Tony remembered that he was vegetarian and brought him to a busy Indian place. Fabian was extremely flattered by his attention to detail but Tony claimed he was the sort to never forget anything. They were halfway through dinner when Fabian realised just how much he had spent back in the shop. A lump rose to his throat. Gosh, he was such a fool, being led on by love like that. His darling angel had turned out to be a greedy svengali. He looked across the table, past the samosas and the channa masala and saag paneer at the cruel man opposite.
"Oh god," he emitted uncontrollably. "I may have exceeded my spending allowance today."
Tony looked at him. The charming thing about Tony was that for the most part of the day he seemed to have only one expression, which was a semi-scowl with furrowed brows. He looked like he was constantly in pain, and it was the kind of look that made Fabian feel like cuddling him and whispering sweet nothings into his elfin ears to make him smile.
It was at this point of the meal when a twinge of guilt struck Antonin's stone-cold heart.
"I'm sorry, it was my fault. I'll pay for dinner," he offered, looking into Fabian's fretful face. His auburn brows were knit together and his mottled face was kind of scrunched up, and his cheeks were looking unusually appley.
"God I am such a fool," Fabian continued to say, sinking into despair.
"I cannot disagree with that," Antonin said.
Fabian looked up at him with a self-deprecating smile. "Oh god," he repeated, unable to withstand the torment of that beautiful face that was looking right at him, turning his face into the palm of the hand that was resting atop the table holding a cigarette.
Antonin began to laugh at him, mostly out of meanness, but as he did his heart softened and he almost had to stop himself from reaching across the table to touch those freckled apple cheeks.
"Oh fuck you," Fabian said in the gentlest tone Antonin had ever heard accompanying a swear word. "You know I haven't quite recovered from the previous time."
"Recovered?" The frown on Antonin's face deepened.
Fabian gave him a cheeky grin, and then pulled down his scarf to reveal a cluster of bruises on the lower neck.
"Did I do that?" Antonin asked, hoping he injected enough horror to pass it off as unintentional.
"You may have, yeah. But you're lucky, because I do like some rough handling now and then. I really don't advise doing this to other people on the other hand. They might get quite cross." Fabian pursed his lips primly upon saying that.
Antonin felt his blood run cold, frozen by fear and sudden confusion. What was he to do now? He had failed to kill an enemy when he saw one and now this enemy was entirely unafraid of him and seemed to be begging for more abuse. It was probably a good idea, now that the kill-the-enemy thing wasn't working, to come across more like a normal person. Somewhat less violent. Normal. Not violent. But then again, he did just say he liked rough handling. Who on earth voluntarily submits to that?
He was aware that Fabian was looking at him with some amusement.
"You're so adorable," he enthused in response to the look of mild horror and disgust that permeated Antonin's face.
Fabian then dropped some obvious hints that he was hoping to spend the New Year weekend with him.
"We could go to your place," Antonin suggested, wondering if he would be granted access to enemy hideouts. The Dark Lord would reward him lavishly for this.
"Oh no! Oh no," Fabian replied. "As it is, I happen to live with my sister. And her family. She has a husband. And she has three kids with two on the way. It'll be too awkward to bring you home." He proceeded to put on an apologetic face. "Does Mary mind if we go to yours again?"
"Rizwana," Antonin corrected. "I'm not allowed guests. I doubt she knew you were over the last time. I suppose I could sneak you in again. She goes to bed at nine each day."
"Yippee!" Fabian exclaimed, and Antonin immediately regretted the whole sorry business. This pretending to be a muggle thing was doing him in, even though it was his best means of subterfuge away from the Riddle House. In fact, it was so clandestine the Dark Lord probably didn't know of the extent of his association with muggles. But it all worked in his favour eventually. He simply could not be detected by anyone with a magical connection. All he did was to pretend he was fully muggle, and hide in plain sight.
They were less drunk this time, quite sober, in fact, and when they were safely in Antonin's bedroom they were both overcome by a sudden bout of shyness. Fabian was giggling nervously, as was his usual habit, so Antonin reached out to him first, helping him remove his navy blue peacoat and slipping an amorous hand under the layers of chunky homemade sweaters. With his other hand he pulled the lurid pom-pom hat off Fabian's head and a crop of ginger hair burst forth in a springy action. He slipped that hand around the back of Fabian's head, digging into his scalp and pulling him close, and then he suddenly recalled the criticism about his tendency towards roughness and so, releasing his grip, stroked the back of his neck gently. It was covered in a light fuzz, its ginger hue mercifully obscured by the orange streetlamps that shone in through the window. Fabian made a yipping sound like an excited puppy and tipped over into him, pushing him onto the table. Nudging a knee between his legs Fabian gently pushed himself up to straddle one thigh, rocking slowly back and forth, thigh against crotch against thigh against crotch. With light hands his fingers fluttered over his belt buckle, undoing it in a swift, practised motion. And gentle was how they went on this good night, on and on, until the light of day broke forth through the horizon, blazing in a rage of glory.