221B

“Work. She’s a healer.” Bentley replied lightly, not bothering to point out that he knew little else about her. It didn’t exactly bother the man, though it perhaps should have, to realize that his wife would be a perfect stranger, even after they married. No, indeed, he found himself smirking at Baldric’s suggestion. “Well, the only problem I see with that plan is that she’s a Weasley. There are about a million of them, and someone will end up looking for her.”

Ben groaned, passing a tired hand over his face. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten his nap in, but it sure felt like he hadn’t. He was starting to get one of those headaches that come from a combination of a headache and a stressful morning. His eyes followed Baldric once his hand fell back to the table with a soft thud. “Mm,” he murmured, “Could do.” In truth, Bentley was hardly in a pleasant enough mood to be picky about pizza of all things.

Glancing about the flat, Ben realized belatedly how very boring his place looked; it was just a day before Christmas and yet there were no signs of it inside the apartment, large though it was compared to most. “You know,” he began slowly, “my folks are supposed to come up for Christmas…” Passing a look that was a mix of concern and even slight amusement. It would certainly be interesting when his mum walked in and saw how bare his flat was. Not to mention the sheer amazement when she realized he shared with Baldric, now.

- -

A deep scowl passed over Bentley’s face as he looked down at her letter; they had a little under a week before Rose was let off for summer and was meant to move in. If Ben could tolerate her for more than a few hours, it would be a miracle. Needless to say, their marriage was one of contracts, not big white dresses and a large group to see it happen. He’d been tempted to ask Baldric to go, if only for support, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say the words. Instead, he hadn’t mentioned it at all.

Until, of course, one of Rose’s letters had been intercepted a few weeks ago. Before that, things were fairly normal – provided that Bentley chose to define normal as his living with Baldric while married to someone. Then again, he hardly cared if he were living with someone else. That someone else was also married, to make it better. Baldric, however, had been willing to mention his marriage, where Ben wasn’t. Of course, the elder man knew full well that the Gryffindor was aware of his marriage; there really was no getting out of it, even for someone with enough money to suggest a bribe. Regardless, he hadn’t been able to discuss it, and it had backfired miserably.

Crumpling the parchment in one hand, Ben chucked it over the back of the couch and laid himself across the cushions. His vision blurred as he allowed himself to focus inward, watching the ceiling blankly. He had less than a week before Rose would expect the spare room, and would undoubtedly throw a fit if she walked in and found Baldric still living there. Admittedly, he had mentioned his living arrangements, but after much argument with Red, he’d come to the conclusion that she would be a nightmare until he gave her the spare. Thus, he had less than a week before Baldric would object and leave, still not over Ben’s secret keeping.

Ben had failed to explain that he couldn’t have the Gryffindor there for fear of saying “no” instead of “yes.” For fear of having to have the blonde stand next to him and having to watch his face and wonder after whether or not Rick was as invested as Bentley had managed to become. Frankly, the ease of his accepting it scared him. Ben had never been the sort for commitment, which was clear where Rose was concerned. The line wasn’t drawn out so well when it came to Baldric.

Bentley could pin the moment, though he often wondered after if he were being ridiculous.

A mere three days after meeting the younger man, Ben’s adoptive parents had arrived for Christmas, and his mum had immediately made it obvious that Baldric was her new favorite person. Ben hadn’t quite believed it at first, watching warily as the blonde woman fussed over the equally blonde man. It wasn’t until he realized that his parents would be taking the spare that the twinge of embarrassment had hit. But it was as if his mum had suspected, had deduced from the beginning that the two men were perhaps something they ought not have been after just three days. He didn’t point out the timeframe, admittedly, but Nancy had surprised him from the get-go. When his parents began shuffling off for bed, she had pulled him aside and asked after ‘Mr. Wood,’ making it quite clear that she approved. Bentley could remember his wanting to correct her, to explain about Rose, but decided that it could wait. Instead, he had glanced over his shoulder at the Gryffindor milling about in his kitchen, and just nodded.

Groaning, Ben blinked to refocus his gaze and let one foot fall to settle on the floor. When Baldric got back from the school for the day, he wasn’t sure what he would do. He could feel the worry and near desperation that made him want to just lock Baldric in his room and not let him move out. At the same time, he didn’t want the blonde staying in the extra room anymore. He could feel another argument coming on, though, so he covered his face with an arm and let out a second sound of frustration. Hell…

The beat of immortal hands upon the skin of drums rolled over head, carrying with it the deluge that the despondent skies had threatened to release since early dawn that morning. King’s Cross was bright and buzzing with people despite the pattering upon the glass roof. People were weaving in and out of the shops and darting under the awnings outside while some, those not smoking, lingered, waiting to make their move, darting out beneath cheaply made umbrellas that were taken up by the rain, drenching those beneath. Baldric had arrived, jumping off of a train that had come down from the school, hidden in the Scottish countryside. He disembarked with a handful of the other students and moved through the barrier of Platform 8 and ¼ out into the main, Muggle portion of the station and further than that, out onto the street.

After finishing off the cigarette he’d bummed off of one of the businessmen waiting outside, Baldric took off back inside to pick up a train that would take him down the Piccadilly line, back to Knightsbridge. Twelve minutes passed below ground and before Baldric knew it, he was back overlooking Hyde Park, contented by the sight of home. Whilst magic had aided the first journey, Baldric still felt fatigued. He readjusted his bag on his shoulder and hopped up the stairs, finding himself back on the familiar London street that he’d walked down earlier that morning. It was now late afternoon and the sunshine was disappearing behind the tall townhouses overlooking the street. The air was beginning to regain its wintery chill and Baldric cuddled into his coat as he began the brisk journey from the underground station to the flat he shared with Bentley.

The arrival took less than ten minutes and soon enough, Baldric was letting himself into the downstairs portion of the building, finding their landlady – Mrs Hudson – standing in the hallway, holding a cup of tea in her fine china. Baldric smiled at her warmly as he stepped in, shutting the door gently behind him. He tucked his keys into the pocket of his coat. She put down her teacup on the hall table, next to the newest bunch of flowers that Baldric would have wagered had arrived after he’d left earlier in the day from her admirer from bingo, and approached him, settling her hands on his shoulders and fixing him with her sharp, emerald gaze.

“The owls came again, Baldric,” she informed him with her shrill, studious voice. For a moment, he felt ten years old again, despite having the best part of a foot in height on the elder woman. “You know how I feel about the owls coming and going, eating my Jammie Dodgers until we’ve nothing left but those bloody Fig Rolls that your boyfriend brings home every Friday from work! If I have to eat another fig-related food product I think I shall die, Baldric Wood: now do something about it!”

With that said, she smacked her cool, ringed hand against his cheek and pinched it with a glib smile before shuffling away, back into her sitting room – though not without first picking up her cup of tea – muttering about the disgrace of a biscuit tin their home had as she departed. Baldric couldn’t quite wipe the grin off of his face and he licked his lips, chuckling to himself as he jumped up the stairs carpeted with a nineteen-sixties, gaudy, and woefully tack print, taking them two at a time before reaching the landing. He twirled himself around on the banister and hopped up the step onto their little porch and twisted the brass doorknob, opening the flat.

“Honey, I’m home!” Baldric exclaimed with a chuckle as he shrugged himself out of his coat. Once it was hung up on the peg by the door he left open, Baldric toed off his shoes and padded through the flat, dropping his bag by one of the sideboards as he caught sight of Ben, relaxed into the soft pillows that the sofa was overflowing with. He lost the buoyancy in his step as he took in the dark hair and frame of his lover, a softer, gentler and affectionate smile coating his lips in place.

Feeling the crunch of parchment under his sock-clad foot, Baldric looked down and plucked the scrunched up slice of paper from the floor and, keeping it clasped in his hand, he moved over to Bentley. He shook from his mind the fact that he’d have to throw out another pair of socks because, sure enough, his second toe was peeping out. But that inevitably went to the back of his mind as he leaned over the back of the couch and let himself fall enough to steal a kiss from Bentley, a silly, lop-sided beam lighting up his features.

“Hello, love,” he murmured sincerely, moving himself to pop a kiss on Bent’s forehead before bringing his eyes back to the dark gaze that was ever so slightly tinged with sadness, he found. “What happened?” He asked, concern sparking in his own, contrasting, pale stare. However, ever the optimistic Gryffindor, he returned his self to his feet and reached to brush a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. “I’ll get Mrs Hudson to make some tea, shall I? We can talk about it.”

Baldric pushed away from the couch and crossed back to the doorway. He crossed into the hallway and with both hands on the banister, he hung himself on the edge and called out the woman’s name, waiting for the sound of her footsteps before she appeared at the bottom step, her head inclined upwards with a disapproving look on her face and her hands on her hips.

“Can we have two cups of tea, darlin’?” He cooed, his lips quirking up into a broad, teasing smirk.

“I’m not your housekeeper, dear.” Mrs Hudson grumbled but her fingers curled around the bannister regardless and soon enough she was passing by him, striding into the flat and as he followed in behind, he heard the question which confirmed that she was so their housekeeper, or at least another surrogate mother: “two sugars and a couple of chocolate digestives, Bentley – that’s right isn’t it, poppet?”

Baldric shook his head with a guttural chuckle and he turned over his hand, taking up the page he still held there. Rubbing it on his jeans, he smoothed it out as best he could so he could perceive the handwriting over the rims of his glasses. His eyebrows shot to his hairline, though, when he saw who it was from and he felt his stomach turn, all desire to talk, to have that cup of tea, disappearing into thin air. This was it. These were his marching orders. It was all coming to an end. He was foolish to think it could have gone on as long as it did.

“Baldric, what did you do with the strainer?” came the call from the kitchen but Baldric ignored it, pressing forward, back to Bentley to whom he threw the letter with a lot more venom than he thought he had in him.

“Were you ever going to tell me about this?” He growled, his voice far louder than he’d intended to make it. From the kitchen, the clatter of a spoon against the granite countertop could be heard but, just like Mrs Hudson’s words, Baldric ignored this sound, too.

“Or was I just supposed to come home one day and find her stuff in here and Weasley fucking family pictures on the mantelpiece? Was that it?! Was that the plan? Huh?! It’s bad enough that you didn’t think it necessary to inform me you’d actually married her – were you ever going to say anything?”

Baldric’s voice passed into the main room of the flat, making Bentley’s stomach sink even further. His arm fell to his chest regardless, a wave of guilt hitting him as the blonde bent and pressed kisses and offered a greeting. His forehead creased at the question, but he wasn’t very skilled at hiding his fear anymore. He didn’t want to. “It’s complicated.” He grouched, moving to sit up so he could explain. Instead, however, Baldric left to call for the landlady, interrupting the older man’s intentions.

Pushing his fingers through his hair, he leaned forward and waited for Rick to come back in and let him go over what he had learned. “Of course, Mrs. Hudson.” He nodded, hardly even catching the question. Just his name and the tone that implied that he needed to respond. Baldric’s laugh hit him, drawing his attention, but only insomuch as he stared at the arm of the couch as he heard the parchment crunch. He winced visibly as the parchment flew at him, his eyes closing as the laugh was replaced by furious shouting and Mrs. Hudson having an apparently shocked reaction in the kitchen. Opening one eyes reluctantly, before forcing the other open as well, Ben leveled Baldric with a disappointed look.

“If you’d shut up for two seconds I could have told you. It’s not like I planted the letter just to piss you off!” Shaking his head, Bentley stood and approached the blonde regardless of his anger. The Slytherin had seen that often enough after his inability to explain things before, and was hardly going to back down because of it now.

“Do you really think I kept it from you because I meant to hurt you? I told you before, I didn’t. Want. You. There.” He ground out, eyebrows tugged down in anger. “You can’t be naïve enough to think that after everything I’d prefer her over you. Fucking hell, Rick. I mean, how is it that you haven’t figured it out? I didn’t want to have you standing there while I had to claim some sort of allegiance to Red, considering that the entire time I’d be considering how long it would take before we could escape and pretend it hadn’t happened. Which we did anyway, so what does it matter? You act like I’m not married, regardless, and like you’re not either," He tacked on, referring to Baldric's greeting upon walking in.

Glancing at his bare ring finger, Ben didn’t even look to see if Baldric wore his. He had avoided checking, to use a cliché, like the plague. “I told you originally how I didn’t want her here. But if you can go on letting people think that your Slytherin’s child is yours, then I can damn well give this girl a decent place to stay. You can’t try and take that away; your Gryffindor mentality probably wouldn’t let you.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Bentley knew full well what he was doing. He hadn’t planned it, but he was surprisingly grateful that he had decided to don a shirt that pointed out his status as an employer – and a high-ranking one at that. Not only did he feel in the right, but the shirt actually mad him look rather fit, which he hoped had some kind of effect on Baldric. “Now, we’ve got two choices here. You can be a prissy little Hufflepuff and run off, or we can actually use this week properly. We don’t have a choice. You can’t stay while Rose is here; I’ve met her friends and family – they’d sooner have at you than let her deal with it.” His eyes traced Baldric’s face, eyes darkening and jaw clenching briefly.

“I get that you’re angry, but you shouldn’t get to be. Not because I don’t want you to be – I’m actually rather flattered. But because we did have a choice, originally. We could have chosen to- to deny the Ministry what they wanted, and then you wouldn’t have ever had to move out.”

Bentley’s own face showed the surprise he felt, brought on by the realization that he would have agreed if Baldric had suggested it. At the same time, Ben hadn’t been willing to mention it before his wedding, out of his feeling certain that the blonde wouldn’t have gone on with it. Frowning, he dropped his gaze to the floor and turned to head towards the kitchen.

Petulance: it was a Gryffindor’s trait. Adjacent to arrogance, they wore it on their chests, carved over their hearts and embroidered with their better traits: steadfastly loyal, wickedly, wildly loving whilst bearing stunning nerve and daring. These were traits they lauded, adored and they were traits they placed in the hands of those that wore the rampant lion on their robes and in their hearts but they were flawed traits, dark traits, ones that would teach them to hate as fiercely as they loved, betray some as quickly and as easily as they came to trust others and dare to break, to snap and crack under the press of strain. Under strain, Baldric had once before snapped. He’d run. It had been what had brought him to this place, to the four walls, to the landlady, to the gaudy wallpaper and to the man whose arms he called home. Then, as though the spell could not quite as surely last as they had hoped, the rug had begun to slide under foot until their backs were on bear wood and there was a clear, navy sky where once there had been beams and a ceiling, a home. It was going again. He was leaving, again. He could sense it, and all it evoked was petulance.

Hot-headed: it was another Gryffindor trait. It made the eyes burn scarlet and rage rise up unrepentantly from within the gut of the brave, lion hearts. It was a trait which had thrown the parchment, it was the trait that had draped scarlet over Baldric’s gaze, tinging it also with desperate, emerald green. The worst of their fates was occurring. From Belgravia, from the fragrant blossom trees and the well-dressed neighbours, acres of parkland and hot, French roast in quaint coffee shops on street corners and, most importantly of all, from the man before him, Baldric did not know where he was supposed to go. Pride. It was another of their faults. It was one which would not see him return home, his real home, he supposed, at any great leap and gander. There was a maisonette above the shop. He could sleep in there for a few nights. Perhaps he’d open it up, put some curtains on the rail and fill a stove with hot brioches and sweet breads. Perhaps that was his fate.

“No!” Baldric clamoured, throwing his arms up exasperatedly. “You wouldn’t be that bloody direct, would you?”

Following those words, Baldric stalled, the words crashing against him like a vehement, vindictive sea and he the weak and crumbling shoreline. The love affair of a caressing, lulling ocean against soft sands had long been dismissed and replacing it was the violence and the turn and wheel and run of one force against another, neither succeeding in destroying each other, only doing to destroy themselves amidst a few cheapened shots at doing the intended damage. There, right below his left handed collar bone, the first strike was made, a reminder of the precursor to that hurt. The same words were thrown against him and they imbedded themselves thus, where once they had merely bounced free, and tumbled where anger raged in their wake. Now, though that volatility still threatened, it seemed to dampen and he became more like that shore. He’d never been the sea.

Baldric reared, stealing his self away as though Ben had lashed at him and left scalding burns where his fingertips had grazed. The frame of Mrs Hudson moved from the arch as the kettle began to gurgle and signal its climax. Baldric’s eyes glared imploringly at the man before him, desperate to make him see but unable to find the words that would do justice for what he felt. He wanted Ben to understand why but just as he could not fathom still why he had been left without a right to the wedding, he did not think he could shed any clarity on why his actions were passing out quite the way they were. Baldric was not as eagerly forthcoming with a fly-away reason.

“She’s my wife!” He exclaimed, acutely aware with a visible wince at the double-standards. But more disarmingly, he could hear his father in him. He could hear the self-righteousness – the I’m right attitude, the one that placed him on the moral high ground. But he wasn’t. He knew offering a paternity, a legitimacy and, eventually, an inheritance to a child he had no claim to was no different than offering his wife a home, either. He felt it was different but the principle was the same. Treating the lady with respect. That was all Ben was going to do. That was all Baldric wanted to do, too. He wanted Nessa to have a place. He wanted her child, their child of sorts, to have a place and a home and something to cling to. In this moment, though, it didn’t make him right.

“And I have a duty of care. They all just assumed and I didn’t correct them. I don’t go back on a promise and I made vows that day that I need to stand by in whatever capacity I can because I said I’d look after her and that meant her child too. I was never going to throw her to the wolves just because I don’t love her. That’s not fair. I owe her that much. That child will need someone because as far as the great wide world is concerned, I am her husband and I am that baby’s father and for as long as I need to I am going to do right by her because she didn’t ask for this and I don’t …” Baldric rolled his lips together, weighing his words. “I don’t think I could sit by and let her deal with everything out of spite. She needs someone on her side and that’s a heck of a lot different to just moving in willy-nilly ‘oh, because school’s over, Bentley!’”

Unbeknownst to his consciousness, Baldric mirrored Ben’s stance, folding his arms over his chest and stepping out a little so his legs were shoulder width apart. However, the shirt certainly had the desired effect and Baldric took his eyes over Ben before he shook himself into remembering that he was angry with him. That was not something that he could bear thinking about when he was too busy trying to be livid. He knew it was ridiculous, though. He was like a pollen-drunk bee around Ben, too stupefied to do anything but collapse into the middle of the flower, his head lulling against a petal. He was intoxicated by the man and any anger was difficult to hang onto when Ben’s did not rise to meet his own and steps were taken, whether purposely or not he was not sure, to turn his head and send his eyes wandering.

“I’m not a bloody Hufflepuff you arse!” Baldric spluttered. The threat of Weasleys did not bother him as much as perhaps it would have done had it not been the handful of Quidditch games he’d played with the Weasley-Potter clan when he was quite a bit younger. In truth, the ones he feared out of them all were the Delacours who, on Gabrielle’s side, most certainly packed a different, more deceptive kind of spirit – especially with one being married to a Rookwood, though that had yet to be a suggested possibility, that paternity. Nonetheless, he was not intimidated by Molly and Arthur Weasley or Hermione and Ronald. That was a kind of bravado and conceit that he would keep up until his dying breath. Who in their right mind was afraid of Weasleys anyway?

“I want you for more than a week, Bentley.” Baldric sighed, heavily, leaning forward with his hand to nudge his fingers along the elder man’s jaw. “It’s not enough anymore. Am I going to have to break in at night and steal these from you in the dark?” His thumb pulled softly at Ben’s bottom lip. He could feel the words on the tip of his tongue, blasting through his chest, filling his heart and his throat, desperate to break free. Yet, as his eyes darted up to meet the almost feline-like gaze of his better, more sensible, half, he could not find it within himself to say it aloud. He could feel it though, in every nerve ending he possessed.

Another sigh escaped his lips and Baldric stepped forward, his feet coming to rest just inside of Bentley’s step as his spare hand drifted about the man’s waist.

“Don’t go,” he whispered as his fingers curled around Ben’s cheek. He whispered a kiss against the skin beside the brunette’s mouth and accepted his role. It would be he who would go. But the words bubbled up in him again, threatening to spill free overtop, changing from hot, sticky magma to spiced lava that would flow into every nook it found to slid into and fill the space it was given to roam. But instead, different words came and the disappointment etched itself into Baldric like nothing else he’d ever felt or ever considered feeling.

“It’s done now,” he murmured. Two letters too long. “It’s not worth the prison time. We’d end up being separate in the end anyway.” Baldric smoothed back some of Ben’s hair, a wry smile tucking in at the sides of his lips. “So now I suppose it is about patience and… it’ll have to do. Maybe I will sneak in every night and steal a cheeky snog? I can keep my key can’t I?” He chuckled a little and his hand at Bentley’s waist squeezed a quick heartbeat of a pulse against the man, reassuring him as his blue gaze tried to catch hold of Ben’s.

Somewhere, a volcano shed itself of its molten, destructive core and the lava flew down the sides, spilling into the valley and filling it like a great, fevered basin.

I love you, Ben.

It would be a massive lie to claim that Bentley wasn’t affected by Baldric’s refusal to calm down. Indeed, the older of the two had to wonder after whether or not he had effectively ruined things. He felt rather sorry for Mrs. Hudson having to hear it all, but she knew about their situation, and hardly seemed to care. She, of course, wasn’t one with an entirely clean history, and thus didn’t bother pointing out the stupidity that they professed. As Baldric offered a loud and frustrated explanation, Ben’s face fell, a dark frown crossing his features.

The words stung as they sliced through the air, making Bentley just feel like turning and walking into the kitchen to join Mrs. Hudson in shying away from the argument. It clearly wasn’t going to be possible to get his point across while Baldric was firing off excuses and failing to note that it wasn’t Bentley’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s really, but that hardly changed anything.

“And I don’t have a role to play, then?” He snapped, shaking his head as a look of sheer disappointment in the Gryffindor crossed his face. “You do realize that if I don’t do this, the Ministry will have our heads? What more important job is there than to keep her alive and out of Azkaban? I get your struggles, Rick, I do. But it’s the same as mine.”

He couldn’t help that his voice had lowered, the tone doused in sadness that undoubtedly showed on the man’s face just as easily. He watched as Baldric took on a similar defensive stance, a knowing smile crossing his face at the next words that left his flatmate and favorite person.

“You are, actually.” He returned, eyes creasing slightly on the sides. “But only in the good traits. Loads better than what I am, I assure you.”

Bentley’s arms fell to his sides, shoulders falling as well as his breath left him. That was it? If it wasn’t enough, why was he still standing there, making Ben listen to him say so? It would’ve been better, he decided irrationally, to never be told that he wasn’t going to be good enough, wouldn’t be right. It would have been better if Baldric just walked out.

Except it wouldn’t. Not really.

Even as Baldric’s thumb traced Ben’s mouth, the Slytherin wanted to pull away and find something else, though not someone else, to focus on. Just as he stiffened to back away, he was struck with the inability to move as the blonde grew even closer and cast chills across Bentley’s skin. As though his changing his mind was entirely normal and switching tack wasn’t bizarre at all, Baldric switched opinions twice and Ben couldn’t help but feel like he was watching a tennis match in his lover’s head.

“You didn’t understand me, love,” he murmured, knowing that if he was even slightly wrong in his assessment of the man standing in front of him, their conversation could come to an abrupt close. The hairs on his neck stood at alert, knowing that Mrs. Hudson was going to bother him about this for weeks. “I meant that I knew. In December. I was tempted to-“ He paused, the words stuck in his throat as Baldric’s gaze met his. It took a couple blinks and clearing his throat to decide that there was no point in not saying it. He had a week, but now was his window of opportunity.

“I wanted to suggest that we bolt and marry just to spite them. But you met Nessa. And then I couldn’t. You cared too much. I couldn’t even lay the blame on my being a Slytherin, or do anything stupid, because I just… I figured you’d stick around and it was close enough.” Though, apparently it’s not, he mused darkly, even as he ignored the fact that his Gryffindor had just said it could work. “My point is that if I’d said something, we wouldn’t be here. Or maybe you’d have taken off. I don’t know. Maybe this is as good as it gets.”

Without Bentley, there was very little left for Baldric. The Wood was not sure when the Pierson had come to mean so much. He couldn’t place the moment when he understood that it was Bentley’s wry laughter that acted as his buoy and that it was the man’s heat and touch and glinting eyes that filled his lungs with air, that allowed them to expand and compress. What he could recall, was when he realised that this was exactly where he wanted to be, with the Pierson man whose wry laughter, piping heat, teasing touch and glinting eyes kept him buoyant and good-humoured, stable and at peace. A world without that man, as not a world that Baldric wanted to toil through, for there was no reward in it. No lover. No life.

There was a part of him that wanted to throw the Ministry into the wind. There was something in him that wanted so desperately for them to escape. To hide. To be. To just be able to be. He’d have gone anywhere. He knew the impracticality of it, though. With Ben’s skin under his fingertips, they were as close to being as they could ever be in the climate they had been placed in. It wasn’t a place for them, regardless of evidence to the contrary. They’d find them. They’d punish them. Virile young men didn’t just go off and marry each other when there was a call for them to be parents, to father the next Wizarding generation. It simply wasn’t done. Thus, it would be a cell in Azkaban regardless of honest, genuine and loving intentions towards each other. It would be Azkaban. Then it would be marriage. The Ministry would have their way.

“I’m sorry,” Baldric murmured, dropping his hand down to Ben’s shoulder. He meant it, too. About everything. He hadn’t wanted it to be like this. He’d wanted the week, too. But, as he’d said, he wanted more than just the week. He wanted every minute of every hour of every day for as long as Bentley wanted him. That was what he wanted. But, as in many things, what you want is very different from what life deals you and Baldric was a great believer in the test – perhaps owing to his house placement – but what this one sought to prove, he did not know. He felt broken and defeated before he’d even begun.

“There’ll be something else,” Baldric promised. “This isn’t it, Ben.” He draped his hand down across Ben’s spine and cradled the small of the elder man’s back in his palm as he leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on the crease between his eyebrows. “Stop frowning,” he murmured against his skin. “It’s done now. I shouldn’t have…” Baldric pulled away a little, and began to rub small circles in Ben’s side. “I’m not angry with you really – just frustrated with the law and her and stuff with Nessa and I guess I was just looking for someone to take it out on. I wasn’t trying to make your end of this law seem small and insignificant I was just… I’m selfish,” he chuckled a little, “I don’t fancy sharing you and I just… yeah, jealous.”

Mrs Hudson made a reappearance then, carrying two cups of tea. She set them down on the coffee table and gave a smile, seemingly glad to see that they were at least, talking at a more natural level. She scuttled out and Baldric smiled at the sound of her retreating footsteps.

“Subtle, she is,” he commented glibly. “Tea, love.”

And just like that, with a hot brew in hand and the sofa’s pillows behind him, his legs curled underneath his body, Baldric felt like everything could be better – even though it wasn’t. With the heat in his hands and Ben beside him, he felt that it wouldn’t matter what happened in the coming weeks. They had each other, regardless of whether they were actually there. Baldric tipped his head onto the back of the sofa and he lolled it to the side, looking over at Bentley.

“Are we spending all week betwixt the sheets?” Baldric inquired jokingly, waggling his eyebrows with a laugh. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Ben’s neck with a smile. “Because that,” he continued, his teeth tugging absently at the shell of the elder man’s ear, “is perfectly fine by me… I’ll take a week off of my busy schedule of doing nothing but watching Quidditch and reading textbooks.” He chuckled lowly and let his head fall onto Ben’s shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you,” he murmured.

Ben’s hands unconsciously followed Baldric’s movements, only in a sort of mirror, starting at his side and moving to the blonde’s back. He increased pressure minimally as Baldric started moving away, eyes flicking back and forth between the other man’s. “It’s not like I like hearing about yours, either.” He mumbled gently, silently grateful as Mrs. Hudson started down the stairs.

A wry smile grew at Baldric’s comment, falling onto the couch as well, though he propped his feet up on the table and let the tea sit. His mind was too occupied, even to focus on drinking the tea their landlady – and, essentially, their housekeeper – had left for them. It wasn’t until he felt the gaze settle on him that Ben realized he had been staring off into the distance without intending to. He couldn’t push the serious expression from his face, even with Baldric’s teasing.

A quiet grumble escaped, his mind wanting to just give in. In truth, he wanted to reach over, snatch away the Gryffindor’s tea, set it down and just distract the both of them. Instead, he let his head fall back as his skin prickled, a chill passing over him in response to the heat Baldric caused. The chill passed when Bentley settled his cheek atop the blonde head of hair that was resting on his shoulder.

“Things can’t change when you leave, Baldric. They can’t. Time changes things, but doing nothing means we leave things as they are. That means accepting our fate and pretending that I don’t love you.” Ben swallowed hard, surprised the words had escaped. Instead of waiting for a reaction, though, he pushed the rest of his rant out, sitting up straighter and watching Rick closely. It felt strange, he decided, to feel comfortable looking directly at the other man after what he had just admitted, and considering what he was about to suggest.

“If we keep on like-like we aren’t married off and continue on with each other, that means that when the Ministry is finally brought to heel, we won’t have to change. Or find our way back together. The way I see it, life right now is a series of rooms – in this case, this flat. Who we get stuck in those rooms with adds up to the meaning and usefulness of our life. So yeah, I’ll take whatever you’ll give me. Whenever you want me… Or need me.”

It wasn’t like either of the women really loved their husbands, Bentley rationalized mentally. They weren’t betraying the trust of two wives who at that point had to have figured out the truth, so what was the harm in keeping on?

There was a stack of books on the nightstand that he’d methodically been working his way through. On top was his glasses case, inside some spares aside from the ones he wore on his nose day in, day out. Beside that little leaning tower was a lamp that had a tendency to flicker but, ironically, only during the points where the story was really beginning to heat up. Of course, there were a few other things such as his wand stand, another pair of glasses that were ghastly yet had their own little story and a handful of bracelets and a watch he should’ve really put more of an effort into wearing considering it was his mother who had gotten it for him. Nevertheless, the point was that he was home – he’d found a home – and again he was being forced out and not by his own volition this time, either. It wasn’t his choice to go.

Smoothing the backs of his fingers across Ben’s face, Baldric leaned forward and brushed his lips against his lover’s. It was chaste, bordering on puritanical, but it was enough in that moment. He didn’t know where he was going to go. A few nights bunking at the school would set him straight and sober, no doubt. But that didn’t mean he wanted to go there. No, he wanted to say. Everyone knew that. He felt like he needed to think it, feel it and say it all over again and again and again, though. He thought that if he did, maybe something would change and he’d be able to stay. Maybe he’d be able to wake up next to the man that he so adored and maybe, just maybe, the Ministry would let them alone. Perhaps they’d be able to breathe without anyone telling them how or when to do it. Perhaps they’d be allowed to be themselves, with each other, without anyone else. But it was only a dream, a thought, and they both knew that.

“I want you,” Baldric whispered desperately. “I need you.”

Baldric moved across the sofa, reaching past Ben to rest his cup on the end table. As he moved back he tucked his arm around his lover’s middle, cuddling close to him. Closing his eyes, Baldric inhaled the sweet and sour scent of Bentley Pierson, committing it to memory, convincing himself that this man would always smell like that cheap Bordeaux that they’d drunk that night and something glorious. There was something. He didn’t know whether it was through the rose tinted glasses that he understood this something or what but there was something about this man that made his heart speed up, that made his breath catch in his throat and that made him want to be as good as he could possibly be, as creative and as smart and as witty and clever and just right. Just enough for Ben and, more than anything, something and someone worth loving – someone Ben would want to love.

“If I go it all changes,” Baldric continued, rubbing circles into Ben’s stomach with his thumb. “If I go then she comes and it’ll change. Maybe she’s right for you or something and you didn’t even realise and this …” Baldric sighed, “sounds stupid, I know.”

Lifting his head from where it had come to rest against Ben’s chest, Baldric’s hand came down to prop himself up. He let the other one dip up towards his lover’s face and he nudged Ben’s nose with his own.

“I love you,” he murmured. “And I don’t know when it happened… but I can feel it in my chest like I’m on fire and it’s on the tip of my tongue all of the time and I just… I love you, Bentley. I need you to know. You beat me to the punch in a roundabout sort of way but I …” Baldric smiled. “I guess I just think if I tell you then maybe you’re right… maybe it won’t change when I’m gone. Hell, maybe it’ll make us rather than break us.”

Emotional.

Bentley "Ben" (well, 'Benji' would be accepted by a certain someone) Pierson did not do emotional. He understood why other people felt the need to show their emotions blatantly, but he was not one of that mentality. Where tears or physical affections were entirely necessary (and he wasn't implying that the latter wasn't lovely, because it was), Ben was more interested in thinking things through as rationally as possible. Hence his metaphors about rooms and his tensing slightly as Baldric's fingers brushed his cheek.

It didn't stop him from spending a second to revel in the fact that he had not angered the Gryffindor to the point where he wouldn't be that affectionate person he always seemed. A small hitch in Ben's breathing accompanied by a near-silent groan was the only indication of how badly he wanted to react to Baldric's admissions. Instead, he followed his cues and ducked his head, nose pressing against his love's hair almost of its own volition.

"She won't be," Bentley swore immediately, nearly cutting off the other man's words. There wasn't a chance in hell that it would come to that. He knew exactly what he wanted - what he needed - now, and Red sure wasn't it.

No, indeed, Bentley needed his temperamental, tactile, Gryffindor of a roommate and he would outright refuse anyone else. The only obstacle, of course, being the whole Azkaban thing. In this case, he was still of the opinion that his refusing to even try to comply with the second requirement of the law was close enough to making good on his unspoken promise to Baldric.

Realizing he hadn't said anything about it, Ben glanced down to meet the younger man's gaze just as Baldric looked up at him. Although he wasn't entirely prepared for it, Bentley had to admit in some part of his mind that he wasn't entirely surprised, either. There were signs, there always had been. Neither had been angry enough with the other to leave, even after their weddings. Not to mention the late nights spent finally talking to and learning about and memorizing the other person until they couldn't ever forget a thing.

It was a strange feeling, this heart-racing, hardly-able-to-breathe feeling. Ben hadn't ever expected to hit that point, even if he was going to propose (although, that had never even crossed his mind before the blond curled against him had shown up). One arm had unconsciously wrapped itself around Baldric's shoulders, and Ben found himself pulling the Gryffindor even closer. Free hand curling into the hair at the nape of Rick's neck, he didn't bother thinking before he closed the distance between them.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against Baldric's lips, "I should've said it properly."

He no longer cared that the words had escaped without meaning for them to; they were true, clearly. Every graze of his lips over his companion's felt different than Ben expected - no longer was he under the impression that what they had was very basic and born out of need or accessibility. It had become increasingly clear, even in their short argument and the apologies, that their relationship had become one of knowledge and understanding, coming together to equal something he called love. Pulling away far enough to duck his chin and press his lips against Baldric's jaw and neck, Bentley mumbled several "I love you"s into the pale skin as he trailed across it.

How can your heart soar and plummet at the same time? How can you feel so blisteringly happy yet so woefully devastated all in one moment? This should have been the happiest of moments, the words whispered under a sunset’s glow or something else ridiculously cliché and romantic. It should have been all of those extra things. It should have been something else, something better, but at the same time it was perfect. Baldric just wished the coming weeks wouldn’t set them up quite as they intended to. He wished that somewhere, someone could just press pause on the outside world and inside those walls they could live on as they wanted to. There was no chance of that, though. Not now. Not ever, it almost felt like. It felt as though they’d never get to live in the love they felt – that the opportunity to do so had long since slipped through their fingers. Baldric hated it.

Without hesitation, without even a thought, on instinct Baldric responded to the searching kisses of his lover, his hands coming to grip at the shirt Bentley wore as he returned the presses of affection with equal fervour and passion. He closed his eyes, allowing himself the luxury of just digesting the sound of those three words on Bentley’s tongue. One of his hands travelled up, looping in the dark hair at the name of his lover’s neck as he turned his head, silencing the words with another kiss, one that said just as much but wordlessly, through the medium they both understood. Baldric’s shaky, riled fingers found the buttons of Bentley’s shirt and one after the other popped through its hole and soon the soft skin of his lover’s chest was underneath his hands, his fingertips tracing familiar, sacred and well-loved ground.

“I love you, too,” Baldric murmured, finally, in reply as he chuckled against Bentley’s mouth. “Really and truly.”

Sitting back, Baldric took a moment to gather himself. He didn’t know when but at some point he ended up with one leg either side of Ben’s hips and when he sat back he did so onto Ben’s thighs. Laughing again, Baldric smoothed down his lover’s hair, unable to quite keep his eyes on Bentley’s face. It was almost as though someone had put soap all over Bentley’s face and Baldric’s eyes just kept slipping off and down to that little trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. Baldric’s fingers toyed with the button as he leaned over, trailing kisses across Ben’s neck, mirroring the path that the other man had taken across his own skin. Smoothing his spare hand across Ben’s chest, Baldric brought it up underneath the other man’s jaw, coaxing his mouth back to his as he made his way back up over Ben’s chin.

“We could elope you know.” Baldric smiled coyly. “We could run off to Gretna Green or something and become bigamists and move to Iceland and live next door to the volcano. It’d be great.”