Written to answer a tumblr challenge from Niklas, who owns Omari [x]

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Calaveras, the hunting ground of altitudinous off-duty aurors and their floundering linguist wingmen. Darts had not proved their strength, but filtering the masses, inebriated people watching, was more their usual. The hot summer air was closer, thicker down in the belly of the beast than the Alley above. A pleasing inebriation of beer had set in, both of them occasionally fumbling past pockets of patrons on their route to top up the alcohol concentration fuelling their mission.

The game never quite followed the same rules twice, or so he perceived. Sometimes they took up a vantage point, went fishing, reeled in the potential. Other times it involved prowling and the convenient interruption or cross of a path. Occasionally the game began without him knowing they were playing at all. Whichever method, it was always fruitless for one of them, but he almost preferred it. He could watch it all without interruption.

But as much as this was all sport and pleasure for his companion, on this night, he did not want to chance. He did not want another to pinch the gaze and attention of the sturdy duellist while he was there. Higgins had been enough of a tedious interruption without observing the fickle interactions of young wizards barely out of Hogwarts, swooning at his drinking partner.

Too young. Too greasy, definitely seen them in the wrong part of Knockturn… has a girlfriend, has a boyfriend, nothing in the pants… Every potential conversation, every half-decent looking man who glanced their way is flawed. He wasted no time in pointing them out, taking each one down at a distance, arms folded, blue eyes unrelenting in examination.

“No, I know what you want.” He assured his taller companion, as if taking things very seriously. “I’m only saving you from a disappointing evening with someone who turns out to be shallow, incapable, knows nothing of you.” He locked eyes and turned away from the scene to stand before Omari, as ever, far too close, the boundaries of personal space bending with imbibing.

“You can’t waste that smile, these shoulders, that arse of yours on just anyone,” he explained, frowning thoughtfully. A hand reached out from his glass, cool fingertips glancing upon Omari’s cheek and shoulder before delivering an eyebrow raise for the last. His Scottish friend laughed, eyes alight, and Johann couldn’t help but let the frown drop at the noise and sight.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Me flirt?!” Johann exclaimed, jaw dropping. His cheeks flushed with colour at the accurate accusation from such a close friend. Of course he had never admired the way Omari’s shirt buttons pulled across his muscled chest when they danced. He’d never chanced to put a hand on his friend’s hip when there had been space enough to move without a touch. He had never considered how that laugh felt beneath his ear is pressed to that chest. His heart never ever skipped a beat and let him forget how to breathe when his friend gave him full, undivided attention and spoke his name.

“Merlin you’ve definitely had too much to drink.” He suggested, stepping back and away, turning more rapidly crimson with the thought that Omari had noticed his attention. He wiped at his own face, flustered, pressing his cold beer to his cheek for a moment, hoping to put out the fire. “Flirt…!”

He would buy Omari a few more drinks, and then some more. And then perhaps his close friend would not remember this conversation in the morning.