May 25th, 1891 - Chudley Cannons Stadium [Theo's Office]

Cash turned twenty-five today.

Appropriately, this had him feeling - jumpy, like he wanted to run, or like he was going to start hearing voices from around corners. If he had his way, no one would remember his birthday at all. It would just pass like another Tuesday, and then he could move on and remember with a little less clarity. Unfortunately for Cash, some of his teammates had known him for too long — namely, they'd known him back when he was still willing to advertise when his birthday was. He'd scarcely made it through a slightly stern conversation about chaser formation when they opened practice before one of said chasers pointed out: Aw, Lestrange, don't be so pissy, it's your birthday.

He'd managed to laugh it off but fuck, now people knew and they kept asking and he had to spend valuable mental energy on projecting the impression that he was just feeling weird about turning twenty-five. Which — he did. He did feel weird about turning twenty-five. It meant that he was older and closer to settling and closer to leaving Quidditch, and he needed to talk to Lucius before the end of this week, and  he felt that at twenty-five he really ought to have more of a sense of what he wanted to do post-Quidditch than he did.

But also — Cash was turning twenty-five and Eli would always be twenty-one in his memory, always, and this was the anniversary of the worst thing that ever happened to him, and he felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. (An option for the other shoe — the letter he'd gotten from Greengrass, telling him to stay out of Hogsmeade. This was an easy enough thing to do, but Cash would have been curious about why on literally any other day. And rather than lie about how he was doing today, he'd just chosen to avoid the question.)

Honestly, he felt like he wanted to chain smoke, but the dementor had ruined chain smoking for him, because now he associated it with watching the smoke pool on the ceiling of the room in the inn. He hadn't entirely shaken the habit — had not tried to shake the habit — but he didn't think he was in the mindset for it.

He'd made it through practice without glaring incident but Cash had a strong suspicion that if he let his team catch him they would try to take him out, and he didn't think he could tolerate that. He showered as quickly as he could after practice and then slipped out of the locker room before anyone else could stop him, dressed in his normal clothes but still sort of damp — he hadn't bothered with his hair at all. And he — didn't want to go home but couldn't go to Hogsmeade, didn't want to wander London, didn't know what to do with himself.

So if he was trying to be alone but wasn't trying to be entirely alone, and he couldn't abide going home, and he couldn't go to Black's because it was in Hogsmeade, that really left him with — exactly one option. He wasn't sure if it was an option he liked, but it was the only option he had, and never mind that his hair was dripping water down his neck.

"I'm avoiding people," Cash confessed, letting the door to Gallivan’s office swing shut behind him.

---

Theodore Gallivan Elias Grimstone

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MJ made this!

“That’s fair,” Theodore said carelessly, because he couldn’t judge and definitely didn’t blame him. Wouldn’t blame anyone, really. People were - a lot of effort. So it wasn’t as if Lestrange needed a particular reason for it, and it wasn’t as though Theo minded counting more for an escape route than as people; that was also fair enough, he barely felt like a real person most days. Although - he tossed a piece of waste parchment away and meandered over - today was Lestrange’s birthday.

Which probably explained some of the urgency, and as Theo stepped closer to him he shot a glance out through the closing door - like any of his teammates would already be on his tail, or as if anyone would have actually expected him to be hiding out here. Once the door had shut again, he let his gaze rake over Lestrange properly, grinning a little at his still-wet hair and the slightly rumpled state of his clothes - which did make it look like he’d ducked out after practice as fast as humanly possible.

“So - no plans, then?” Theo inquired wryly, supposing he’d successfully managed to escape getting roped into any impromptu after-work gatherings, and that this meant there wasn’t some fancy Lestrange family event planned for him, either. (Theo knew, he’d said it once, his family weren’t the surprise birthday sort, they weren’t close - but he assumed if there had been some formal affair it would not be the kind he could get away with avoiding.)

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Cash flicked the lock in the door. (He picked the lock to this office not-infrequently, but as far as he knew he was the only one to do so, and it could not hurt to have an additional filter between this room and the outside world. He didn't think anyone would guess here as the first place he'd flee — they may check the rafters he sometimes smoked in first — but again, it couldn't hurt.)

Gallivan was wry and grinning at him and that was fine, Cash could manage that as long as the surprise-planning Miss Cecily Gallivan wasn't stashed in a desk drawer.

"No plans," Cash said, managing his own sheepish grin — this was what he wanted, no plans and nothing to reflect on here, like it was just another Tuesday. He felt like he would have known anyways — it was like his body knew it was approaching even has he tried to ignore it — but. No real plans. He wasn't sure if it was mercy from his stepmother or an oversight, but there wasn't anything marking today.

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MJ made this!

He’d locked the door, so Theo supposed he was staying for a while. That was fine, that was good, he had no problem with that.

“Well, sorry -” Theo joked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “I didn’t arrange a party for you either.” As if he ever would have. That said, Cecily undoubtedly would’ve been more than happy to throw Lestrange or any one of the team a party of their own if they’d wanted one, he expected, since she seemed to think birthdays mattered so much. (Or was a caring, thoughtful person, whichever.)

But maybe he should have thought of doing something?

He took another step towards him, wondering whether he should feel guilty. “But,” he offered casually, pausing to wet his lip - since he was here - “we could...” Trailing off, Theo let his hands settle on Lestrange’s sides, before leaning down to kiss him.

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Cash gave Gallivan a wry look at the mention of a party, because he did not trust himself to say anything suitably witty in response. All he could think of was thank Merlin, because if he was hiding in this office at the thought of getting roped into birthday acknowledgement, then a party probably would have killed him.

Cash was so preoccupied with his nerves that he hadn’t even thought of Gallivan kissing him until the sponsor’s hands were on his sides, although under any other circumstance he would have thought of it as soon as he locked the door.

He rested his hands on Gallivan’s chest and returned the kiss, eager and hoping to quiet the flutter of nerves that had encircled him all day. And maybe nothing strange could happen to him if they were kissing. Maybe.

“I’m still a little wet, you know,” Cash pointed out, like it wasn’t obvious that little drops of water were rolling out of his hair and down his neck. He slid one hand around to the small of Gallivan’s back, closing a little bit of the space between them.

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MJ made this!

There was a familiar spark of energy in this by now, or in him, maybe, when he was with Lestrange, like some weird wakefulness. So it was always a little refreshing - but even more literally today, with that just-showered feeling of freshness coasting in on his skin.

“Are you? Oh no,” Theo replied archly, only half suppressing his laugh at the idea that he hadn’t noticed or that this was supposed to dissuade him or that a little bit of water was going to kill anyone. And maybe it had been meant as a caution, or an apology for an occasional water-droplet making it to the floor, but - instead pretending that it had been an invitation to, Theo lifted his hands to Lestrange’s shoulders to slide his jacket off them. Once he’d managed to tug the layer off him completely, pulling it down off his arms, he tossed the coat over a chair. Just to, you know, spare it from getting damp.

That done, he grinned and pressed closer against him, backing him up towards the door this time. As he deepened the kiss, he tucked a hand around Lestrange’s neck where the water was still beading down at the back of his shirt collar. There was a small damp patch forming just beneath there, too. Well, alright. Still mostly preoccupied with kissing him, Theo slid his hand forwards, searching for the topmost buttons of the seeker’s shirt.

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His jacket was gone and Cash let Gallivan back him towards the door, settling against it with a pleased sigh because Gallivan was kissing him and that was the only thing Cash wanted to think about. He was being very responsive, obviously, because he — was very attracted to Gallivan and generally at least a little fond of him, so there wasn't really anywhere he'd rather be. And then Gallivan started undoing the top buttons of his shirt, and there was a whiteout burst of adrenaline in Cash's lungs.

It was a pang of déjà vu, was all, and Cash wished he was the sort of person who could just enjoy this. Trying to shove it down, he fisted one hand in the fabric of Gallivan's shirt and skated the other from the sponsor's back to his abdomen, starting to undo his shirt buttons. (Never mind that Cash was starting from the middle of Gallivan's shirt, and that this was — therefor not entirely strategic.) He knew where he was, he was in the sponsor's office of the Cannons stadium and Theo Gallivan was kissing him, and there wasn't any danger, right? Cash leaned upwards on the balls of his feet, further into Gallivan's kiss. Stop it, he thought to himself — he knew where he was. He was fine.

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MJ made this!

If anything was amiss with Lestrange, Theo hadn’t noticed it; he was too lost in the sensations of the moment, of being up close against him and having his mouth on his and of making leisurely progress with unbuttoning his shirt.

Oh, fuck, Theo had absolutely not thought this bit through, because now Lestrange was at his shirt buttons as well. And somehow already at the button right by that stupid scar on his abdomen, and - well, if anyone else were going to see it, maybe he could have gotten away with pretending that it was the result of a thrilling auror training incident, or something (- anything -) vaguely alluring and impressive. But no, not here - Theo suddenly felt heat in his face for a different reason - here it would probably still be the mortifying reminder of a long-ago school quidditch match, the game wherein Lestrange had captained Ravenclaw to quidditch cup victory and Theo hadn’t seen any of it, because he’d been busy impaling himself on his own broomstick and being out cold in the hospital wing for a week. Great. Wonderful. As if he hadn’t embarrassed himself enough in front of him already.

No, it would be fine. He probably, hopefully, didn’t remember that. Still, just to be safe... maybe he wouldn’t even notice it, if Theo kept him well enough distracted? With a newfound surge of urgency, then, he managed the next couple of buttons and tugged the shirt open and off him; or at least partly off, as far as he could get it without being able to wrangle the sleeves all way down his arms and with the door behind him. Theo broke off their kiss and moved his mouth to Lestrange’s jaw instead, working his way keenly along the curve of his neck and onto his now-exposed collarbone. At the same time, he let his fingers skim over the seeker’s bare skin, hands roaming over his chest and abdomen and down towards the top of his trousers.

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Gallivan was faster at unbuttoning Cash's shirt but Cash was shortly behind him, undoing the buttons in a haphazard order that did finally expose the sponsor's chest.

He ran his hands over the sponsor's chest and abdomen under his shirt, still not entirely strategic as much as he was overwhelmed by the combination of Gallivan's lips on his collarbone and the sense he could not entirely shake that something terrible was going to happen. (He ran through it in his head. He was supposed to be here, so no one would come looking for him; the door was locked; Tiberius didn't know about Theo at all; they were alone; Gallivan's hand was sliding downwards and Cash arched his hips towards him. This was not a part of his calculations of this being safe, but it kept popping up in his head regardless.

His thumb caught on a scar and he didn't think it was real. Cash slid his hand over undamaged skin and his heart rate picked up again, because — if he was imagining scars then he was really, really losing it. He slid his hand over the same spot and felt it again. This couldn't be his imagination, could it, because if it was this was worse than hearing voices — he didn't feel scars anywhere else —

He tilted his head back against the door. Cash's eyes flickered open. There were the old Cannons posters on the wall, he was exactly where he knew he was, and — Gallivan just had scars, too. He needed to get a grip and he knew it, but adrenaline and his desire for closeness were forming a disorienting mixture. He tangled his hand in Gallivan's hair, dark brown, he knew where he was, he could ignore the déjà vu that kept creeping up his spine.

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MJ made this!

He couldn’t really tell what Lestrange was thinking, if he was thinking anything - but Theo didn’t interrogate it, was pleased enough to have his hands on him as well, over his skin and threading into his hair. The arch of his hips was an encouraging sign, too, and Theo gave into impulse enough to shift closer and let his hand slip experimentally below Lestrange’s waistband, feeling him properly under his clothing. “Tell me if - you don’t want -” he managed, a little breathless and far too aware of the way his pulse had picked up, me to be doing this, I’ll stop.

And he probably shouldn’t be doing this (should never have let himself fall into the habit of kissing him in the first place, it was the same bad idea it had been all along) but, all uncertainty aside, this still felt good. So he kept his hand there, let it settle more firmly whilst he undid the seeker’s fly with his other. And, once he had struck up a more rhythmic motion with his hand, if Theo’s eyes flicked up briefly to his face to ask a silent is this alright?, it was just because this was a little different for him, and he didn’t want to be doing anything wrong. But he did want to do this - and he wanted Lestrange to be enjoying it, obviously.

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He did want this, his body was responding to Gallivan's touch even as his mind was whirring through everything, and he was trying his best to ignore it because Gallivan was touching him and it felt good. Cash's eyes were half-lidded and his hands kept wandering over Gallivan's skin, his breaths coming increasingly short.

He wasn't sure he could hold the eye contact, though, not if he was nervous, and he wanted to be touching him more, so — Cash lowered his head to kiss along Gallivan's jawline and down his neck, wrapped one hand against the other man's arm and tightened his grip. But without looking it was harder to remember, and — where was he?

Who was he with? Fuck, who was he with? He was in the Cannons sponsor's office — he was pretty sure he was in the Cannons sponsor office — and if his back was against the door then no one could blow it up without doing damage to him, and he turned twenty-five today and he was with Theodore Gallivan. He was pretty sure he was with Gallivan. There were flashes of something sparking up in his subconscious, things he almost remembered — he had done this before. He just didn't remember it. He stifled a moan against the other man's neck, feeling — breathless and keyed-up.

He knew where he was, he knew who he was with, he was sure of it, but Cash still opened his eyes and raised his head to look. "Theo," he said, his tone warm, and he was too caught up in it to realize what he'd called him. (He was also too caught up to do anything about the note of surprise that had struck in his head when he looked and saw Gallivan.) "I'm going to —" he warned, but cut himself off and finished with a shuddering breath.

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MJ made this!

The force of his grip on Theo’s arm was more than enough reassurance, so it was - stupidly easy to lose himself in this, though he bit back, as best he could, some of the noises elicited by the feeling of Lestrange’s mouth working down his neck. And then - he was maybe more focused on the physical first, as he let Lestrange finish and caught his own breath; he pressed his forehead lightly to his and then his mouth to his again for a fleeting moment before propping himself against the wall beside him. As Theo leant sideways there, he rummaged loosely in his other pocket for a handkerchief and tried to tamp down the guileless smile, feeling a little pleased and a little shy and - oh. There was a sudden flood of warmth in his chest when he at last digested it, the kind of warmth that might keep spreading through his whole body if he let it. He called me Theo.

He might not know what the hell they were doing here, but Theodore could well enough guess that it was advisable to keep his distance, for his own sake (he would say for professionalism’s sake, but that ship had, uh, definitely sailed beyond return) if nothing else; but amongst all the things he wanted was suddenly some desperate desire to hear Lestrange, Cassius Lestrange, say his name like that again.

That was weird, right? He hadn’t expected to feel like that, and couldn’t explain it either. Other people called him Theo. Calling someone by their name was a normal thing - had always been a normal thing before - but if it was normal then he was the weird one, because that meant he was absolutely overreacting. And of all the things to be overreacting about, of all the things that were wrong about this - namely, that Lestrange was a man, Jesus Christ; or that Theo was his employer and paid him a salary and that this was his work office (and never even mind that in his head it was still mostly his father’s job and his father’s office) - being on a first name basis was probably not the one to get hung up on.

So that was worrying. Still, he tilted his head against the wall and looked at him from under his eyelashes, pretending to make light of it. “Does that mean I can call you Cash?” There, it sounded teasing, it was a joke, it was fine. But calling him Cash, even just once, felt forbidden and discomfiting and almost on the verge of dangerous, the same way he’d felt last month when Lestrange had held his hand.

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He didn't really process it until after Gallivan had kissed him and was leaning against the wall, the rush of climaxing having staved it off, and then — I called him Theo. He hadn't meant to. Cash was certain that he hadn't meant to, he'd mostly avoided the nickname even in his own head, because he was already breaking all of the guidelines he had for himself. Theo — Gallivan — knew him too well, they would still have to spend too much time together if this went badly eventually because Cash worked for him, and worst of all: Cash actually liked him. None of this was great, but Cash had been ignoring all of it for the past three months, because — well, because he wanted to keep kissing Gallivan.

He wasn't sure he could keep on ignoring it if he was going to start calling the sponsor Theo. He also wasn't sure he could keep on ignoring it if his reality was going to slip a little when they were doing this, because that was also probably fucking bad. And hopefully it was just because of what day it was, but what if it wasn't?

He was definitely fairly disheveled now and a little self conscious of it. And — maybe he should start trying to keep his distance. He was putting Theo in danger, wasn't he, and — if Cash got someone hurt again, he wouldn't survive it.

He was still weighing that maybe when Gallivan called him Cash, and it was like it evaporated. Cash bit back a smile. "Only if you want to," he said, tone bordering sheepish, and there was a flush in his face that hadn't come just from the physical. I didn't mean to call you Theo. He could say that and maybe it would be fine, people said all sorts of things when they were about to come, (not that Cash had — an abundance of experience with this, because he didn't, but he was sure it was true), so maybe it didn't count.

He was missing the physical touch, too. Cash pressed closer again, and kissed the point where Gallivan's neck met his shoulder. Maybe this didn't have to mean anything, but — he liked the way it sounded when Gallivan called him Cash.

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   Theodore Gallivan

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MJ made this!

He probably shouldn’t have asked that question, joking or not. What could Lestrange say to turn him down nicely? What was he going to do, actually start calling him Cash? Why had he said anything at all? Theo couldn’t decide whether he just wasn’t thinking or he was thinking too much, and since he didn’t know how to clear his head he dropped his gaze and busied himself with cleaning up his hand instead.

Only if you want to, Lestrange said, and Theo looked up again. It sounded more abashed than he’d expected, and his cheeks were a little flushed, but he also looked pleasantly mussed - and in a better way than only being windswept, he thought, and he might have just kept looking for a while, but Cash was leaning in. With a pleased hum at the kiss, he tilted his head back a little to say yes, good, don’t stop yet and curled his arms around him again, one settling across the seeker’s shoulders and the other at the small of his back.

He could have gotten away with leaving it there, probably, said nothing else in answer and absently allowed his fingers to trace over skin until they both forgot they’d ever mentioned it, but - then Lestrange would probably never call him Theo again.

And beneath the danger and discomfort and the protests of his better judgement, there was a flutter of something else. And he had asked, so it would be stupid to take it back now. “Yeah, I want to,” Theo said quietly; and it was almost easier to admit to over his shoulder, like when they weren’t looking directly at each other it did not have to feel so much like something. “But I, ah - wouldn’t want to overstep. You know, professionally,” he added lightly, and his mouth twitched up at the last bit, tongue firmly in his cheek, “Cash.”

Because if he was ignoring everything else, there was something at least a little bit funny about this. (To be honest, though, if he was at all worried about overstepping, it had nothing to do with the professional boundaries he was transgressing, and more that Theo thought he - might possibly like Cash Lestrange more than he should.)

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There was another danger in this, one that Cash hadn't recognized before: the weight of Theo's arms around his shoulders and back felt safe, like they were tethering him to this spot. He was so fucked, and even if he wanted to ignore it, it would have been impossible to do so when Theo said Cash again and Cash felt a fluttering in his lungs.

They could joke about it and they could poke fun at each other and he could act like this didn't matter, but maybe it did, and he hadn't meant to call Gallivan Theo but he didn't want to take it back, either. Which meant — something. He wasn't sure what it meant, at least not yet, and it was impossible to decide when Gallivan's arms were around him.

He hummed against the sponsor's skin and started kissing down Theo's collarbone and ribs and abdomen — he avoided the scar — until he was eventually on his knees. Cash paused, his hand hovering over the front of Theo's trousers. He looked up at the other man. "Theo," he said, a little tongue-in-cheek this time — but he was looking up at him with one eyebrow raised, is this okay?

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MJ made this!

A shiver ran up his spine - half nerves, half thrill of anticipation - as Lestrange’s mouth moved lower and lower until he was there, his eyebrow raised in a question.

He... he didn’t have to. This was just supposed to be some casual distraction while he was here (here, for some reason) avoiding people on his birthday; Theo hadn’t really considered what might happen after, besides presuming he might have to - take care of this himself, once Cash had gone, before he could hazard going home. Now that he was considering it, though... he’d opened his mouth to echo if you want to in some attempt to be flippant, but he knew it would just come out breathless and knew his cheeks were too flushed for the tone to land. So, oh well: maybe he was already a little too far gone to pretend to be casual or like he didn’t definitely want this, because he was already fumbling his trousers open for him, had jerked his chin in a brief nod, please.

And - “Ohhh,” Theo breathed at the new sensation of it, the tug of feeling at the base of his gut strong enough to dispel the rest of his nerves. He didn’t know what exactly to do with his hands, but maybe he needed something to anchor him somehow, because the next thing he knew his fingers were threading absently into Lestrange’s hair, which was still faintly damp at the back. Beyond that, he could barely think: it was taking effort enough to suppress the moan rising in his throat, and he might even be failing at that. 

“Cash,” he said eventually, a little urgently this time, and gripped the other man’s shoulder to warn him faster than he could get out the words. I can’t hold on much longer.

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