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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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."

"I don't" he says with a rueful laugh. It's the truth of it. Between them James and he can usually master anything they need to, and he feels at a loose end not knowing what to do next. Demetri rests his forehead against Fabrice's, having already crossed some unspoken line. "If they went after June..."

That's the worst thing he can imagine. The youngest of the Thorntons, he couldn't handle it if something happened to her. It would be different than James but worse in its way. He took a deep breath, glancing to see that the cats had pulled back somewhat. "You should borrow mine sometime. Siblings, not cats."

"I thought you'd never ask," he whispers, pulling back to meet the other man's eyes. Demetri searches for something, sone reassurance that he wants this. There isn't anything he can do for his brother now, running half cocked into the night not benefitting anyone. He twists their hands together, pulling Fabrice's to his lips. "You aren't like most people I know."

On Tuesday, May 27, 2014, ofcatsandfate - DW Comment <dw_null@dreamwidth.org<javascript:_e(%7b%7d,'cvml','dw_null@dreamwidth.org');>> wrote:

"Ah, I forget," he smiles back, face flushing at their intimate proximity, "the Mayor's Chief of Staff and a police officer. You must be able to make use of a lot of resources." His smile fades when he starts to worry after his sister. "I know the feeling, even if I don't have siblings myself. If it helps from what I know of your sister, I don't think anyone could go after her easily."

"Thank you for the offer," he grins, moving his forehead against Demetri's briefly, "but somehow I can't see James wanting to spend time with the cousin of the woman he arrests so much. I don't know June, really, but she seems lovely," he tells him sincerely.

Fabrice thinks he just invited Demetri to spend the night and he thinks Demetri just agreed. He wonders when he got to be so bold; Moira's the only person who's spent the night here previously.

An odd noise escapes him when Demetri pulls their foreheads apart; he meets the other man's gaze, lets the brilliant blue of it wash over him. When he takes his hands and kisses them, Fabrice feels himself swoon a little bit, actual, honest to God swoons, but he manages to pull himself together to give Demetri's hands a squeeze after he kisses them.

"Neither are you," he tells him, voice heavy with both attraction and a feeling he can't name. "You're a good person, Demetri, and I..." He pauses, trying to think of how to put it into words. "I'm glad you came over tonight."

"We are." It's matter of fact, because it's how his life has always been and he thinks always will be. He's a Thornton, and even if he does things that would cause rifts in his family (like being here now) Demetri doesn't expect that basic fact to change.

"You might like Daniel? He's fascinated by the curse and everything that comes along with it." He is teasing now, stepping up against Fabrice so their bodies are flush. "June would like you. Because I like you."

A good person? Maybe and maybe not, though he leans toward the not most times. A better man than his father, yes, but the bar was set very low. It aches deep that he's sure that as much as he's attracted to Fabrice - and god is he ever - this could never have a future. Could it?

The small gap between them is still too large. Demetri closes it, his lips soft against Fabrice's. He's been thinking about this moment all night, parting as they press together. He lets out a low sound, their hands between their chests, the cats and the spell forgotten. "Me too."

Fabrice nods. As a Coombs, he is less connected than his wealthier cousins, but he is still a Coombs, nonetheless. Part of him is proud of the fact while the other part of him wants to be more than his name. Regardless, he strives to be supportive of those he cares deeply about, and he's starting to suspect he deeply cares for Demetri.

"Is he the friendliest of you Thornton men?" He asks with a teasing smile, bubbling with the affects of their exchanged words. He gasps when Demetri steps closer and brings their bodies together, close enough so that even air has difficulties flowing between them. Demetri telling him he likes him makes him dizzy.

"I like you too," he says, unable to keep it to himself. He really does like Demetri; he wants to be able to help him, to comfort him when he needs it. He's discovered this just this afternoon and evening, when he first approached him and when he arrived for the scrying spell. He doesn't know where all this is going, but Fabrice does know that he wants it to lead; Demetri emboldens him, makes him want more out of life. It's an intoxicating feeling.

He whimpers when their lips meet; he cannot help himself. He leans in, shivering at Demetri's low noise that runs right through his own body; he thinks he might be melting, as he tightens his hands on the other man's chest. When they part, his own chest is heaving.

"I'm glad," he says, leaning in to kiss him again.

"I wouldn't say that." Every gasp that he pulls from Fabrice, every willing sound and movement is heady. When they other man teases him, he smiles, kissing him yet again, not wanting to part yet.

"Good," Demetri's said that enough tonight, but it is good. It's dangerous too, and he wonders if Fabrice knows that they're playing with flame. They can deal with that later, Demetri thinks, as much as he's thinking anything right now beyond how much he wants the other man.

"I wonder," one of his hands comes free, Demetri tracing across Fabrice's jaw, down his neck to tug at the top button on his shirt. "If you'd look as good naked as I think."

"Oh no?" He asks, voice ragged from their kissing. Demetri might not be a witch, but he certainly seems to be casting his own magic around Fabrice, who feels like he's under a spell with touch and kiss exchanged between them.

"Yes," he manages in between kisses, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind how utterly delicate this situation his, them both being who they are and the town what it is. Still, some other inner part of him remains undeterred, firm in the belief that something good could come of this, even if it takes time.

But he doesn't have time now to dwell on those thoughts. Not when Demetri is glancing a finger across his jaw before moving down to tease at the buttons on his shirt.

"I..." He's all but panting now, overwhelmed by sensation when he remembers his scars. "Maybe not. I...still have scars."

Demetri wishes this were his place so he could tug Fabrice to his bed. So he could press the other man down beneath him and undress him slowly. It's more shocking a thought than any mention of scars, his rooms a sanctuary only his siblings venture into.

"We all have scars. Some are just figurative." But his plans of conquest - if he could even call it that anymore as wrapped up as Demetri is in simply being there with him - are put on hold. He feels protective again, wanting tonwrap himself around the other man and never let anyone hurt him again. "Show me?"

It's asked as kindly as he'd asked Fabrice to tell him of it earlier. Yet he shakes his head and smiles, dismissing his own question. "You don't have to."

The way Demetri just looks at him makes Fabrice go weak in the knees, as ridiculous as it sounds. Even more shocking is his own desires matching the heat of that look, his own need to kiss and clutch at the other man the way he's never been intimate with another person before.

He winces at potentially killing the mood, but he appreciates the concern in the other man's face and the way he gently asks if he can see them, with such care that further warms Fabrice's heart towards him.

"It's alright," he says, moving to unbutton his shirt, peeling it off his skin slowly. "I want to." The fabric reveals the skin underneath as it falls away, two distinct, large purplish scars that resemble claw marks. Fabrice flushes at exposing so much of himself to the other man, but he doesn't shy away.

It doesn't kill the mood as much as alter it, at least that's how it seems to Demetri. "That's no knife-" he says softly, a hand hovering over one of the fairly newish marks. His mouth pulls tight but in concern and not displeasure.

Slowly and gently, Demetri traces fingers along the edge of the scars, careful to not press lest he hurt Fabrice. They're larger than Demetri imagined and Fabrice is luckier than he even thought to still be alive bearing wounds like these. But they do nothing to mar the other man's beauty. It's something Demetri is sure shows in his eyes as he looks back up, the heat still there if somewhat subdued.

"I've never noticed how beautiful you are before today." And how lucky, he wants to add, but doesn't. That seems like tempting something, whatever it is that made those wounds. He unbuttons his own shirt, not wanting the other man to be the only one feeling exposed. Demetri isn't actually sure what he's thinking anymore when he lifts Fabrice's hand, holding it over his heart. "Like I said- Some of our scars are more figurative."

"No, it isn't," Fabrice agrees, observing the other man carefully to see how he reacts to the scars. Even as his hand lingers above the marking on his skin, Fabrice can still sense the weight of it, thick and warm like smoke from a campfire. He yearns for the other's touch, still. "But they insist that it was some biker gang related knifing incident anyway." Demetri's mouth tightens, and Fabrice's heart starts beating faster when he recognizes the glint of concern in his eyes.

He shivers as Demetri glides his fingers along his scars, his touch feather-light yet certain enough that it stirs the heat inside of him. He realizes that he is incredibly lucky to be alive, something he's been working on trying not to take for granted. The reverent gleam in the other man's gaze makes his stomach dance about.

"I..." His face fully flushes at the words, unused to anyone using the word 'beautiful' in conjunction with himself, especially someone as gorgeous as Demetri Thornton. His heart feels so light it might float out of his chest like a stray kite. "Thank you? Um, you're even more beautiful than I remember," he tells him, because it's true. Up close and personal like this, Demetri possesses a complex beauty beyond his appearance. In the way he speaks to Fabrice and touches him, he has a beauty beyond words.

He can't keep his eyes from the other man's chest as he pulls down his own shirt. He's worked out, and it shows. Fabrice feels even more drawn to it, when Demetri takes his hand and places it over his heart, warm and alive beneath his fingers in a way that makes him never want to let go.

He lifts his eyes to meet the other man's gaze. How could such a beautiful man have scars in his heart?

"We can be scarred together," Fabrice says in response, offering him a small smile.

"They're idiots," he says sadly, wondering why anyone would buy into such a lie. Magic, probably, and the inability to accept it. If these scars relate to James' disappearance then he worries more for his brother, even if he's impotent in that area of his life, unable to do more than wait and rely on others to help.

Demetri is used to hearing he's attractive, but those compliments pale beside the few honest, unpracticed words that Fabrice utters. He shakes his head in disbelief, cradling Fabrice's neck as he pulls him back into a kiss. His kiss is slow and deep, full of need of a different type that scares even him.

We can be scarred together. The words echo inside of him, his breath catching. Demetri doesn't remember ever wanting someone so much, ever feeling as if he might break should they not want him back. He breaks the kiss for long enough to meet Fabrice's eyes, realising that he hasn't been able to control what the other man sees in them for a while now. It's terrifying and exhilarating, he thinks as he whispers, "bed?"

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