March 30th, 1891 — Muggle London

Ford wouldn’t have been in the best of moods this afternoon anyway, after having just spent the better part of his morning chasing down a ghost cat who did not want to be caught. It mightn’t have been so bad if he’d actually been successful, but the best he’d been able to do after hours of effort was to set a trap and hope that by the time he returned in the morning it would have a new spiritual resident. So he’d lost the whole morning, and then he’d gotten an owl from his superior asking him to go directly to another field call instead of back to the office. He supposed he'd be skipping lunch, then, and doing so in order to revisit an address he’d already been to last week, and which he’d already cleared of spiritual activity. It was just a bit of magic that hadn’t been cleared up, and nothing to do with his division at all. His report after the visit had made that fairly clear, he’d thought, but apparently not.

He bought a sandwich in London and ate it on the way to the address, so that he wouldn’t have to do the whole thing on an empty stomach. The letter from his boss had told him to meet someone from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, but it hadn’t specified who, so he was surprised (and alarmed) to see Dorian Fisk lingering on the street outside the house. Ford wondered if there was any way he could prevent something like this from happening again without making it obvious why… maybe he could imply that Fisk had bullied him, or that they were in love with the same girl, or something. That would have to wait until this little interlude completed, though — for the moment, he was stuck with it.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the tension that had already crept into his shoulders. “[---] said to meet you here, but to be honest I’m not sure what you need from me,” he said, cheeks flushing slightly at the phrasing as it left his mouth, both because it was rude (which he wasn't trying to be) and because it could have been slightly provocative (which he certainly wasn't trying to be). “There’s nothing spirit-related going on here. I put all that in my report last week.”

  

---

Set by Lady!

Aside from the freak blizzard earlier that month (and with it panicked baby muggleborn accidentally casting all sorts of chaotic magic) Dorian had had a relatively quiet March. A fact he was grateful for after the emotional turmoil and physical exhaustion the events of February had caused. He liked to believe the unnatural desires he faced for those few short weeks — for he most definitely didn't still think about the handsome man who rightfully rejected him — was caused by the heightened stress of his profession and lack of other sexual release. A quiet month of visiting brothels and flirting with every woman he saw was exactly what was ordered.

Which was why Dory had to stifle an audible groan when Greengrass approached the same muggle house he was loitering outside of. He knew that he was to be partnering with someone from the spirits department as the building had had some sort of incident last week, but that it had to be him was just so intensely uncomfortable.

After all, Greengrass had rejected any further communication between them. And given that he'd been trying to leave when Dory entered the break room that day, it was safe to assume the two men were on an avoidance path.

Briefly, he considered taking Greengrass at his word and dismissing him. It would make his afternoon unbearable, Dory thought, to work in close proximity to someone he imagined in such vivid detail. (The scent of his aftershave was one Dory sought to find for a week before realizing how insane he'd become and abandoned all thoughts.) However, should the building not be cleared as Greengrass claimed it to be then Dory would be in for a hell of an afternoon. It wasn't that he didn't like ghosts — they were fine in theory — but he didn't particularly relish the thought of being alone with them. (Largely due to a lingering fear born from a horror novel he read at an impressionable age.) Besides, if the issue was resolved as Greengrass claimed it to be then why were they here again? Someone had to have messed up and Dory refused to accept it was himself, yet.

"Mind walking me through it, then?" He asked with a shrug. Last year, a seven year old had turned her jack o' lanterns into haunted ones that followed and harassed the unsuspecting muggle family. But, those pumpkins were dealt with and the issue was seemingly put to rest. "The house has been quiet for almost a year now, not sure why they seem to think it's related to my case."

  

Ford raised an eyebrow at this, because he hadn’t realized there had been any previous case. Truth be told, he didn’t know exactly what was happening in the house. It wasn’t really his job to figure it out, though — it was his job to find, talk to, and if necessary contain spirits. As soon as he’d determined nothing of the sort was going on in this house, he’d called it an afternoon and filed the necessary report to get it transferred over to someone else. When he’d first started at the Ministry he might have gone after it himself, out of curiosity — but he was more seasoned and less eager to prove himself now, and he didn’t need to waste his time on snipe hunts when it wasn’t his department. Literally.

“Stuff’s moving,” he said simply, with a shrug. “That pretty much rules out anything I’m in charge of.” He recognized that this was not particularly helpful, and felt a brief pang of sympathy for Fisk. He probably didn’t want to be here any more than Ford did, and they were both having to deal with it. He looked at the front of the house for a moment, considering, then sighed.

“We clear to go in?” he asked; the last thing he wanted was to get his wand out and then accidentally walk in on a very surprised Muggle in one of the rooms. “I can show you.”

  

---

Set by Lady!

Stuff's moving wasn't a thorough enough description. Immediately, Dory had a dozen follow up questions relating to the movement, the stuff that was moving and where within the house it was all taking place. To his knowledge, the pumpkins were exclusively in the parlor and the kitchens, but he had only skimmed the case file before rushing out the door on Hatchitt's orders. He nearly asked, too, stopped only by the realization that asking questions would mean talking when Greengrass could just as easily show him and promptly leave.

"Yeah, we're clear." He replied without providing further explanation. Dory had asked the family to vacate the premises for the afternoon on ministry orders and, thankfully, they had. Then, he waved Greengrass forward as if to say lead the way.

  

Maybe this was all they’d wanted him for, when his supervisor had owled and asked him to come by. Just walk through what had been happening, when and where, and then he could say his farewells and leave Fisk to his work. Ford certainly wasn’t going to be much help if the predicament was anything other than spirit-related, which he’d already determined it was. So this would be quick, then, with any luck.

He turned his collar up against the wind and climbed up the short stairs to the front door. He expected that if there were still Muggles on site to contend with, Fisk would have warned him — and there probably would have been someone from the Muggle Liaison Office lurking about, making it slightly less awkward to be stuck together (though not entirely, especially if that person ended up being Nemo; Ford had had enough of being stuck with Dorian and one of his brothers). The place was probably empty, then, and when he went into the hall he didn’t see anything to contradict that assumption. Once inside he shook his coat out and made his way directly into the parlor, where he began pointing things out.

“That — floating,” he said, indicating a decorative bowl on the mantel. “Actually broke when I was here last, but I fixed it so the Muggles wouldn’t know. Books on the shelf here getting pushed out a few inches,” he said, pointing to the bookcase. The books were staggered, some all the way against the back wall and some an inch or three out towards the center of the room. It could have been staged, except that he’d seen it move the last time he was here. “Pictures on the walls going crooked. It’s all little stuff,” he said with a shrug. “Might be why it wasn’t reported earlier. And then things in the kitchens get knocked off the counter and they find them under the furniture days later. They said they thought it was mice at first, but it doesn’t look like anything’s getting eaten.”

None of this was exciting, but it was also far beyond what ghosts were capable of. A poltergeist might have managed it, but if this was the work of a poltergeist, it was the most boring poltergeist of all time. Besides, Ford was better at his job than that — he wouldn’t have just missed a poltergeist.

He was about to ask if Fisk needed anything else from him when the door between the parlor and the hall slammed shut with surprising force. Ford’s brows furrowed. “That’s new.”

It wasn’t necessarily related to the things moving about, of course — it could have just been a strong draft. Maybe Fisk left the front door open, and the winter wind followed them inside. It probably wasn’t locked, anyway… Ford had had quite enough of being magically locked in rooms with people he didn’t want to talk to, so surely that wasn’t happening to him again.

  

---

Set by Lady!

Everything he was explaining seemed to Dory like the work of a spirit or being. No child was powerful enough to cast a spell that could last a year like this, not without some kind of reinforcement of that same magic. Again, Dory might've voiced such thoughts if he wasn't so consumed by their closer than likely necessary proximity and the exposed sliver of Greengrass' neck.

He noted each object with a distracted nod and a firm mental note to reassess everything once alone again. "And you're su-" Dory began to ask when the door he'd forgotten to close pulled shut behind him. Startled by the slam, he jumped some and turned to stare at the offending entryway. "Sorry, I uh. Must've left the front door open." He explained and went to reopen that one to close the forgotten door.

Then, somewhat awkwardly, he gestured to the rest of the house. "So things are moving? And you checked for ghosts and all? That doesn't sound like something a child could sustain for a year."

  

Fisk had jumped. Ford noticed it, and the corner of his mouth twitched towards a smile. He might have teased him about it — indeed, the words were already on the tip of his tongue — but there wasn’t anything good that would come of teasing Dorian Fisk. Not when they were alone in a stranger’s house and they were both supposed to be working. No, no smiling or teasing — just focus on the matter at hand and ignore the door.

“Ghosts don’t move things,” he replied dryly. His tone implied that he thought Fisk was a little stupid for asking, because that was obvious — but he was being a little uncharitable, because Fisk didn’t work with ghosts all day; that was Ford’s job. He still thought ghosts don’t have bodies, they’re noncorporeal was basic knowledge, but — neither of them wanted to be here, and Ford had decided to try and be nice to get them through this as quickly as possible, and his tone just now hadn’t been very nice.

“Yes, I checked,” he said, trying to sound more cooperative but still coming across a little exasperated. “I don’t know anything about a child, though,” he pointed out — whatever context Fisk had from the earlier case, Ford was still missing it. “Oh, and it reacts to magic. Ghosts don’t do that. Try casting something; you’ll see.”

  

---

Set by Lady!

No of course, ghosts didn't move things, Dory realized belatedly as a direct result of Greengrass' quick response. How could a ghost touch anything, nevermind move it, when they were but wisps? His lips tense into a thin line as he vehemently resisted both apologizing and instigating Greengrass further. Perhaps if the shorter man was flustered his cheeks would flush ….

No. Dory subtly pinched the inside of his wrist sharply. Professional and quick, that was what this investigation was meant to be. (Nothing about what Dory wanted to do to the other man would be quick, he thought to himself with another less subtle pinch.)

Taking Greengrass' advice, Dory cast a simple finite incantatem only for one of the aforementioned books to fly across the room towards the back of Greengrass' head.

The following 1 user Likes Dorian Fisk's post:1 user Likes Dorian Fisk's post
   Fortitude Greengrass

Ford was wondering how long this was going to last — it was a little one-sided, with him explaining everything and Fisk not offering any elaboration even when he said weird things like referencing a child that was clearly not present. Fisk clearly didn’t want to work together on this, and Ford didn’t really blame him, but he didn’t know why he had to be here for it. All of this information was in the report he’d written, which Fisk apparently hadn’t read. They could have both been spared this interaction if he’d just gotten all of this from the report. This was probably the end of it, though — Fisk would cast a spell and he’d see it for himself, and then Ford could say some slightly more polite version of see, told you, and be on his merry way.

Luckily he saw the book with enough time to quickly step out of its flight path, so it missed his head. He turned to watch it sail across the room and clatter into one of the armchairs. It was fortunate it was only one book; some of the things Ford had tried last week had gotten half the room edging about — though this was more of an extreme reaction than anything he’d tried. “Yeah, that’s —” he started, turning back to face Fisk — only for his breath to catch in his throat as he realized how close the two of them suddenly were. He’d been paying attention to the book when he took his step forward, not to Fisk, and now he was — well, he was right fucking there, which was making it hard to breathe.

  

---

Set by Lady!

Instinctively, Dory placed a steady hand on Greengrass' arm to ensure the man didn't trip over his own two feet, or, worse, cause the pair to fall as they had in the post office. The book whizzed past their heads, crashing onto the sofa opposite the bookshelf with a softened thud. Dory watched the book up until Greengrass took the step forward, and then his eyes were locked upon the other man.

His hand remained upon Greengrass' arm long after he ought to have dropped it. The similar smell of his aftershave filled the air between them, causing his fingers to tense slightly. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think of anything other than how desperately he yearned to cross the remaining distance between them.

Except, Greengrass had made his decision known, and it was one of firm rejection.

Dory's mouth suddenly felt impossibly dry and still he couldn't move. Even when knowing he was likely about to be decked, he didn't move. (Not like Greengrass could throw a heavy punch, anyway, being the geeky sort that he was.)

  

The fact that Fisk had grabbed his arm really wasn’t fair. Being this close to him would have been hard enough without it, but having to feel the pressure of the other man’s fingers gripping him just a little too tight and getting even more tense as they stared at each other wasn’t fair at all. Ford’s pulse had quickened until he felt like all he could hear was his own blood rushing in his ears. He wondered if Fisk could tell how nervous he was, all of the sudden. If he could feel his pulse on his arm, even through his coat.

Just take a step back. It wouldn’t have been difficult. Fisk would have let go of him, and there would be more space between the two of them, and everything would go back to normal. Tense, awkward, stifled, but normal. They could both just pretend this hadn’t happened and keep talking about whatever was wrong with this house, and Ford was actually going to leave soon and this was all just going to be Fisk’s problem, anyway. He just had to take a step back and survive maybe three more minutes, and then he could leave.

It should have been easy, but it wasn’t. His knees weren’t going to work, he just knew it. His legs had turned to jelly and his head was spinning and if he tried to take a step back he was probably more likely to fall over than to manage it. Ford could have just said something, too, and that would probably have been enough to break the spell of the moment. He’d been halfway through a sentence a moment ago and he could have just finished it, except that he couldn’t even remember what he’d been saying and his mouth was too dry to form words and he wasn’t sure if he was breathing yet.

His mouth being too dry seemed like maybe the one problem of his suddenly long list that he could fix, so Ford licked his lips. This seemed to spark something in his brain, though, and he found his eyes sliding down to Dorian Fisk’s lips, then back up to his eyes, deep and brown and seemingly alight with something. He looked at Fisk’s lips again, then leaned in an almost imperceptible amount — his body language asking for something his mind hadn’t quite caught up to yet.

The following 1 user Likes Fortitude Greengrass's post:1 user Likes Fortitude Greengrass's post
   Dorian Fisk

---

Set by Lady!

Greengrass didn't move either.

Greengrass didn't move, and Dory's thoughts were becoming lost in a haze of flaming desire. His grasp tightened, still loose enough for Greengrass to be able to back away easily but tight enough now to be obvious that his hand wasn't moving. It would be so easy to close the distance, to force them over the ledge they were tethering on for over a month now. But, Greengrass said no. Greengrass stopped their letters before anything could be born from them. Greengrass …

At first, Dory thought he imagined the wetting of Greengrass' lips. It was a split second movement, something he might've missed had he blinked. Then, Greengrass leaned in however slightly and he could no longer ignore his impulses.

Surging forward, Dory pressed his lips against his and brought his free hand to cup the other man's cheek. Do or die.

Hopefully he didn't die.

The following 1 user Likes Dorian Fisk's post:1 user Likes Dorian Fisk's post
   Fortitude Greengrass

Ford registered the movement of Fisk’s hand, out of the corner of his eye, before he realized the other man was leaning in. He thought distantly he’s going to hit me only that wasn’t what Fisk was doing at all. Oh! He didn’t react immediately — didn’t return the kiss — but his mouth opened just slightly and he could taste Fisk’s tongue. He wondered with a sudden rush of adrenaline if Fisk was going to touch him, something more than just his hand on his arm, and realized a beat after the thought that at least a part of him desperately wanted that to happen.

He was surprised at how… unsurprised he was, at least by the fact of the kiss. As though it had been inevitable — and it might as well have been, because this was the moment that all of that tension had been building towards, Ford realized. This was what they’d been talking about with their coded conversation, what they’d both been thinking about without realizing it when they’d watched the contortionist at the Sonata. While the kiss itself may have been unsurprising, the feelings that it stirred up in him were — certainly new. Like full-color versions of everything he’d been getting before, watching Fisk run his hands through his hair and noticing his biceps and looking at the curve of his lips just a moment ago.

Obviously he wasn’t alright with this, and he wasn’t going to just let this happen — it was predictable that Fisk had kissed him after all of that, he supposed, but he couldn’t let Fisk think he’d wanted to be kissed. He reached up and put both hands on Fisk’s shoulders, to push him back and put a stop to this — only he wasn’t pushing back, as it turned out, he was pulling Fisk towards him, and the kiss wasn’t stopping at all.

  

---

Set by Lady!

In relation to the other kisses Dory had experienced throughout his life, this one wasn't perfect. Their rhythm didn't come naturally and it was obvious Greengrass wasn't talented. (Which, didn't necessarily shock Dory but he was mildly surprised nevertheless.) In fact, Dory almost felt as though he was leading Greengrass through a complex dance that the inexperienced man had never encountered. So, while not perfect, Dory maintained his same enthusiasm and attentiveness, for the kiss was exhilarating in its own way.

For one, their height difference wasn't as drastic as he was accustomed to. He didn't need to bend his knees or stoop down as he normally would have, nor did he have any urgency to move them somewhere he might be more comfortable (a chair, a bed, the wall). It was … fitting in its own unique way.

Dory barely noticed Greengrass' hands rising until they were pulling on his shoulders. Pulling, he noted, not pushing, which meant the kiss wasn't unwelcomed. (Never before had he been involved with someone unwillingly and that wasn't a trend he wished to break now. The flash of the thought alone nearly had him stutter his movements.) He dragged his hand down the length of Greengrass' arm and drifted lower to his side. Almost as if convinced he would pull away too soon, Dory's fingers gripped the fabric of his jacket.

  

There was a violence to this, although it didn’t seem violent; it was a fight, and Ford was losing. He’d meant to push Fisk away but now he was even closer, and now he was going to touch him. Without thinking about it, Ford moved one hand down to catch Fisk’s in his. He thought to push it away — he couldn’t handle Fisk touching him, so he had to prevent that even if he couldn’t stop the kiss as decisively as he would have liked. Just like with Fisk’s shoulders, though, Ford found himself pulling when he ought to have pushed. He tugged Fisk’s hand towards the small of his back, and now they were even closer — now they were touching all over.

This was getting out of hand. He couldn’t handle this, having Fisk’s chest up against his or their hips pressed together or — or, or, or. The room was so hot, all of the sudden, that he thought he might very well pass out at any moment, and he was so aroused that he felt like his pants were physically hurting him just by existing. This had to stop. He had to push Fisk away.

He tried, he really did, but somehow the message was getting lost, because when he tried to push Fisk’s shoulder away he only managed to move his hand to the other man’s neck, still pulling, and when he tried to end their kiss all he was able to do was lightly bite Fisk’s lower lip.

  

---

Set by Lady!

The taut muscles, while obscured through the infuriating layer of clothes between them, were a startling difference from the soft curves of women. Dory didn't dislike the change so much as he wasn't sure where his legs were supposed to go. With women, he would tuck one between her skirts and the other outside it to help provide her with friction, but Greengrass didn't need any such friction. And to shift their legs ran the risk of pain for them both. Dory wasn't against pain (liked it even, sometimes) but pain would be a distraction. A reason to stop.

He never wanted to stop.

Dory pulled at the back layers of his clothes, desperate for the warmth of skin against his hand. The end result was a messy mix of half tucked clothing and only the slightest bit of skin available to him. He hummed his annoyance into the kiss, his hand dropping from Greengrass' kiss to push at his coat. They couldn't get entirely undressed in some random muggle's home, he still remembered however vaguely, but the house was insanely hot. A discarded coat could be forgiven.

The annoyed hum quickly shifted into an outright groan at the nip. His hips pushed instinctively into Greengrass, Dory's arousal digging into his hip.

The following 1 user Likes Dorian Fisk's post:1 user Likes Dorian Fisk's post
   Fortitude Greengrass