After 1700 hours


He was leaning against the back wall of the elevator as it ascended, each of his reflections curiously mild in their mannerisms today - pacing or tapping their fingers or brooding. Balfour supposed that it must have been a long day for them as well; he was just getting back from an intolerably officious meeting with the Tanzanian Ministry's division equivalent to sort the details of a British sanctuary adopting a Nundu cub for study. All he wanted to do was go home and, for once, banish all thought of work from mind.

Paperwork and creatures would still be there when he came in next morning. The doors slid open and Balfour made his way to the flat at the end of the corridor.

It was only the dense workload that had kept his mind from making wild speculations about this afternoon... about what it was Ira Almasy wanted to do with his partner. Johann had told him about the request to meet and it had come as a bit of a surprise: one for being more polite than the Russian witch usually bothered, and then for the fact that he had not heard much from Ira since that devastating dinner in March. Silence usually meant that she was plotting. And when Ira was plotting, wizarding society should expect a bit of a jolt. Odin knew in what form. He didn't want to let his imagination wander further.

The door gave beneath his touch, and Balfour entered his rooms - the exhaustion of work now replaced by an anxious countenance. His brow cleared instantly at the sight of his lover in the living room. He was alive and untouched! He was alright! He was safe! These little exclamations danced in Bal's chest.

Only, the Scotsman realised as he took in the mise-en-scène, there was an air of rumination and waiting about the place. A scroll of parchment on the coffee table before Johann. Whiskey at his feet.

"How was it?" Balfour asked, slipping out of his formal jacket and loosening his tie. "Is something the matter?"

“I’m not sure.” Johann replied to his lover’s inquiry. He could see Balfour with his periphery vision, but his gaze didn’t deviate from the roll of parchment on the coffee table. His long fingers were pressed together at the tips in a prayer position beneath his chin in contemplation. Although perched upon the sofa, he still wore his shoes and his clothes from work, as he had come in and done nothing more than think. Ordinarily he might have adopted his more casual cross-legged stance, feet beneath him, relaxed at home.

“It’s her copy of my contract,” Johann explained, lifting his gaze to meet Balfour’s. His expression was uneasy, as if he were suffering a headache or an upset stomach. He dropped his hands and gestured to the other side of the sofa with one of them, inviting Balfour to take a seat. The tension in his shoulders reduced a little in the presence of human company.

There was an uncomfortable pause before he elaborated further, though every mannerism suggested there were words waiting to leap out of his mouth, Johann was tongue-tied. He seemed unable to drag his gaze from the parchment, like it were a ticking bomb.

He ran his tongue over his lips and looked to Balfour, brow heavy,
“Ira asked me to write her last will and testament,” he explained, intensely studying his best friend’s face for reaction. Someone else might have considered him dramatic for the manner in which he delivered this news, that to write such a document was not entirely unusual when taking care of affairs and considering the future. It was rather forward-thinking, proactive of someone with money. Ira Almasy penned theatre with the reaper, and was not mortal, or at least had never seemed mortal in Johann’s eyes. She had never been entirely human, except to Balfour.

“I’m sorry…” Johann heard his voice add, an automatic apology for the news which he hadn’t explicitly stated, but implied.

Balfour could never understand, not truly, what ran through Johann's wonderful and dark mind. It was one of the things he loved most dearly about the wizard: a mystery that would never tire or dull in its machinations. Even so, there was something intensely disturbing about the way he contemplated that parchment, and a relief when he finally looked away from it.

... his contract?

And now Bal found it hard not to stare at this unprecedented gift. Why the hell had she given up her copy of it? He joined Johann on the couch, sinking back and instinctively reaching around to play with the dark curls at his nape. There was a tension in Joh's body that indicated there was more to be said, so the Scotsman waited and looped coils of hair around his fingers. He wanted to soothe this tension, to ease it off Johann's shoulders even as he was burning up with curiosity.

            "Ira asked me to write her last will and testament," and again that brilliant blue gaze shifted from contract to Balfour's face. Its scrutiny was dead serious.

Which only made Balfour self-conscious as he turned this fact over in his mind, brow creasing. Hm. Not once in his acquaintanceship with Ira had she ever discussed her mortality so prosaically. Poetically and literarily, maybe, but the material world had always been more of a means to an end - dramatic style to her violent substance. "I’m sorry…" Johann's apology intruded on this thought and Balfour realised he had been staring at the damned parchment too.

His gaze snapped abruptly to the other man and he reached out to take him by the sides of his face, mirroring his seriousness.

"Johann. Darling," he brushed his thumb over a sharp cheekbone, "... what are you telling me? Is it what I think it is?" Bal couldn't resist the cautious optimism in his voice, its underlying excitement crackling through. Something brushed against his leg. One of the cats had made an appearance, sensing the anticipation in the air.

Please, gods, please let it be. Let it be over. Let it be let it be let it be let it be let it be.

"Is she... is she dying? Dead? Are we free?"

“Maybe.” Johann’s voice broke.

He swallowed and his mouth gave a flinch of a smile, pressing against Balfour’s touch. The burden of the headline delivered, he let out a shuddered exhale, a maelstrom of emotions under his skin. Relief, distrust, anger, elation.

“Oh Gods I hope so.” He added, hopefully, and clutched at Balfour, drawing him into a thankful, tight hug. Face buried into the folds of Balfour’s jacket, Johann’s eyes screwed shut, hot with ripe tears, not sad about Ira’s more than timely demise, but relief if it turned out to be true. Encircled in Balfour’s arms, he gathered his thoughts and eventually drew back, clasping Balfour’s rougher hands in his own cool ones.

“She was not herself, too informal both in her dress and her approach. Something was not right from the moment I got there,” he explained. “I did not let myself entertain anything but drama until she presented that.” He glanced away from Balfour just to nod at the scroll on the table. “My freedom, the spider dictates, is in thanks for your confidence. She believes no longer owes you a debt.” He blinked and pressed his lips together as he studied Balfour’s reaction. “And she has asked me to take care of you…” Johann frowned, irritated, “as if she has the authority to burden me with a responsibility I willingly took on without her interference.” He huffed gently.

“I don’t know what you feel about this, I barely know how I should feel about this…” Johann muttered, gaze dropping to their hands, thumbs thoughtfully running over Balfour’s knuckles.

He didn't know what his face was doing when Johann pulled him into a hug, but Balfour felt himself lean into it and tightly pressed against the back of Johann's suit jacket. Maybe? He hoped so? The excitement in his chest broke through as they drew away from one another and he looked down at their hands, pulse racing. It was happening. They were free, were going to be free. She was dying, going to die.

The Scotsman stared back with a stunned expression, trying to accept this as a Truth. All through Johann's brief description of what had transpired in the Penthouse, he could not stop staring in utter surprise - gaping mouth only shutting into a soft smile at the endearing huff when Joh complained about the witch's irrational demands.

             “I don’t know what you feel about this, I barely know how I should feel about this…”

Balfour laughed and brought Johann's hands to his mouth, lips brushing softly. His incredulity splintered like the weight of it had been too much and he was grinning and laughing some more and then prying his fingers away so that he could grab Johann's waist in a swift motion. "Feel? How we should feel about this?" he exclaimed with raised eyebrows.

It was probably a faux pas of sorts but Ira Almasy was suddenly the further thing from his mind. And Odin, wasn't that a relief? Bal kissed the other wizard right on the mouth, a peck.  "Fucking delirious! Ecstatic!" he kissed again, this time little light ones all over Johann's face, as enthusiastic as a pup who'd not seen their owner in months.

"You beautiful!"
                          One kiss.
"Fantastic!"
                         Another kiss.
"Gorgeous, glorious!"
                       And another, another.
"Fucking amazing-"
                      A slightly wet one right on the lips.
"- bearer of good news!"

When once Johann had felt nervous, unable to celebrate, Balfour’s sudden burst of affection had him laughing.
“I’m - Balfour - Balfour -,” he laughed, being peppered with kisses. "Man soll den Tag nicht vor dem Abend loben[1]

He lifted his hands to clasp Balfour’s head gently between his hands, tender expression on his sharp features. “I know, I know, I want to celebrate too, but I cannot see her going easily, going swiftly, even if she has decided. Ever the pessimist, my love, I know.” He kissed Balfour on the forehead and smoothed a hand through the shorter curls, tilting his head in adoration, their noses but two inches apart.

“But yes, I think someday soon we will be free.” He leaned forward, hands dropping away, and planted a happier, grateful kiss upon Balfour’s lips, smiling. That felt entirely better. He could forever get caught up in overthinking, analysing, dissecting each possibility and Balfour was the optimist remedy for it all. “I’ve said good bye, I have my foolish contract rescinded…” he flopped sideways onto the back of the sofa, the tension leaving his limbs at long last. He rubbed his brow in relief, and gave a toothy grin, “I told her no encore.”

1.	."one shouldn't praise the day before the evening has set in” - German idiom nearest to not counting chickens before they’re hatched.

He did try his best to calm down, though Johann's German exclamations only made his affection for the other man all the more fierce. It was the softness and kisses that robbed Balfour of his initial exuberance - gentled it to something inexplicably pervasive, that quiet and vulnerable love he often  felt in Joh's presence. The grin paled to a fond quirk in his lips, eyes closing briefly at the hand in his hair.

Free. Soon. Yes, that was good, that was something they could hold on to.

            "I told her no encore."

Balfour snorted, giving him a scandalised look. "You did not!" he slapped Johann's thigh playfully, all at once amused and impressed. "I hope she doesn't give one either. The only plays I want to see from now on are the ones with happier endings." Or at least less death, murder, kidnappings.

"Come here, then. Up," he nudged at Johann, sitting forward to drag those long legs up on to his lap. The cats had hopped on to the table and were sniffing at the ominous contract whilst keeping their distance. Balfour began to undo the laces in his partner's Oxfords. "So... no celebrating yet then. But when it happens, just so you know, I'm going all out. Fireworks and champagne and everything we desire."

His gaze drifted up to meet Joh in the eyes while fingers cleverly worked at one set and then the other. Somehow he managed to look all at once serious and flippant. "You think she'll go quietly?" Balfour hesitated, "I mean... I wouldn't put it past her to do something absolutely insane as a final farewell."

“… ones with happier endings.”
“Amen.” Johann chuckled, relief warming him from within as if Balfour had planted a hot water bottle of hope right in his belly. He obliged Balfour’s manhandling, glad to have come away unscathed, to be reunited and able to laugh.

“… Fireworks and champagne and everything we desire.” Johann was smiling happily, and had wriggled to accommodate his long legs onto Balfour’s lap, while still slouched sideways against the cushions. A pink tinge had reached his cheeks as he watched the animated discussion of the wizard who completed his life. Balfour was someone truly spectacular, and it was times like this he wanted to tell him, never let go, soppy git that he had become. Everything he desired was currently unlacing the shoes from his feet.

“I wouldn’t put it past her either,” Johann frowned. He reached forward and tugged at one of his suit trouser legs which had become taut across his pale thigh. “Her final curtain call. She was quoting Genesis I think… creation of the earth? I’m rusty on my theology, but either way - her God complex was still there, maybe worse for the next great adventure meeting her creator.” He ruffled his hair, “because she believes doesn’t she? Or at least picks the bits of religion to suit her sociopathic tendencies.” Feet released, Johann wriggled his toes.

“I’ve got my no-ohhhh,” despite distraction of the conversation, his feet weren’t entirely against being ticklish. “… my notice for getting out of the other flat, certainly. But maaaaaay - aaaah…” He bit his lip and tilted his head back, trying not to squeak.

"She does believe," he affirmed with a shrug as he tugged off Johann's shoes and then the socks he had pilfered from what was by now a very mixed up sock drawer, "Russian Orthodox. Odin knows how she worships. Maybe she thought her violence was worship enough."

Balfour tried not to dwell on that idea and focused instead on using his thumb to rub into the arch of his lover's bare feet, thinking that a nice foot rub would be well-deserved after a long day ended by Ira's ominous shadow. He liked to take care of Johann. It was one of those things he had never felt with previous lovers: deriving intense and altogether satisfying pleasure from the act of simply tending to another person's needs or wants.

            "I’ve got my no-ohhhh," the German's exclamation interrupted his own speech, and Bal cocked an eyebrow at him.

He gentled the pressure purposefully, letting his fingers trail more lightly every time he rubbed at the heel or ball of the foot. Oh. Ticklish. Distracting, those sounds, crowding impishly around more practical notions running through his mind.

"Maybe we ought to put some distance between ourselves and this place?" he continued the thread of thought and stilled his hands for a moment, "Couldn't hurt I suppose." They did have the option of finding another flat in town or - as they'd discussed when Lil Cam was born - moving on to the estate in Edinburgh.  The distance between the two cities was an immensely reassuring one.

Balfour glanced at the other wizard. His gaze dropped to the lower lip caught in Johann's teeth. Hm. Rather distracting. "You know, darling, I'm beginning to suspect you aren't enjoying my ministrations..." he trailed off and, before Joh could pull his legs back, seized both feet to tickle at their soles.

“Much what I was thinking too,” Johann replied, glad Balfour’s hands had fallen still on his foot, though he resumed pinching his bottom lip between his teeth.

“… I’m beginning to suspect you aren’t enjoying my ministrations…”
“Hmm?” Johann’s chin dropped to his chest to look at Balfour properly.

It was too late. Balfour had seized his feet, still full of the excitement at the news that Ira’s demise was imminent. Always the stronger, more cunning of the two, he was frequently the winner of their ridiculous tickling crown. He was just an expert in knowing exactly where on Johann’s lanky frame to touch, tickle or press. This was after seven months, he couldn’t begin to imagine what they’d be like after years!

“Noooo!” Johann protested, in a high-pitched squeal which had the Fates skittering on the coffee table around the contract. Every nerve on his feet was alight and the reflexes to pull them away from Balfour’s unrelenting fingers was sudden and strong. He wriggled, blood rushing to his head as he couldn’t keep still, and attempted to escape. He freed one foot before he rolled off the edge of the sofa onto the floor, pleading mercy through his laughter. His other foot was still trapped in Balfour’s grasp, pinned in between his lover’s elbow and ribs.

“Mercy, mercy! My eyes are watering!” Johann laughed, lying face up on the floor. He wiped his eyes, “I surrender!”

Balfour's laughter, ringing over the wonderful squealing sounds he tickled out of Johann, could only be described as maniacal.

He was competitive by nature but there was something about their crown game that made him take more enjoyment than usual in tickling Johann into submission. The Scotsman made a triumphant exclamation as he scrambled to keep hold of one foot when Johann tumbled down to the floor - pink in the face and indescribably beautiful. His heart had been made light by news of Ira's imminent death but now it weighed heavy with happiness. Gods they were lucky.

          "I surrender!"

One teasing tickle from heel to toe, and then Balfour released the foot with flourish. The round had been won! He eased the wizard's leg down, following the movement with a decision to join Joh on the floor. His eyes didn't leave his prey - he sat forward, then slid down to his knees until he was able to clamber over and bracket that head of dark curls with his hands.

"I have terms of surrender to deliver," Bal stared down with a smug smile. He was straddling Joh's hips but mostly as an unconscious act, neither sensual nor dominating. "Let's run away together, Johann Storm. Let's be cowards in love."

He bowed his head and came to rest on his forearms so that their lips could be brought together in a sublime kiss.

Johann flopped to the floor, Balfour relenting in his tickles. His ribs continued to shudder with leftover chuckles as his shoulder blades made friends with the living room rug. They were previously acquainted on more than one occasion, but a stray thought passed through his mind that his suit would be covered in cat hair.

It didn’t take a moment to become prey again though, but the motion brought a bright smile to Johann’s face. He lifted his head to return the kiss, and his hands found home, slipping over the shirt Balfour was wearing, grasping at his sides. There was a hopeful lust there, but the thought of Ira was still shadowing his mind in a less than romantic sense.

“You don’t have to ask me twice to run away with you, Balfour Spectre,” Johann growled, a suggestive grin curling his lips, and his bare feet planting on the floorboards beside the sofa. “And this could very easily run away with us both…”

He patted Balfour’s sides. “Where have you been all smartened up then,” he sniffed at the other wizard, “and you don’t smell of animals?”

If he smiled any harder his face would start to hurt. Balfour blushed as Johann gave him a sniff, reminded of the fact that - more often than not - he returned from work reeking of some creature's Odinawful scent. The small mercies of these bureaucratic days, he supposed. Mrs L was right to schedule all his meetings in individual days rather than spread across a week.

"Conference rooms, lost in Swahili-" he pecked his partner's cheek and rolled off to sit up on the rug with his back to the coffee table,  "- and paperwork of course. We're getting a Nundu cub in July."

Even though he had been talking about it all day, it was nice to be able to discuss the subject in a less officious setting. Bal was glad that few things on his floor were actually consider classified. Magical creatures required so much cooperation from different departments that the flow of information between them ran almost freely. In this case Johann would have heard about the cub anyway, as level four had needed translators from five.

He drew his knees up, crossing his arms against them and meeting Joh in the eye. "Tanzanians are lending us twenty specialists but we've had to certify our eighty handlers, plus thirty reserve handlers.  Got handlers coming out of retirement, coming in from abroad. And the Tanzanians needed to approve every. Single. One. " A wry thought tugged at his mouth.

"Only need about twenty to begin with though, she'll be a wee thing." Balfour had seen a fully grown Nundu before, once, as part of a larger effort when he had been travelling. He was eager to see more. "You should come watch when she arrives, might be the only chance we can have non-handlers around."

As if they could sense the threat of another feline creature stealing their owner's attention, the Fates had come skulking back to the scene. Lachesis purred loudly at Bal's ankles; she rubbed and preened until he reached down to scratch her ears. The other two looked like they were considering Johann's stomach for a bed.

"They'll need to approve you too but that should be fine. You were cleared to see Nidhug after all," his smile softened. Smooth talking the Tanzanians would be trickier than pulling division strings but he strongly believed that more people should have the opportunity to see fantastic beasts.

And there was no better place to start than with the people he loved best.

Johann propped himself up on his elbows once Balfour had rolled away, his mop of black curls more unruly for rubbing against the rug. He had picked up on the mentions of the Nundu possibility for a few weeks or more, filed away in Johann’s memory ready for future connections. For his specialist subject was Balfour Spectre, and he had a lot to catch up on with magizoology. He was lucky to have the best of teachers, and a library on hand in the Atreus flat.

“That’s quite the undertaking,” Johann uttered in response to the number of staff. He didn’t realise he was frowning as he considered the logistics and budget for it all, as ever his mind had gone off on a tangent while Balfour’s face had lit up with discussing the new study subject. “Hope your Swahili’s improving,” he added, in a throwaway comment, grinning.

“You should come watch when she arrives… you were cleared to see Nidhug after all.”

“The only time you won’t have an army on guard, certainly…” Johann replied quietly, and smirked, “I’d be honoured, and besides, I like to eyeball what’s distracting your attention from me in person. I can be quite the jealous man, even when they’re lethal pussycats. Speaking of…” Two smaller, habitually disdainful cats were making their presence and requests clear, trampling Johann’s reclined form. “Oof, do you two have to use your claws? I guess I should be pleased you’ve accepted me enough to do that, but I can’t help but feel it’s cupboard love.” He wrinkled his nose as a tail glanced at the tip.

“I’m pretty much cleared to take a shit in the Queen’s personal bathroom since Zephyr,” Johann mused, the previous Minister had been alarmingly trusting considering Johann’s extra-curriculuar ties, though he had always worked hard to keep them suppressed. His stomach was being kneaded, and one of the cats was performing the ritual circling on his torso before plonking itself down, tail intermittently smacking Johann on the cheek.

“But I’m more intrigued how the heck you’re getting this approved. Don’t these things wipe out entire villages with their bad breath?[1]”

1.	Hello JKR’s series of contradictions on the Nundu O_O

He laughed, watching as Johann bickered in with the cats in his usual way - they had a sort of fickle affection for people who weren't Balfour himself but it seemed at least two of them were comfortable enough to turn the other wizard into a makeshift bed. Or perhaps Joh was right and they were trying to curry favour for whatever strange reasons Sphinxes-turned-Cats could possibly have. Either way the effect was charming.

            "But I’m more intrigued how the heck you’re getting this approved." His lover turned the conversation back to work matters, "Don’t these things wipe out entire villages with their bad breath?"

"That is the question of the hour," Balfour left off petting Lachesis to lean forward on his hands, lowering himself to lay on his stomach on the rug. He rested on crossed arms and settled close to Johann's face; his manner was mockingly surreptitious. "For one thing, she won't be anywhere near a village or any living Being. We'll have her on a wee isle off Cornwall that used to be good for dragons."

Light, fleeting pressure sunk into his lower back, the third cat having hopped on to sniff about his shoulders. Bal ignored this in preference to holding Joh's gaze with a keen smile. "The thing is, any information we have about the Nundu is... not comprehensive.  Even the Tanzanians agree, they receive reports of drastically different experiences from their handlers."

It went without saying that most lone or small-group encounters with the Nundu would result in death, if not immediately followed by escape. It took more wizards and witches to confront a Nundu than it did a dragon but like any beast, the rule of thumb was that it is better to get out of its way if you can help it.

"What we're attempting, in collaboration with the Tanzanians, is to observe and to understand." Balfour felt Lachesis affectionately flexing her claws on his right shoulder, and absently reached up to let her nuzzle his hand, "That's what I wrote in my proposal anyway. I suspect the only reason this is taking place on our soil and with our funding is because of how difficult it is find Nundu related ingredients."

The Scotsman shrugged. He worked on level four because he was good with creatures. He led the Beast Division because he had an eye for politics even if he rarely showed it. The trade of Nundu products was illegal but by having one in its possession, the Ministry would enjoy a free hand to study such things.