ofcatsandfate | Fabrice Coombs, in the study, with an overly large magical tome. {For Demetri}

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Fabrice Coombs, in the study, with an overly large magical tome. {For Demetri}

Fabrice walks home from his meeting with Demetri in something of a daze, still trying to process the fact that their conversation evolved from mutual concern about their missing family members into actual flirtation, and Fabrice thinks he actually didn't make a fool of himself, for once. He's seen Demetri over the years, of course. Both of them hailing from two of the oldest families in town, they always ended up running into each other at town gatherings, fancy masquerade parties, and the like. They've exchanged pleasantries, if nothing else, and they've run in the same circles, more or less.

Looking back on it, Fabrice realizes he's always been somewhat curious about the other man, one half of the golden Thornton duo upon which the town doted, even amid their numerous pranks. Dwelling on it now, Fabrice realizes that after running into Demetri in a personal way, said fascination has developed into something deeper, a series of feelings and emotions he has yet to previously explore for himself.

When he gets home, he goes about his usual routine, checking the herbs in the kitchen window, making sure the cats are fed, while his mind lingers on Demetri's smile and the vibrancy of his blue eyes. He winds up staring out the window in his kitchen for a good hour before he realizes he should shower.

He showers, and actually makes an effort to look somewhat presentable, with a loose-fitting, white shirt and the nicest pair of jeans he can find, the only pair without any holes in them. He even attempts taming his hair, though that proves futile the more he thinks about his earlier encounter with Demetri.

Restless after that, he makes to his study, briefly pausing to give each of his cats attention before reaching for an older volume in his collection, the one focusing on scrying. He hopes he can be of some use tonight, beyond looking like a presentable human being.

So he settles into his favorite chair by the window in the corner, opening the book on his lap as he curls into the chair with the memory of Demetri's hand on his for company, trying to focus on the words as he waits for the other man's phone call.

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It's just after midnight when Fabrice hears the familiar sounds of his ringtone, which just so happens to be "Let It Go" from Frozen because he's a massive dork. Even his cats judge him for that one. He quickly picks up the phone from where it lies next to him on the stand by his chair, hands shaking from nerves and barely contained excitement; the book falls to the floor, entirely forgotten.

"Hello?" He says, voice a tad breathless, because he isn't clever enough to think of something purposely laden with double-meaning, such as Demetri's manner of greeting.

"Oh yes," he answers without thinking, anticipation of seeing Demetri again leaking into his tone. "Of course I do." To his own ears, it sounds lame, but he means it. He wants to see Demetri for selfish reasons beyond trying to locate James and Moira, and he gets the sense that Demetri feels the same way, too. He thinks Demetri can probably see his blush through the phone. "How far are you?"

“Good. Very good.” Selfish, perhaps, but Demetri would say that everyone deserves to be selfish some of the time. He knows that his motives for being here are just that, a desire he refuses to back down from, especially once he hears the eagerness in Fabrice’s answer.

“Five minutes. Maybe. Are you ready for the spell?” He adds that with a low laugh, knowing that he should have called from in town. The walk has done him good, cleared his mind from the slight fog the drinks he’d had. He wants to be there now, and he knows that when he gets there that scrying is far more important than giving in to his urges. He can almost imagine Fabrice watching him from a window, leaning against the glass as if it’ll hurry his steps.

"I am," Fabrice says, which is sort of the truth. He's currently arranging the bowl of pure rain water on a tablecloth over his desk in his study, placing a branch of an oak tree which resembles a wand next to it. All the while, he keeps stealing glances out of his window, looking for the approach of a car or however Demetri means to arrive. After a pause, and a glance out of the window yielding no results, Fabrice feels daring enough to ask: "Are you?"

Fabrice also realizes he should have some drinks, or some kind of refreshments, available for consumption. Too busy wrapping his around Demetri and his alluring presence, Fabrice hasn't eaten since supper. He wonders how Demetri feels about ice cream.

"And how are you getting here, by the way?" He asks when the thought strikes him. He's back to keeping his eyes glued to the window in his study, gaze searching for any sign of approaching visitors.

"For magic?" It's his turn to sound nervous and unsure, something he sounds rarely. It sounds strange as the words come out, to admit that he's out of his depth. That is something a Thornton never does. "I guess I am. As ready as I'm ever going to be for it."

He sees the light through the trees, pausing at the end of the drive before starting toward the house. "I walked, actually."

He couldn't have the driver deliver him, knowing his father would hear about it, and there's a chance a taxi driver would run to sell the story. "I wanted to clear my head."

"I promise it's not that bad," Fabrice says, catching the hint of uncertainty in Demetri's voice and finding it endearing, strangely enough, in its own way. Squinting out the window, he thinks he makes out a figure heading towards him from the end of his drive way. He moves to the main door in the hallway, next to the kitchen. He hopes his eager footsteps aren't loud enough to echo through the phone.

"Really?" But then, considering his want for privacy, to shield his reputation, Fabrice understands why. Still, it intrigues him to know that Demetri is willing to walk this far out to see him, makes his stomach dance the more he dwells on it. "Well, there's no better way to clear your head than a walk in the woods." He's fond of taking walks himself.

Patiently, he waits by the door, watching as the other man gradually approaches.

"As long as you don't turn me into a toad," he says, laughing softly. It's not something he could do, Demetri thinks, or at least hopes. He realises that he actually doesn't know, but he's come this far and strangely, trust the other man at least that much.

"Oh, I think there are better things," he says, his teasing words resurfacing. There's something enjoyable about this, about their banter on the phone, both of them nervous in some way and confident in another. It makes them opposites, nearly, something that Demetri might think about another time. Not tonight, climbing the step to the door, tapping at it and hanging up his phone before Fabrice can answer him.

Though capable of turning himself into a stag at will, Fabrice would never actually turn anyone into a toad. Except maybe the jerk who attacked him.

Fabrice feels his face flush at Demetri's words, and before he even gets a chance to respond, the other man hangs up, leaving him in something of a daze. Again. It seems to be his specialty.

But then there's a tapping at the door, and Fabrice feels his heart drop into his stomach. He takes a steadying breath, trying to contain his excitement and nervousness, as he pulls back the door to find Demetri waiting on his doorstep.

"Hello," he says, smiling at the sight of him.

There's a secomd before the door opens that his cynicism resurfaces and Demetri expects to see half the Coombs family there in wait. But when he sees Fabrice there with a lingering flush in his cheeks he knows that was a foolish thought.

"I told you I'd take you up on your invitation," he says as he steps inside, not waiting for the other man to step out of the doorway first. It puts them chest to chest, and Demetri wonders if the heat is all in his head or if Fabrice feels it too. He's rarely wrong when assessing if others find him attractive, and he doesn't think he's wrong this time but it's being unsure that's driving him crazy.

But his main purpose here isn't seduction, he tells himself, licking his lips and lowering the hand he'd started to raise to Fabrice's face. It's their family, finding James and Moira if they can. "Where do we start?"

For a moment, Fabrice worries that Demetri's changed his mind, when he lingers a moment on the front steps. But then, he's stepping inside, chest brushing against his own, and Fabrice's breath catches at the sensation, warm, comforting, and sending his nerves for a whirl. "You did," he manages, his voice slightly raspy as the heat from the other man's presence snakes up his spine.

He manages to move back, almost stumbling into the table as he watches the other man lick his lips. The sight does funny things to his brain, and he has to shake his head to clear it of thoughts other than trying to scry for Moira and James.

"Okay, um. Follow me, this way," he gestures, before remembering his manners. "Oh, can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

"I'm okay," Demetri insists, wanting to have this part done. He hasn't ever seen someone perform a spell, curiosity warring with nervousness which both fight with the knot of desire in his belly. What he does know is how to ignore that, how to concentrate and watch dutifully and it's what he needs now.

"It's probably better if we get it done."

"Okay," Fabrice says, heading in the direction of the study. He senses the tension in the other man's voice, and he gets the feeling he wants this done as soon as possible, which shouldn't be a problem, scrying is straight forward enough to manage, provided one doesn't allow oneself to get distracted. Which might be a problem tonight, Fabrice realizes, flushing as he tries not to stare at the other man following him.

He makes his way over to the desk, where the supplies are ready and waiting.

"There's nothing really too 'magical' about this," he says, picking up the stick and beginning to stir the water. "I basically just say a few words and look into the water."

Distraction is a problem they're both having, but it's not Demetri who's trying to perform magic. Simple as Fabrice says it is, it still seems strange to him; words, a stick and water seeming so everyday that he can't imagined them being used for anything like this. He nods, standing close but trying to not crowd the other man. Not now, with his nerves on edge.

"Do I need to do anything?" The innuendo is put aside for now as Demetri focuses on the bowl and not Fabrice's hands or mouth. "Or will it just happen?"

If Fabrice is taking more breathes than normal to calm himself, put himself in a place where he can actually focus on the task at hand and not the blue of Demetri's eyes or the crinkles around them, he tries not to let it show. This is a truly important task and he can't risk it for the sake of his own desires.

He still feels Demetri's presence, though, pulling on him like a magnet. He takes another breath before looking up at the other man.

"If you could, just briefly dip your finger into the bowl, so the spell will pick up on James as well as Moira," he tells him, knowing how absurd it must seem and unable to think of a simpler way of explaining it.

It's a presence they both feel, the weight of it heavy on Demetri as well though me manages a nonchalant demeanor. He nods, dipping his finger in snd thinking on his brother, gone for a week. It's sobering and helps him to focus.

Fabrice briefly envies Demetri's calm demeanor, watching him swiftly dip his finger into the water. But then he remembers how Moira's been gone a week, and that thought spurs his concentration into overdrive, causing him to look intently into the water as he begins muttering the incantation, a Gaelic spell Moira showed him when she was teaching him this trick. He starts stirring the stick into the water, waiting as the water swirls around.

When Fabrice starts speaking words that Demetri doesn't understand, he feels as if the tables have turned again and that it's the other man with the confidence and assurance. It's a strange situation for him to be in, and all can do is watch intently.

Once he starts speaking the words, Fabrice can feel himself focus, directing his attention entirely to the bowl before him. He, of course, still recognizes Demetri's presence, but he also is able to put his own attraction aside to look deep into the water contained in the bowl.

He stirs the water once, twice, three times for good measure; he concentrates, willing an image to appear on the surface.

"Oh!" He proclaims a moment later. Before him, in the water, are Moira and James, together, oddly enough, Moira holding James up as they take refuge in the corner of a room of some sort, in what looks to be like a labyrinth. "Well, they're both alive, at least."

He swallows hard when he sees his brother in the water. "James-" he says, leaning closer to the bowl as if it'll help him see better. It's obvious that he's hurt, and the sound that escapes Demetri is closer to a cry than he'd like it to be. He grips Fabrice's arm, needing to ground himself and needing to know more. "Where are they?"

He instantly empathizes with the strained way Demetri utters his brother's name; he's grateful that Moira, at least, appears uninjured, even if he feels for Demetri and his worry for James at the same time.

He starts when the other man grabs him by the arm, startled by the strength of his grip and the desperation in his voice.

"Um," he replies, glancing quickly back down at the bowl and focusing again, trying to discern the location of where they both are at the moment. Much to his chagrin, the water won't tell him anything but show more of the expansive labyrinth they're in. It's unnerving; they could be anywhere.

"I'm trying," he tells Demetri, "but I can't seem to get an exact grasp on their location."

He's about to make another effort when a sudden burst of purple and silver flashes in the water before disappearing as quickly as it came. Fabrice almost jumps, recognizing it as the same vision he sees every time he tries to recall his accident.

Something is wrong, and Demetri doesn't know if it s him or the spell. Could his being here be having a detrimental effect on the entire operation? He lets go of Fabrice's arm, his hand moving to rest at the small of his back. He doesn't mean to sound quite so desperate as he does but he can't help it. "Why can't we see them? Did you see where they are?"

Fabrice inhales deeply, stepping back a bit from the bowl as he tries to clear that awful flash from his mind. He never expected it to appear while he attempted to scry.

He opens and closes his eyes before he realizes that Demetri's hand rests on the the small of his back, a sturdy presence that allows Fabrice to regain some presence of mind.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, hoping the other man doesn't believe his presence is blocking the location of Moira and James. "It's just...I can't get a grasp on their location; there's powerful magic surrounding them. I know they're in a labyrinth of some kind, I just don't know where."

His voice is heavy with shame; he feels guilty that he can't offer Demetri any more information than that.

"I think," he says, pausing to take another long breath, "I think whatever took them there is the same thing that attacked me a couple of weeks ago."

"Why are you sorry?" Demetri asks in confusion, his brow furrowed in concern. "We saw them. They're alive."

It's something to be excited about, even if they don't have any idea of where or how to get to them. That this is magic is terrifying on another level that he can't quite deal with now.

He's halfway through asking if they can try again when Fabrice mentions his attack. Demetri tenses, filled with a protectiveness that he isn't used to feeling for anyone other than family. Why hadn't he noticed before this?

"Tell me about it?" It's a question, not a demand, asked softly and sincerely. He gives into his urge, lifting a hand to cup Fabrice's face, dragging his thumb across the other man's cheek and wondering how it feels so comfortable. If the two things are connected he needs to know, but he's also filled with real concern. He's aware suddenly of cats lurking in the corners and watching him, too, wondering if they're the ones he's heard whispered rumours about.

"I wanted to be able to do more," he admits, running a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. "I was hoping I could at least pinpoint their location, but I admit, I'm not as powerful as Moira."

But he is glad Demetri doesn't seem to be blaming himself for the magic not working, for it's certainly not his fault at all.

He's taken by surprise when Demetri inquires after his attack, a gentle question not set off by flashing lights and eager pens desperate for a juicy headline. When his hand grasps his chin, one thumb glancing against his cheek, Fabrice finds himself leaning into the touch as naturally as breathing. His touch is kind; it sends warm shivers down him, makes him not as afraid of the purple vision in the bowl.

"Well, that's the thing," he says, his voice coming out in little more than a whisper. He's struck by how easy it feels to confide in Demetri. "I don't remember what happened; they told me I was stabbed, but they never fond the weapon. All I can recall is a flash of purple, like I saw in the bowl."

He notices the other man tense at something out of the corner of his eye, and he realizes that the cats are in the room, walking along the edge and keeping their eyes on Demetri.

"Don't worry, they won't hurt you," he assures him, suddenly inspired to reach up and cover Demetri's hand on his face with his own. "I can have them leave if they bother you."

"You did enough. Even if I have no idea what to do with what you saw," he admits, exposing himself and how helpless he sometimes feels. Their town is rife with magic and Demetri sees how unprepared he is for it now. But he has to try and manage something. He has to see his brother to safety.

That Fabrice doesn't remember the attack causes a frown. "Is there someone who could help? Maybe someone in your family?"

From asking one Coombs to help him to asking after more. His world was turning on its end, it seems to him. Demetri doesn't like asking, no Thornton does, but he's better at it than some of his family. Then again, it would be hard to be worse.

"I don't mind," he answers, relaxing when Fabrice reassures him. "They're protective of you. I can understand that."

It's a night for admissions he thinks, a night for things completely unexpected thrown his way. Demetri leans close, brushing his lips against Fabrice's cheek where his thumb just touched. He wants more than that, but doesn't want to assume as he usually would. This is different, something deep inside is telling him it is. It's not just two people connecting because of the people they care about; filling a void. "Could we try again in the morning?"

"It's frustrating, isn't it?" He asks as he notices how vulnerable Demetri is, opening up to him like this. From what he's seen of the other man, the way he pulled him aside when they spoke of magic so no one might overhear them, Fabrice realizes he must have few moments in which to unwind and cope with his own worries and fears. It makes him sad, to think of Demetri always beneath the mask of his public persona without any way to deal with his emotions. He's grateful he's opening himself up to Fabric now. "Wishing there was more that you could do when you can't? I know the feeling well," he says, not wanting Demetri to be alone in expressing his more vulnerable side.

"The only person I would be comfortable with asking would be Moira," he admits, sadly. "I don't want to get my mother involved in any of this; I can't help but worry that she might be next to be attacked." It's a fear he's told few people outside of Moira, but it comes naturally out of him with Demetri listening, like maybe he'll understand Fabrice's feelings.

"They're the siblings I never had, in cat form," he tries to joke, knowing it's a poor excuse at one, but making the attempt regardless.

His breath catches again when Demetri leans in and kisses him on the cheek, spreading warmth throughout his whole face. His heart races with something deeper than attraction; he doesn't know what it is, but he knows it's something he's been searching for, even without realizing it.

"We could," he agrees, voice a tad breathless. "If you don't mind spending the night."

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