[Harry Potter] [Godric/Salazar] Welcome To Wherever You Are
Title: Welcome To Wherever You Are
Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter, Godric/Salazar, implied Salazar/Rowena
Rating/Warnings: PG, None.
Notes: Written for pointblankdarcy.
It's one of those nights where Godric's playing the part of the quintessential uni student, floppy hair, a ridiculous scarf almost trailing on the floor, a bottle of cheap vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The only thing that'd make it better was if he started quoting Marx.
Salazar isn't sure Godric knows who Marx is.
It's his fourth cigarette of the night - Salazar's only on his second - and the room is starting to stink. They'd had the window open, but the combination of no heat and the winter chill had made it to unbearable. Godric is thinking, he'd said as much when Salazar had edged into the room, fresh off a date with Rowena and their most recent notes on criminal law. That had been an hour ago. They'd had lukewarm coffee made with tap water in the space between.
"Rowena's going to Japan soon, yeah?" Godric finally says, propping his feet against the radiator that never works. His socks don't match. "For a year."
"Yeah." Salazar grinds his cigarette out into one of the empty coffee mugs. Godric exhales smoke in misshapen rings.
"I bet you'll miss her." He flicks his ash towards a mug, misses entirely and watches as tiny little burn marks appear on the carpet. Helga's told him hundreds of times that he's bound to burn the place to the ground one day. It wouldn't particularly be a loss. "Hell was going to go to America for a year but she decided not to."
"What about you?" Godric laughs at that, his teeth flashing in the flickering lights.
"I'm studying British bloody war, Sal, I'm right where I need to be." He's got a point, a very good point.
They fall silent again, and Godric stubs out his cigarette. He doesn't light another. Outside, a car drives past with the music thumping, the bass almost rattling the windows. Somebody shouts. The upstairs neighbor, a woman known for her completely inability to sing, thumps on the floor.
The lights flicker again, plunging them into darkness for a few moments. Salazar breathes in. Godric breathes out.
"I'm going to kiss you," Godric says, leaning forward as the lights flicker back on. His palms rest on Salazar's knees, fingers folding into the divots, the soft space behind them. "And we're probably going to pretend it's never going to happen but I need to know."
The light stays on when Godric kisses him, rough, chapped lips moving against Salazar's. He's, apparently, the kind to nibble at lips, teeth sharp and tongue soothing afterwards. His hands stay on Salazar's knees, and Salazar's hands hover in mid-air.
"Okay," Godric says when he pulls away, moves back into his own space, hands resting loosely across his stomach. "That was okay. Thanks."
Salazar doesn't say anything.
Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter, Godric/Salazar, implied Salazar/Rowena
Rating/Warnings: PG, None.
Notes: Written for pointblankdarcy.
It's one of those nights where Godric's playing the part of the quintessential uni student, floppy hair, a ridiculous scarf almost trailing on the floor, a bottle of cheap vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The only thing that'd make it better was if he started quoting Marx.
Salazar isn't sure Godric knows who Marx is.
It's his fourth cigarette of the night - Salazar's only on his second - and the room is starting to stink. They'd had the window open, but the combination of no heat and the winter chill had made it to unbearable. Godric is thinking, he'd said as much when Salazar had edged into the room, fresh off a date with Rowena and their most recent notes on criminal law. That had been an hour ago. They'd had lukewarm coffee made with tap water in the space between.
"Rowena's going to Japan soon, yeah?" Godric finally says, propping his feet against the radiator that never works. His socks don't match. "For a year."
"Yeah." Salazar grinds his cigarette out into one of the empty coffee mugs. Godric exhales smoke in misshapen rings.
"I bet you'll miss her." He flicks his ash towards a mug, misses entirely and watches as tiny little burn marks appear on the carpet. Helga's told him hundreds of times that he's bound to burn the place to the ground one day. It wouldn't particularly be a loss. "Hell was going to go to America for a year but she decided not to."
"What about you?" Godric laughs at that, his teeth flashing in the flickering lights.
"I'm studying British bloody war, Sal, I'm right where I need to be." He's got a point, a very good point.
They fall silent again, and Godric stubs out his cigarette. He doesn't light another. Outside, a car drives past with the music thumping, the bass almost rattling the windows. Somebody shouts. The upstairs neighbor, a woman known for her completely inability to sing, thumps on the floor.
The lights flicker again, plunging them into darkness for a few moments. Salazar breathes in. Godric breathes out.
"I'm going to kiss you," Godric says, leaning forward as the lights flicker back on. His palms rest on Salazar's knees, fingers folding into the divots, the soft space behind them. "And we're probably going to pretend it's never going to happen but I need to know."
The light stays on when Godric kisses him, rough, chapped lips moving against Salazar's. He's, apparently, the kind to nibble at lips, teeth sharp and tongue soothing afterwards. His hands stay on Salazar's knees, and Salazar's hands hover in mid-air.
"Okay," Godric says when he pulls away, moves back into his own space, hands resting loosely across his stomach. "That was okay. Thanks."
Salazar doesn't say anything.