Devon!
Characters: Darren Quigg and Devon Kirke
Setting: Devon's place, immediately following
thisSummary: Response to ⇑ that ⇑
Status/Rating: Incomplete/probably R
The journal hit the glass top of the coffee table with a slap. Darren sat forward with his elbows on his knees and rested his chin to his fist. His expression darkened and the space between his brows disappeared into a ridge of their furrow. He chewed at his flurried thoughts but felt the stone of concern in stomach sinking lower and lower toward the floor.
Fucking damnit, Aland.
Darren's gut reaction was to apparate over to Aland's and give his best mate a decent shaking by the shoulders. Perhaps then a bit of sense would find its way back into the other man. It most likely would just piss off Aland even more, but Darren had to do something. The silly prat was shagging blokes! And that just wouldn't do. What if his dad were to find out? That would be one right nasty shitstorm you could bet your life on.
Aland was a grown-up (however seldom he acted it) though and Darren knew he couldn't be the solution to every problem the other man had--no matter how much Darren wanted to be just that. Granted there Aland's 'problem' wasn't really a problem that needed fixing. You couldn't 'fix' being queer. There was nothing wrong with being queer. At least that's how Darren saw it. He knew Aland's family, their mates, and fucking Aland himself wouldn't agree. Which was the real problem here and...
Oh, sod it. He didn't want to think about this anymore. He already had a headache and he didn't want to keep thinking until his head came off. Devon would never forgive him for the mess that would make.
With a dejected sigh, Darren pushed himself up from the couch and stuck his arms outward to stretch his back. He swiveled around to cast a glance toward Devon's room. He'd left her there when his journal had hopped itself straight off the nightstand with the urgency of Aland's entry. As Darren rounded the sitting room furniture to pad down the short corridor, he saw instead that redhead was in the kitchen looking through the upper cabinet in the very middle of the row--the one with her neurotically sorted selection of teas. He quietly approached Devon from behind and gave her waist a tug. Spinning her to him, Darren pressed them both back to the edge of the counter and slammed down a hand for support.
Already having dropped his forehead to hers, green eyes met brown. He swallowed once though the tension in his throat nearly choked him and caused him to wince. "Just distract me, please," Darren said with quiet firmness.
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