Work Text:
One.
Ok, fine.
Yes, yes, it bothers him - the business about Nathan and Annalise (and the chickens). The cheeky grin on Nathan's face, the stray leaves still nestled in his hair, the smell of sex and sweat clinging to his skin and on his disheveled clothes, of course it bothers him. Of course he cares.
Not because of jealousy, exactly. That is to say, it's not a question of ownership. It's not like he wants to deny Annalise (and if he does, well, she is annoying and deserves it and there's something very rewarding about the way she huffs with righteous fury when he has the upper hand. Anyway).
It bothers him because…
Well.
He wants it.
The moment. The boy.
He wants it too.
He really fucking shouldn't. Knows better than to want anything like that, especially anything as bright and soft and sweet as Nathan Bryn, who stumbles over his own feet sometimes and asks questions like Gabriel is the kind of person who’ll answer them honestly. It's stupid and dangerous.
But all the same.
And look, he's been good about staying the course, keeping his head on straight and so forth but Annalise brings Nathan back tousled and pink-cheeked and smug, kiss-bruised, clothes askew, fodder for every fantasy Gabriel has no business indulging. And yes, Gabriel is bothered by how much he wants and how it's started to share a border with need.
He's not meant for this, nineteen years has taught him that much. The flutter in his belly, the flushes of pleasure, it's all misplaced. Let the stupid kids have it all, he's too busy surviving.
But all the same.
Two.
"I could kill you," Annalise says casually, like she's not curled up in Gabriel's lap, his chin resting comfortably on top of her head. Like it's not his colorful hands stuffed into her pockets while the TV before them plays some ancient, inane talk show about cheating cousins.
"You'll have to get in line, Darling."
She smells like a bar of cheap motel soap, has probably used it to wash her hair, and Gabriel breathes in deeply, trying to connect the scent with the feeling of her wrapped up in his arms so that one day, when everything is gone but a couple of names scribbled in his book, he will occasionally catch a waft of it and think: there was something, someone that mattered.
"If you hurt Nathan," Annalise expands on her threat, when he fails to follow up. Though she leans back into his chest while she says it, and her hair catches a little on his lips. "So don't do it."
"Ah! Yes, and you? You'll hold yourself to the same standard?"
She clutches at invisible pearls. "Of course."
"Then," he leans in to whisper in her ear, catching the slight shudder of her body. "You'll stop trying to cook."
Three.
Two boys walk together across a cobblestone path.
One boy says:
"Oh my God, could you walk any slower?"
"Mm," the other hums, "Perhaps you'd prefer to leave me behind."
Exasperation. "D'you know you don't always have to be the most dramatic person in the world every day. You could take time off for holidays or – whatever."
This earns a smile, wide and broad and playful. Head canting, blue eyes gone bright with amusement, lit up from the inside out. "Like you take time off from common sense? Or no, what am I saying, that's not a time off. It's a permanent separation. A divorce."
"I don't actually know why I put up with you."
A shrug, then. "It's my magnetic charm."
"Right," the first boy says. "It's definitely that and not what's going on in your pants."
"Ah, well, you wouldn't be the first person to use me for my body."
"What – I meant, those red silk boxers. Obviously. They have charm. You're just also here.”
Four.
(I wrote this one for Valentine's Day and simply didn't finish in time)
“There's my sweetheart!” Gabriel sings loudly, stumbling through the front door and setting his sights on Nathan, who freezes mid-step at the sudden commotion, crappy microwave dinner in hand. Annalise is closer to the door, though, so she moves between them and opens her mouth to speak, to ask – but Gabriel reacts first, plastering a sloppy hand against her lips. “Ah, and my Sweet Tart. Look at how magnificently beautiful you are. Both of you.” He continues on in French after that, babbling softly, while the others exchange a long side eye.
“Is he – drunk?” Nathan asks.
“He’s always drunk. Or high,” Annalise answers, shoving Gabriel off. “This is something else, I think.” She sort of – pushes – the older boy towards the couch and he follows her lead, which is almost as troubling as the sing-song, loose-limbed affection thing that is also going on.
“Mercury maybe?”
Annalise snorts at the same as Gabriel looks offended.
“Unlikely,” she says.
“My heart is simply full,” Gabriel explains, reaching out to cup Annalise’s face, prompting her to snap at him like a turtle.
“Full of vodka,” Nathan speculates, unwilling to give up the easy answer. He sets his meal on the counter and comes to stand by them. When he is close enough, he leans towards Gabriel, trying for an investigative sniff of air around him – and is met with a kiss square on the mouth. Gabriel's lips are soft and warm, and he runs his nails along Nathan’s neck, sending a chill down his spine, and all at once Nathan isn't sure if he's cold and or hot or –
“Ahem,” Annalise interrupts. “We were sorting a problem?”
“Dunno,” Nathan scrunches his nose. “I kinda like him like this.”
“Fully deranged, you mean?”
“He's not –”
“No, no,” Gabriel says, frowning just that much, “If Annalise is unsettled, we should tend to her. Take care of our beautiful summer flower.”
“Ooor maybe you're right,” Nathan sighs, while Gabriel drives the point home by looking too, too moony.
“Gabriel, can you tell us what happened,” Annalise tries. “Where did you go this morning?”
“I was working on a potion in the forest.”
“Okay, that seems normal. What kind of potion?”
He shuts his eyes and starts to read off a list from memory. “Lemon balm. Rose petals. Chocolate. Basil–”
Annalise narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Wait, is this a potion or a snack?”
Gabriel waves off accusation with the wag of his fingers. “Why would I go out for a snack, when you two are right here? T’es trop silly.” He shakes his head emphatically. “I was making a persuasion potion and I wanted the recipient to be… receptive. So I was adding something to encourage an… attachment. But it slipped. I thought I could catch it, but instead…”
He spreads out his hands which are a sparkling, bright pink, tip to wrist.
There's a silence, a beat. Then:
“Ha!” Annalise bursts out. Then, “Ah ha ha, you're so dumb. I love you, but you're an idiot.”
Nathan frowns. “Wait, what’s happenin’?”
“He was making a love potion,” Annalise guesses, “And then he dropped it on himself and now this.”
“Not a love potion. It wouldn't make anyone fall in love,” Gabriel insists, with a small, pretty pout. “It would just amply what was already there. So if you found someone attractive, you'd lean into the feeling.”
“And if you were already er, enjoying them,” Annalise says, “You'd come home like a starry eyed dope?”
“Maybe,” Gabriel acknowledges. He leans his body up against Nathan and catches Annalise’s arm, pressing a soft kiss against her skin. “But really, do I need an excuse to be happy with the people I lo-”
“Like very much?” Nathan finishes for him, as he clasps his hand down across Gabriel’s mouth, flushing a little when the other boy licks at the seam between his fingers. There's no way he's going to let Gabriel say that word now, when he's amplified, out of sorts, or whatever, not if the regular, salty Gabriel isn't ready to vocalize the same.
“That's one way to put it,” Gabriel says when he's been released.
“I know another,” Nathan supplies, burrowing up against the taller man. Working his way under the white hem of Gabriel’s shirt, dropping his mouth to kiss bare skin where he finds it, because really, it’s a quiet, nothing sort of day and they have to do something with all of Gabriel’s unplanned exuberance.
“Ugh, fine,” Annalise says, throwing up her hands. “I guess we just have to have sex again.”