(Fic) FN - Fishbowl
Title: Fishbowl
Summary: Charley comes home to find that Peter has acquired some new flatmates.
Word Count: 1166
Rating: PG-13 for language and implied homosexuality
Disclaimer: Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie
Author’s Note: Written for the Three Days Only challenge at 5_prompts, using Table 16, prompt 5, a photo was of a fishbowl sitting on a table with a man lying on a bed in the background. 1 down, four fics to go!
“Hey Peter, are you here?” Charley yelled as he entered the flat, the elevator doors sliding shut behind him. His voice echoed through the open halls, reverberating around the sleek glass cases. He thought he heard some sort of muffled reply as he passed the antiques and artifacts on display. Charley moved through the narrow hallway that led into the great room, where reddened sunset light from the floor-to-ceiling windows filled all the corners of the room until the grey walls seemed to gleam copper. He let his bag slip off his shoulder onto the nearest chair and called out again. “Peter?”
“In here,” he heard his friend’s voice come echoing back, and followed it through to the bedroom. He found Peter lounging on the bed in his favorite dark silver robe, a cigarette held between two fingers and a thick book laying open on the duvet in front of him. Charley paused in the doorway, taking a moment to admire the languid elegance Peter pulled off so carelessly. He wondered for a moment how much of it came naturally and how much was just practiced affectation. He would not have put it past him, but at the same time, Peter was too lackadaisical to put in that kind of effort when he was merely lazing around his flat.
“Hi Charley,” Peter said, casting a sidelong glance over at the younger man before turning back to his reading. He put the cigarette to his lips and breathed in deeply, the cinders at the end flaring golden-red.
Charley realized he was staring and ducked his head a bit. “Hey man. Show got canceled tonight?”
“Mm-hmm,” the magician murmured around the cig without looking up from his book. He turned a page and moved to tap the stub of his cigarette against the ashtray laying on the cover next to him. “Something‘s wrong with the fucking wiring in the theater. All the bloody lights and speakers were fucked up all Friday and Saturday, so they just canceled today‘s while they fix it. How was your weekend with your mum?”
Charley shrugged and moved closer to sit on the edge of the bed. “It was good. I think she worries about me staying in the city all the time anymore. She always looks so relieved when I stay home with her.” He reached out and ran his fingers through his lover’s messy hair, combing the dark strands back from the other man’s face. Peter hummed and closed his eyes, leaning into Charley’s hand. The whole thing was so catlike that Charley had to resist the mischievous urge to scratch under his chin and see if he’d purr.
“Mmm. Tha’s nice…” Peter mumbled, letting his head drop onto his arms. Then he shifted and stretched, and Charley let his hand fall onto the bed. Peter wiped his eyes with the thumb of the hand holding the cigarette. “I get why she’s thinking that; Las Vegas isn’t exactly the safest of places. But I still say it makes more sense for you to stay with me during the week.”
“I know it does. You wouldn’t believe how much I save on the gas for my bike with the University just down the street,” Charley remarked.
A flash of color against all the somber shades of grey caught his eye, and Charley turned to look at the low table against the opposite wall. He knew Peter tended to keep some notebooks and whatever texts he was in the middle of or planning to read there for easy access. Today, however, there was something else on the table. Just in front of the usual antique texts and contemporary occultist magazines was a clear glass bowl filled with water, and in the water, there was something small and shining and orange moving around.
“You’ve got fish? Since when?” he asked. Peter shot him a quick grin, looking up through his bangs, but said nothing. Charley snorted, then stood up from the bed and crossed the room. He bent over the table, resting his weight against it as he peered through the curved glass at the little creatures swimming in and out of the fake water weeds. “There’s two in here… Wait, hold on, isn’t this one of those fishbowls from that vamp nest we cleared out last week? The one with the tanks everywhere?”
Peter stubbed out his cigarette and very carefully avoided his gaze, trying to appear nonchalant. “Yeah, actually. I didn’t want to just leave them there. I’m having the rest brought in tomorrow.” He sniffed and turned another page in his book.
“Peter, there were like five different hundred-gallon fish tanks in there.”
Peter rolled over onto one side and propped himself upright with one hand, frowning at Charley. “Yeah, so? It‘s not like I don‘t have the space,” he said, gesturing around at the enormous penthouse. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What?”
Charley shook off the giggles that were threatening to erupt. “Nothing, just… for some reason I didn’t really see you as much of a fish person. Or, you know… any kind of pet person, really.”
“And why the fuck not? I am a perfectly capable pet owner,” Peter said, affronted.
“Of course you are,” Charley said soothingly, shaking his head. He turned back to the fishbowl. “Did you give them names yet?” he asked, poking at the glass and watching the fish try to nibble at his fingertips.
“Beatrice and Benedick,” Peter said, “’Cos they like to pretend they hate each other’s fucking guts.” He watched Charley flutter his fingers back and forth over the glass, the fish following. Amusement tugged his lips into a soft smile. “They think you’re gonna feed them,” he remarked, stretching back out across the bed.
“Is it their dinnertime?” Charley asked, turning to give Peter a playful grin.
Peter let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, just about. Their food should be in that little crate over there. You want to do the honours?”
“Yeah, sure.” Charley rummaged through the little box and came up with a small yellow jar of fish food. He held it up so Peter could see it. “This one?”
“Yep. Just sprinkle a little across the top. Just a little.”
Charley unscrewed the cap and held the little jar over the bowl, tapping it gently so that the colorful flakes dusted across the surface of the water. He screwed the cap back on and watched the two goldfish jet up to the top to nip at the floating food. He heard Peter closing his book behind him, and peeked over his shoulder to watch his lover stretch to set the book on his bedside table and the ashtray on top.
Then Peter moved back to his sideways sprawl on the bed, shooting Charley a sultry look. He started to tug at the belt on his silk robe, his eyes dark and his smile dangerous. “Alright then. Dinner has been served. Feel like coming over here for dessert?”