asoncalledgabriel | (no subject)

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Gabriel doesn't immediately remember where he is when he wakes up. He lays there for a moment, trying to push down the wave of panic that comes when he does remember. He closes his eyes again and tries, desperately, to focus on Anthony's steady, quiet breathing next to him. It's no use, though. He's awake now.

Carefully, quietly, he eases out of bed, and he does his best to ignore the unwelcome rush of shame when he realizes he can feel dried come on his thigh. Christ, he should have made some effort to clean up last night. In the dim morning light, he manages to find some of his clothes: his boxer briefs and t-shirt should suffice for now. He doesn't plan to just disappear before Anthony's awake, but neither can he bring himself to leave the bedroom in a complete state of undress. He just needs to clean up and get his head straight.

He glances back at the bed. Anthony Blunt looks very different still asleep in bed than he does when he's out in the world. Gabriel holds that vision in his head as he slips out of the bedroom and takes a moment to orient himself.

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It was like hearing Anthony speak. Guy regarded the boy cynically. "Why? Am I on a curfew?" he challenged sardonically.

He opened his book again as if to continue reading. "I didn't hear you fucking, if that's your concern."

"That was, actually, precisely my concern." The challenge in Guy's voice raises an answering one in him. It makes him feel more bold. "I'd hate to have kept you up, is all."

What the hell did he have to be nervous about? Still, Guy's presence makes him vaguely glad he put his shirt on. He has a bruise on his shoulder where Anthony bit him last night.

"D'you have a coffee pot here or am I better off looking for another bottle of something for a wake up?"

Edited 2018-10-21 21:10 (UTC)

Well, it seemed Anthony had fucked some boldness into young Gabriel.

Guy didn't look up from his book, but pointed to one by the window to his right. "Drinks," and the other behind him; "Kitchen." Suit yourself, was the message.

Then, as an after-thought. "Milk and sugar for Anthony. I'll have mine black."

Edited 2018-10-21 21:25 (UTC)

Gabriel rolls his eyes at the assumption, but he also grins a little. Yeah, alright, he's making coffee for everyone then.

He ignores the weird flutter of nerves he gets as he veers into the kitchen. Guy's reception is icy and he can't tell if it's to do with him being here or if it's to do with Anthony, or something else entirely. He's used to navigating the tensions present in his own household, but not others.

He gets coffee started and maybe makes a small study of what Guy and Anthony have in the fridge. Something stubborn in him refuses to offer to make breakfast. Gabriel watches the pot brew, taking a break just long enough to find mugs. Rather than waiting for it to finish entirely, he steals the pot to fill two mugs, then returns it so it can continue filling.

Guy's reception had been quite delightful until Gabriel decided to be cocky to him. He didn't really feel like being delightful after that.

But he did grin into his book when he heard coffee brewing.

He comes back in with two mugs; Anthony's not awake and the rest of the coffee is still brewing, so it can wait. He sets one down on the table near Guy, a silent peace-offering.

Unbidden, he hears his mother telling him to mind his temper. Jesus, that's the last voice he wants in his head right now.

"What are you reading?"

Guy nodded in thanks as the mug was set in front of him. See? He was being positively delightful.

He held up the book. "Journey to a war. A travel guide to China." The last was said seriously, but the joke should be obvious.

Gabriel laughs quietly at the somewhat improvised title. "I should write the follow up: Roadblocks and Churches, tourist attractions in Ulster."

He holds his coffee close, thinking it's too warm yet to actually drink. Auden is one of the people Anthony has mentioned as a casual acquaintance. He wonders if Guy knew him too.

Edited 2018-10-21 22:52 (UTC)

Guy snorted to the response. Admittedly, that was funny.

He took the bottle of whiskey from the side table and leaned over to his coffee, where he poured a generous amount into his mug. While he didn't offer the bottle, he set it on the table between them, and if Gabriel wanted, he was welcome to a drop of liquor. Let it not be said Guy couldn't be kind to Anthony's boys.

"They turned American on us," Guy remarked then, lifting his book, indicating the writers Auden and Isherwood.

"Is that a particular kind of betrayal?"

Gabriel finds himself genuinely wondering; he remembers how he felt when Brendan came home just long enough to announce that he would be going off to America. He remembers feeling desperately left behind as his uncle went off to California.

"Wasn't Auden, at least, a pacifist?"

"The worst fucking kind of betrayal," Guy remarked, harsh words, spoken casually. "As an Irishman I think you should know." North-Irish, of a non-Englishman persuasion.

"The pacifism more than the fleeing to America, I think," he muses, considering his coffee. He's also considering adding some of Guy's whiskey to it, but even for him it feels early.

"I could understand why people would want to get out of Ulster. I could not understand why anyone would not want to fight the injustice of it all."

He remembers the night the unionist police barged into their home, hauling them all out of bed on information long past its usefulness.

"Pacifism isn't cowardice, running away is," Guy argued simply.

"Do you differentiate in that at all?" he asks, wondering. It feels too early to be philosophical, but here he is.

"Does who's doing the running away, or their reasons, make a difference in whether it's cowardice or survival?"

Pacifism wasn't doing nothing, not nessecarily. It was facing problems and arguing them, as they had on a number of late nights of whiskey and philosophy. Guy could concede it took courage to be that in their days. Running away was running away.

But he truly wasn't in the mood to explain himself. "Yes," he said pointedly, as if the insult had been to him.

Anthony can hear conversation in the other room as he wakes. At first he cannot make out the voices—one is Guy, but the other? Elliot perhaps, or Russo?

He still can’t hear what’s being said, but slowly it dawns on him that one of the voices is decidedly Irish.

He almost laughs as the night before comes back to him. Of course.

Should he rescue Gabriel as quickly as possible, before Guy says something truly dreadful? That would be the kinder thing to do, and it’s tempting. But Anthony isn’t inclined to venture into the world (even the world of his own apartment outside his bedroom) without looking perfectly put together. And besides, if Gabriel cannot handle Guy now, he won’t do very well in the long run.

Anthony gets out of bed and slips into the shower first, letting the water run over him, wondering, more than once, what the hell have I gotten myself into? He gets dressed—shirt, tie, and sweater—and combs his hair. And then, finally, he goes into the living room to find out what damage has been done.

“It’s a little early to be talking politics, don’t you think?” he observes dryly, overhearing the last of their conversation.

Gabriel holds up his hands in quiet surrender to Guy.

"I was only asking," he assures. "I've met enough people that don't see any difference."

Maybe he shouldn't be overly surprised that when Anthony appears, he is fully dressed and pressed. It makes Gabriel very aware of the fact that he's half dressed and unshowered, and drinking a mix of coffee and whiskey. He's covered enough for dignity - both his and Anthony's. Though he does wonder what Guy would make of the mouth-shaped bruise on his shoulder.

"There's coffee in the kitchen," he announces. "And a mug for you."

Edited 2018-10-23 00:41 (UTC)

Guy was one of those people who tended not to distinguish between talk and politics. But that was in England, where politics mattered, where everything he believed in mattered, where bloody anything mattered. Here, he was just talking to a recently fucked boy, who was, quite frankly, insulting his friends.

Anthony appeared, as he always appeared, dressed impeccably and calm. “I didn’t bring him here,” he commented to his friend’s mild accusation.

He couldn’t see any bruising, since Gabriel had had the decency to at least wear a shirt, but if he had seen it, he would have grinned knowingly to Anthony and made some manner of remark to embarrass Gabriel. It wouldn’t be the first suspicious bruising spotted on the body of a young man after spending the night with Anthony Blunt.

Anthony settles a Look on Guy—what did you do?—but Gabriel doesn’t look very traumatized. In fact, he looks quite at home, despite Guy’s sour expression. That’s...promising.

The corner of Anthony’s mouth curls up just slightly as his gaze settles on Gabriel. “Thank you,” he says, and then he goes to get the coffee from the kitchen.

Gabriel sets his coffee down and retreats back into Anthony's bedroom long enough to get back into his jeans and sweater; being a bit more dressed bolsters him. He returns to his mug and finds a place to sit that isn't Guy's sofa so he can enjoy the rest of his coffee.

He watches Anthony as he comes back into the room, and he feels a little ridiculous for it. He is handsome, all put together like that. But he remembers vividly how Anthony looks all undone, too. A smile ticks the corner of his mouth.

"I'm not making you breakfast."

Guy decidedly didn't smile at that comment, but immersed himself in the book to avoid a grin from appearing on his face. Admittedly, that was a good line. He could concede to that, albeit while pretending to read.

When Anthony comes back with his coffee, Gabriel is decidedly more dressed (which is a pity) but no less disheveled (which isn’t). He can feel Guy smirking from behind his book, and that makes him roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t dare ask.”

He lifts an eyebrow at Guy, who was presumably the one who had expected coffee. "That would be rude."

"Do either of you cook?" Gabriel lifts his eyebrows, wondering.

He didn't exactly do any intense investigation in the kitchen beyond making coffee. He's learned his way around the kitchen since getting here, and he'd learned a bit at home but it was always Caroline that his mother pulled into the kitchen to help her.

Not just expected; Guy had gotten coffee. That was partly what made the comment so humorous.

The cooking question was silly, but it was a lot more common here in Darrow than it had been in England. The question, that is, not the cooking. Because neither Englishmen cooked. Ellie cooked sometimes, when he was around, and they went out to dinner as much as they could afford. It wasn't something that was on Guy's mind very often. He could survive on pizza and beans just as easily as he could on Michelin star dinners.

"Do you?" He challenged.

Anthony thinks that Gabriel can probably guess the answer to his question from Guy’s response.

He leans against the side of the armchair where Gabriel is sitting and sips his coffee. “I wouldn’t recommend answering in the affirmative,” he warns the boy, “or he may ask you to fry up some eggs after all.”

He looks between them and just shakes his head, smiling. He lolls his head back to look at Anthony. "Is that an aristocrat thing or just an English thing?"

Gabriel cannot honestly imagine Fiona or Mrs. McFarland in a kitchen. He takes a sip of his coffee; he is hungry. He could disappear, fend for himself, but--

"Is the kitchen even stocked?"

Guy cast a glance over at Anthony accusingly. 'Is this really the sort of boy you want to be bringing home?', it wordlessly said.

Then he looked back to Gabriel. He didn't answer the stupid question (of course the kitchen was stocked; they did eat). "If you are making breakfast, be a dear. I'll have mine scrambled," Guy said, very deliberately, almost as if reading from a theatre script.

Edited 2018-10-23 20:21 (UTC)

With an amused twist of his lips, he considers the question, his expression softening as he looks at Gabriel. “Public school thing. Probably,” he decides.

Anthony lifts a brow right back at Guy. ‘And exactly how useful is your American Marine?’ The request makes him snort. “Don’t listen to him,” he tells Gabriel, just in case he needs the assurance that it’s perfectly all right--nay, encourage--to ignore Guy Burgess when he’s being an arse.

"Are you sure I won't spit in them?" he says to Guy as he gets to his feet. Ignoring people that gave him shit had gotten him nowhere before. "Hard to tell when they're scrambled."

Gabriel finishes his coffee. At least there's more of that in the kitchen. He looks at Anthony and ignores the silly flutter in him. Christ, he feels ridiculous.

"Do you want anything?"

Ellie didn't complain and just made eggs. And he made eggs for Anthony as well, so Mr. Blunt really had no business complaining.

"Are you sure I would care if you do?" Guy countered easily, before going back to his reading.

Edited 2018-10-23 20:50 (UTC)

Anthony casts a despairing look ceilingward. Children, behave.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine, thank you.” Honestly, if Guy hadn’t been there, he would have taken Gabriel up on his offer. The truth is, he has gotten used to the idea over the years that someone he or Guy is sleeping with will make breakfast for them, more often than not.

But right now, he isn’t going to give Guy the satisfaction.

"I suspect you might be thrilled," he shoots back to Guy. "Bit of working class verve to get you through the day."

He lifts an eyebrow at Anthony's decline, dubious but not prepared to insist.

Doing a little fry up doesn't take long. He finds plates, silverware, and bread to toast for himself. Scrambled eggs for Guy; a fried egg on toast for him. It would get him through the next few hours, at least.

He reappears with plates balanced on one arm and a fresh mug of coffee in other hand. He sets that on the table first before setting a plate by Guy and then taking up the arm chair again.

"You might add a little protein then," Guy retorted. His hand clarified his meaning by making a jerking-off movement in the air.

He was infinitely pleased when Gabriel returned with scrambled eggs. He hadn't really expected them. He cast an amused grin to Anthony, who in all politeness was now breakfastless, while he, in all his taunting, was going to feast on eggs. "Thank you, dear." Might have been said to either of them. Thanks to the eggs, or thanks for procuring a house boy.

All right, fine, now Anthony feels like a little bit of an idiot. And he’s hungry. But he has no intention of admitting either of those things to Gabriel or Guy.

He goes to get a cigarette instead, pointedly ignoring Guy’s crassness. After all these years, his response is so automatic that he barely realizes he’s doing it: he looks at Guy for a moment, ticks an eyebrow up disapprovingly, and turns away to do something more important. When he comes back with his cigarette case, he offers it to Gabriel, but not to Guy.

Never let it be said that Anthony Blunt can’t be petty.

Gabriel looked between them and rolled his eyes.

"You're both ridiculous."

He offered his plate up to Anthony when he reappears. He doesn't know if either of them are the sort that shares food but he'll offer anyway. He isn't sure that Anthony's pride would let him get up and make more eggs while Guy is sitting there.

Regardless, he accepts the cigarette and tucks it behind his ear.

Edited 2018-10-24 23:45 (UTC)

Guy leaned over and took the plate of scrambled eggs to set it beside him on the sofa. It was a picture of pure amused satisfaction, as he took a first bite. Ridiculous? Of course. One had but to look at the sofa. Guy owned ridiculousness.

Anthony’s pride, meanwhile, would let him starve rather than give in and actually make eggs, which was probably why Guy wasn’t being offered a cigarette. That only amused Guy more.

“We’ve been called worse.” And Anthony can’t exactly argue with Gabriel. They are ridiculous. It’s Guy’s fault, of course.

He isn’t going to refuse breakfast a second time, so he does take a bite, then passes the plate back to Gabriel.

“Thank you.”

Gabriel looks more or less satisfied when Anthony eats something. "I've no trouble imagining that you have."

Especially not with Guy looking so smug and so very pleased with himself as he eats his eggs. Gabriel just shakes his head and tries to hide a smile of his own.

He does his best to split the toast and egg between them - it's not quite as easy as a plate of eggs to share, but he makes a go of it.

Ridiculous was two men sharing a plate of eggs because pride and stubbornness forbade them to go to the kitchen and fix up a third plate.

Guy rolled his eyes and continued reading.

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