June, 1879 - an opium den in wizarding London

Arthur was at an opium den, but he wasn't high — this was the sort of thing that occasionally happened when one was living in a room at an opium den. His roommates were throwing a party. They had not told him they were throwing the party in advance, but given that Art was living out of a suitcase here and not paying rent, he supposed he could excuse it. (Also — this was the sort of opium den he would have frequented back when he had money, and therefor also one of the better places he'd talked his way into staying in the past few months.

So he was hanging around the party drinking whiskey and generally being charming and gregarious and directing people to where they wanted to be, as if this was his job, which he supposed it was. He was in the middle of doing this from his perch on the arm of a couch when he recognized one of the men there — not just because they had met, but because they knew each other well, in the way that second-cousins-who-went-to-school-together knew each other.

"Valerian," Art said, tilting his head at his relative in a languid sort of way. He was trying to gauge whether or not Valerian had had any opium or laudanum yet; people who were high could be dreadfully irritating to talk to when one was just drinking, and feasibly he could putter off to his room and avoid this whole party if that was going to be a dynamic here. "I didn't think this was your sort of place."

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Valerian Macnair Holly Scrimgeour

  

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set by MJ <3

Graduation had been a milestone, to say the least. Eager as he was to begin his apprenticeship under the potioneer, it would be another two months until his NEWT scores arrived, and the potioneer had been adamant he prove himself worthy in that regard before he'd agree to take him on, so that left Valerian to enjoy more leisurely pursuits. He'd left Hogwarts with a number of friends he hoped to remain in contact with, and while most of them had taken an interest in the extravagant brothel not too far down the road, Valerian had very quickly found that the women there were too whore-ish for his liking (something that felt ridiculous to say, but really, what was all the fun in paying for a woman when she wasn't even half-interested in him?).

The opium den, however, was a different scene entirely. Valerian's friends were busy getting high, but Valerian, ever the cautious one, was hesitant to try it. He wanted to see the full range of effects—the first few minutes after taking the drug, then the high at its full force, and then the coming-down period, which he hadn't seen in anyone yet. He had sat himself down on a couch with stains that suspiciously looked like they belonged to specific bodily fluid, but maybe that was his paranoia—Valerian had never had to sit anywhere that wasn't spotless, and he was still getting used to that.

Speaking of someone else who was getting used to filth... "Arthur," he said, with a curious quirk of his brow. He hadn't spoken much to his cousin since the scandal, but he wasn't averse to the idea—especially not while sitting in the middle of this... this place, full of mostly strangers and bad smells. "Of course you wouldn't, would you?" he asked, with the defensiveness of an eighteen-year-old boy who didn't want to be thought of as too vanilla. "But it looks like your kind of place, doesn't it?" He smiled then, hoping that his presence was not one that would bother him.

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Art's question answered itself almost immediately — Valerian was far too quick-witted to be on any opiates yet. He slid off of the arm of the couch and onto the cushion of it, and raised his glass of whiskey at Valerian. Arthur had gotten used to mostly avoiding any of his relatives, in the last year and a bit of his life — but Valerian was relatively harmless, a little younger than him and generally non-threatening, and obviously not entirely at-ease here. This was fine, because they were on Arthur's turf.

"Oh, this is exactly my sort of place," Art said, with a crooked grin. "I could practically give tours of it."

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set by MJ <3

Valerian did not have a glass to raise in return—but he really ought to, because now he was beginning to feel a little insecure and it irked him—so instead he offered a smile and a nod in solidarity. He liked Arthur; it was hard not to like someone who, for much of his childhood, had exuded the confidence and friendliness that he'd tried and failed to manage himself, because it was difficult to make a lot of cool friends when he was so involved in his weird intellectual niches.

"By all means, then," he said, motioning to the rest of the room with his hand, "Lead the way." He could go for a tour, especially since none of his friends had given him enough of a though to offer.

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drugs cw!

Arthur got up, took a sip of his whiskey, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He gestured for Valerian to follow him. "So over here we have various items of furniture in various conditions," he said, gesturing to the couch and a tattered looking armchair. He led the way to the edge of the main room so they could circle the perimeter.

"That table — bottles of various somethings, mostly laudanum," Art explained, with a handwave, "Which I wouldn't play around with if you haven't before." He was not in the mood to explain to Mariana Macnair that something bad had happened to her son, and anything more than a few drops of laudanum could be far too much.

"The larger bottles over there, with the silvery substance — oh, you do potions, you know those. Party potions," Art explained. He stepped over someone who seemed to be mostly conscious. "The back wall's got drinks — or, the back wall had drinks," Art said, frowning. He didn't see the bottle of whiskey anymore. Fuck.

"Well, I've got liquor upstairs, if you want any," Art said, with a magnanimous gesture. "And the woman in red is a prostitute. In case that wasn't obvious. Do you feel debauchery toured?"

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set by MJ <3

Valerian followed, just as tall as Arthur but feeling a head smaller, somehow. Maybe it was because he was out of his element; this wasn't his scene, and even thought he thought himself above all of the people it didn't change that he was outnumbered by them. (Not as a rich person, but as a not-wild person. There were plenty of rich people, plenty of rich men in attendance apart from himself, but all of them looked too dazed and drunk off something to be conversational partners.)

He remained silent through the tour, every now and then raising a brow or giving a little hm noise in response, trying his hardest not to look like he was surprised. Trying hard not to look like a child, although compared to all of the people in this room he felt like an unexperienced kid. It did not help when the prostitute was brought up, because it was yet another reminder of how easily his friends had taken to the brothel scene while he'd sat around uncomfortably, swatting off attempts from heavily-perfumed women to get him out of his clothes and out of his pocket change.

"Terribly scandalized," he said towards the end, his eyes following the stairwell which curled around the corner and out of view. "I think liquor would help, no?" If there was one thing Valerian was familiar with, it was liquor; the Macnair family kept an extensive collection at home, and although Valerian had not yet learned to hold his own, he was eager to.

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"Alright, c'mon, follow me," Art said. He knocked back the remainder of his whiskey but kept the glass in hand; he was pretty sure he had another glass for Valerian up in his room, but wasn't sure he had two. Art led the way through the main room, deftly navigating people's bodies as he led them out of the room. The prostitute was unbuttoning a man's shirt on the couch he'd been sitting on with Valerian, briefly, and Art glanced at them before glancing away, his face flushing with heat as he noted the look of the man's collarbone.

The crush of sound in the main room dissipated when they got to the staircase. Art started up it, slowing his pace deliberately — he was in the habit of running up and down the stairs, but that was sort of rude when Valerian was following him around. "Before we're in there — well, this isn't as nice as my house was," Art pointed out. He didn't want to hear any of that from Valerian, so he might as well point out that he was aware now, for all that it had him feeling a little exposed.

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set by MJ <3

Valerian followed closely behind, watching his feet to make sure he didn't step on any of the bottles or random pieces of fabric (articles of clothing?), and generic trash that had been thrown about. He looked up at Art again, who was looking off to the side, and Valerian's gaze followed his, pausing on the man who was being undressed. He felt his chest tighten at the look on his face, already able to identify the feeling but not sure what to do about it. He pulled his gaze away and back towards the stairs, but the image lingered in his mind, as as he made the trek upwards he was becoming aware that his belt was feeling a little tighter than it had a moment ago. Bugger.

He tried to shake the thoughts from his head as they reached the top of the stairs, all too aware that this was the cousin of his that he had, probably on more than one occasion, tried to impress while at school. He didn't want to be the weird one—not here, too. Valerian fell into step with Arthur as he slowed down, and his eyes began to dart around, looking for the room in question.

"Don't worry," he said, thinking of all the hours he'd spent in filthy greenhouses and grimy potion benches working to get as much experience as he could before graduation. Art's room couldn't be nearly as bad. "I'm not afraid of a little mess," he said, smiling at Art, trying to be reassuring.

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Art grinned again at a little mess; he wasn't entirely sure he believed Valerian, but the younger man was at least making an attempt at being reassuring, and therefor Art was inclined to at least give him a chance. He fished the key to his room out of the pocket of his trousers and unlocked the door, turning the handle to let them in. He lit the oil lamp on the wall with a flick of his wand.

The room was wallpapered in red, like the hallways of the whole building. It was, if anything, sparse — Art's suitcase laid open at the foot of the bed, with stacks of haphazardly folded clothes inside. The nightstand by the bed had a box of cards on it, and an heirloom pocketwatch, and Art's coat hung on the hook on the back of the door. The bed was made, but rumpled, from Arthur having been sitting on it before he went downstairs earlier that evening.

That was it — well, that and the liquor bottles on the windowsill. Art pulled the door closed behind him. "Welcome to my lair," he said, trying to project an ease he didn't feel, and there was something insecure at the edges of his grin. "We've got — whiskey, gin, brandy, I think."

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set by MJ <3

Valerian remained quiet as he followed Art into the room, and was immediately surprised to find that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. If Valerian ever ruined his own life, he didn't think he'd be so concerned with the state of his bedroom—but compared to the downstairs, and compared so some of the potioneer's homes he'd been in between summers to get some extra experience, it didn't look so bad. The red wallpaper was fitting, but how could it not be? One of Valerian's impressions of Art from their Hogwarts years was that he was aggressively Gryffindor-ish, whereas Valerian floated around on the outskirts of Slytherin, at least until fifth year had propelled him into responsibility.

"I would hardly call it a lair," he teased, although his words were good-natured rather than intended to be offensive. If only Art had ever been a real lair—or maybe he had. Lucius Lestrange's home had enough rooms that could be called that, but it wasn't the same as being in a strange place that really was a lair. "But it works, and that's what matters." He guessed. He didn't know enough about Arthur in post-graduation life to know what worked for him, but he didn't seem too embarrassed about it.

He wasn't sure where to sit, but he did know where to go: to the liquor bottles, where he immediately reached for the wider, taller bottle of brandy. He moved back towards Arthur, feeling a little more confident as he did so (it was difficult to think of Arthur as intimidating when this was his living space). He stopped in front of him, holding the bottle out; he wasn't sure whether he was supposed to wait for a glass or what, but Arthur would know. He smiled again.

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"Thanks," Art replied, a little wryly.

He watched Valerian pluck up the bottle of brandy and returned his cousin's smile with a slightly awkward one of his own. "Oh," Art said, "Right, you'll need a glass." He set his empty glass down on the nightstand and tugged open the drawer to find the twin of his current glass, set on its side. It was the only item in the drawer other than a few stray coins. He picked up the glass.

Art glanced at it quizzically for a moment, but it was neither dusty nor visibly stained so — it would be fine, he thought. He offered the empty glass to Valerian. "We can sit on the bed for a bit as long as you promise not to spill brandy on it," Art said, with another crooked grin. Maybe he ought to get some chairs in here? He just wasn't sure how long he could get away with staying here, was the thing.

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set by MJ <3

It was not lost on Valerian how odd it was to pull a glass right out of a drawer, but he was wise enough not to comment on it. He barely spared it a glance, eyes lingering just long enough to make sure there weren't any strange marks on the glass, before he poured himself a good amount of brandy. He'd picked the drink because he'd had some of it before, specifically after the Hogwarts coming out ball. He'd gone with some friends to the pub, where it had been the first thing offered and the only thing that stayed in his glass for the rest of the evening.

He sniffed it, just to make sure it didn't smell bad (which, really, didn't it all smell bad?) and then took a sip, watching Arthur as he did so. He tried not to grimace, but the taste was a bit much after a few weeks of not having any liquor. He'd always preferred wine. He turned towards the bed, feeling oddly nervous about the thought of sitting on someone else's bed, but he would anyways, not wanting to offend Arthur by rejecting the offer. "Deal," he said, turning his head to cock a smile before taking a seat. The sheets were not as clean as he was used to, but it was definitely cleaner than the couch he'd been seated on downstairs.

"Tell me about your life now," he said, a genuine curiosity to his tone rather than the forced politeness this time. He'd been wanting to ask for a while, but what better time than while sitting on Arthur's bed? "I mean - I know how it's been," he added abruptly. He didn't want Arthur to think he was talking about the gambling or the scandals or the gambling. "I meant... this." He made a vague motion with his hand meant to encompass the entire opium den, meant to encompass the lifestyle he'd been living. "It seems so... adventurous," he admitted, smiling sheepishly and giving a little shrug. It would have been inaccurate to say he was a sheltered child; being Mariana Macnair's son meant be was exposed to a lot of, while not inappropriate, definitely strange and unsettling things over his life, but none of them had included the lifestyle of a quidditch-playing rake.

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Valerian didn't look like someone who had brandy often, and his behavior with the drink only exacerbated this impression for Art. Art took the brandy bottle back just so he could pour a healthy serving into his own glass — he would have preferred to stick with whiskey, but it wasn't worth the effort of crossing the room to grab the other bottle, especially given how weird talking to Valerian in the first place was. He set the bottle down on the nightstand and sat down next to Valerian; the mattress sank a little under their combined weight, pushing them a little closer together.

Art hummed and took a sip of brandy before he answered. The question would have raised his defenses coming from most people, but Valerian seemed to be asking genuinely — he was harmless, at least to Arthur.

"I guess adventurous is a good word for it," Art said with a half-smile, "Company's alright. I get to — do what I want, now, and no one expects differently from me. And that's pretty nice, too." The crush of society's expectations had very obviously not stopped him from ruining his life before — but now he could do what he wanted and no one noticed, or if they did notice it was just part of the noise of the scandal. There was a sort of freedom in it; at least, that was what he told himself.

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   Valerian Macnair

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set by MJ <3

It was a little strange to be sitting those close, on a bed, his body angled towards Arthur's, but not bad (did that make any sense? He wasn't sure it did). He brought the glass to his lips, but wasn't really drinking it as much as he was allowing the liquid to sit at the edge, his tongue darting out to the edge of the glass to get used to the taste of it all over again. He listened—because if he was good at anything it was listening—and decided that the lifestyle did sound nice, even if it was probably not for him. He may have not always fit into the little bubble society had created for men of his station, but he was not the sort to actively seek out the scandalous, the wild, the - adventurous. In most respects, at least.

"That sounds nice," he said honestly, because if anything Arthur seemed not-unhappy with his decisions; at least if he was going to ruin his life in society's eyes it should be in a way that he was happy with, right? Valerian could only imagine half of the things he did; while not living out of opium dens and drinking lots of whiskey, he probably did lots of other things that Valerian couldn't even imagine. "What's the most... adventurous thing you've done?" he asked, shifting in his seat—and accidentally moving closer, his knee pressing up against Arthur's. His cheeks tinted pink, but very quickly he brought his glass back to his mouth and downed a gulp of brandy. It went down easier that time.

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   Reuben Crouch

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Art was trying not to look at Valerian's tongue at the edge of the brandy, because that provoked something instinctual in him, and he was fairly certain that was not what this was. (Was he?) Instead he was maintaining steady eye contact with the other man, and occasionally taking sips of his own brandy.

He glanced down, startled, at the space where their knees were touching before looking back at Valerian's face. "That's a loaded question, Valerian," Art said. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, not because it felt dry but to gauge a reaction.

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set by MJ <3

His question hadn't meant to be loaded, but then he'd done and shifted right into Arthur and now he was all too aware of the way the he was being stared at. His pinks were still pink, but his focus was less on being embarrassed and now on the way Arthur was licking his lip. His pants had already felt a little tight when he was coming up the stairs, but now it was becoming uncomfortable, and he didn't have enough experience with situations like this to know how to manage his own bodily reactions.

(He'd, on more than one occasion, gotten a boner while watching Wright change in the dormitory, but he'd been able to pretend he was interested in his books or a new wand movement he'd been practicing, or anything, but this was... too close for him to pretend like he was doing something else.)

His eyes stayed fixated on Arthur's lips until the silence became uncomfortable. He found Arthur's eyes again, and his heart did a flip; nobody had ever looked at him like that before. Not someone he'd been paying attention to, at least, and not from this close.

"I want to know," he said, a shiver running down his spine.

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