yes, delightful, they might make something of him yet. His hands stroked warmly down Tapendra's side as if in reward, then slid across the crinkling cotton of his shirt. Darian grasped at the smooth breadth of the other man's back, the tightening of his arms around Tapendra wholly encouraging - not hard or uncomfortable, but a subtle and intoxicating squeeze.

He was hungry for the wet heat of the other's mouth, the willing presence of him as Tapendra ran knuckles over Darian's jaw and then tilted his face up. But Tapendra was being careful, or perhaps he was being sweet. He kissed Darian gently as if afraid of... something. Darian didn't think he was afraid of what they were doing. For once Tapendra seemed to be wholly on board. Rather the shy, inquisitive touch of his mouth seemed deliberate, like he was impressing something on Darian he wanted him to remember. Afraid of... who knew. He couldn't hurt Darian, and it was clear by now he wouldn't face a rejection.

Darian let him keep it, the intimacy of their soft, slow kiss. He didn't press for more. This was the first one Tapendra had initiated on his own and it was to be savored as such. There wasn't anything wrong with going slow. One of Darian's hands rose to cup Tapendra's face and then slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, pulling him down. Darian tilted his head and kissed him back without urgency, leaning into him all comfortable and warm. It seemed appropriate in the bleary morning light with the sound of the rain.

Tapendra's left hand fell to the counter top to help him balance, holding him steady as the kiss deepened. Darian's didn't press, but he wasn't passive, either, and that was encouragement enough to continue, to let his other hand slide to the small of Darian's back as Darian's own hands ran over his shoulders and to the back of his neck.

He shuddered, Darian's warmth against his chest making his heart flutter, the beating of it thrumming in his ears until it seemed Darian ought to hear it, too. He didn't think about his doubts or about his worries; in the moment, both of them seemed petty and distant, the concerns of the waking world.

Darian's smell was sweet in the air around him, a mix of tea, cologne, fresh laundry and the leather of the couch. Of all the sensations coursing through him, that was the one he felt the most keenly. He pressed up against Darian instinctively, hand at the man's back clutching his shirt.