Vibrations [Prosper]

Prosper didn’t speak as Dean talked about liking London. He’d visited other countries with his family – there were so many places more exciting than here. Prosper wondered how much Dean had travelled and if he’d liked it. “Paris is lovely,” he replied, nodding thoughtfully. The young man ran his free hand through his short curls again. “I don’t know if it’s overrated. What’s its reputation like?” he joked. “It’s very French.”

His grey eyes flicked over to someone across the table as they suggested that Dean should come and stay with them and give everyone tattoos for the rest of their stay here. Prosper didn’t miss the little look she gave him at the end of her joking suggestion and he quirked an eyebrow in response. His smile didn’t fade throughout. Prosper watched Dean drink this new weird drink with interest before following suit. As a lightweight, Prosper was already fairly intoxicated. He was past tipsy and not quite up to badly drunk – it was the place he liked to be for dancing and kissing and socialising. He called it the Golden Zone.

Prosper noticed one of his friends chattering in french and he jumped to his feet. “English!” he barked dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger his way. “I’ll unhair thy head!” His friend got to his feet too, feigning outrage as some of their friends watched with mild amusement, as if this was something that happened everyday. “By this hand I will supplant some of your teeth!” he replied. Prosper snorted. Exchanging Shakespearean quotes had never been something he’d been able to do in school. His friends just didn’t appreciate drama like he did.

“Anyone wanna go dance?” he asked, grey eyes flicking between a few of his friends before coming back to meet Dean’s gaze. Come on, his eyes said, lets dance.

“Hmm,” said Dean. Maybe Pierce would have said the same had he not been so angry. He was overcome with guilt again for the way they’d left things, covered up with a forced pleasantness but perhaps irreparably broken. It showed on his face—he was past the point of control over his emotions. Everything was a mess. His friend had warned him against running away, but lately he found his temptation to leave to be more about leaving things behind. Pierce, Dennis, Tracey, the war, all the things he had just sort of let go without closure. This was why he was here, with all these glittering, dancing people. It was like another world within his own.

“Oh, there’s a reputation,” he said. “Arty, y’know, full of…” he gestured, unsure what word he was looking for. “Culture? That’s why I always wanted to go there, because I’m a cliché…” He shook his head heavily. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “I dunno what to do, really, it’s all probably just a stupid idea… What would I do in fuckin’ Paris?”

He was grateful when the drinks arrived and forced him to stop talking.

It made him feel quite a lot better, but also so jumpy he almost had a heart attack when Prosper suddenly shouted at someone else at the table. “Seriously, mate,” he muttered, “I don’t mind…” But no one seemed to be batting an eye, so he gave a little laugh. Prosper changed the subject abruptly then, beckoning them out on the dance floor, and looked him in the eye. Even if it hadn't been a clearly directed invitation, Dean wasn’t sure he was at the point where he was willing to sit here without the one who’d brought him over. So he stood, following the small gaggle of Frenchmen onto the floor, starting to sway a little to the music.

“Oh it’s definitely arty,” Prosper confirmed. “You should come live in Paris.” He nodded, always erring towards encouraging others to explore and adventure. Prosper himself wanted to get out of Paris, actually, but he hadn’t found a way to talk to Zara about it yet. Their relationship had been so strangely stable lately that he didn’t want to rock the boat. He knew that she’d totally flip out, but really she was the only reason he was still there. Well… Her and all of these lovely people, he thought, glancing around at his friends. “You can come and make art and drink wine and I’ll show you around the city.”

Prosper sort of noticed Dean protesting his overreaction, but his only response to the stranger was a little more charm directed his way in the form of a smile and a look. Moments later the pair, along with others from the table were moving towards the dancefloor. Instinctively, Prosper lead the group through the crowd towards the center-front. “Maybe you should go further than Paris, if you’re looking for adventure,” he yelled, giving his new friend a sidelong glance. It was too loud for talking here, however, so Prosper let the heavy beat of the music take over, the grin not leaving his face as he moved to the music.

"That sounds nice," he said, now seriously considering. He had to stop seriously considering things, or else he’d decide to do all of them. “At least I’d know someone,” he said. That was a selling point. “Well, sort of.” To say he knew Prosper would be an overstatement. Would recognize him on the street, maybe. Of course, as they got up to dance, Dean wondered if he might know him a little better by the time the night was over.

He bounced and swayed, looking ridiculous but not caring anymore. Prosper shouted something to him but they were so close to the music he couldn’t make it out, just laughed and nodded as if he could. Bodies brushed him from every side. Why didn’t he dance? Being a part of this was like being part of some organism, one cell in a beating heart.

Overwhelmed by the silly temptation, he slid his fingers through Prosper’s again, lifting the pair of joined hands, reeling him in and out as they danced.

Prosper was born for the stage. He liked this. He liked being the center of attention and he liked moments where he had space for his body to speak rather than his words. This thought made him turn his grey eyes to his new friend as they moved onto the dance floor. He felt euphoric. Everyone was dancing and as he made eye contact with each of his friends, they silently acknowledged a little moment of the shared experience. Vaguely, he wondered if his roommate could enjoy an atmosphere like this. Zara was so emotionally flippy-floppy; sometimes she and Prosper were the life of the party, and other times he was consoling her in a corner or taking her home early. Even more vaguely, he wondered if Zoé ever did this, and if she enjoyed it.

Prosper could feel his pulse reverberate in his chest – or maybe that was just the beat? He couldn’t tell the difference at this point. It still only took the Frenchman a few drinks to reach this level of intoxication, and he was suddenly feeling the effects of the last couple of shots. The last one had left a particular tone of drunk, somehow different and more buzzy than the others. He liked it. Dean took his hand and Prosper shot him a wicked smile, allowing the other man to pull him in and out as they danced. The Frenchman gave Dean’s hand a squeeze and tugged him over, then twirled him around expertly and slid his other hand to Dean’s waist as he pulled him close. They were almost nose to nose for a moment before Prosper spun Dean out again. Suddenly his heartbeat and the dance beat were out of sync and he liked the feeling.

They danced for a while, Prosper shifting between dancing with only Dean and with the group. His friends were fluid too, dancing in shifting pairs. He made sure Dean wasn’t left out. Eventually one of his friends tugged on his sleeve and Prosper slowed, leaning in to hear what she was saying. He took Dean’s hand and led him from the dance floor with the others. They were chatting amongst themselves and Prosper translated, not so insistent on the English speaking this time.

“They want to head back to our apartment and… maybe get some food.” Prosper stroked the side of Dean’s hand with his thumb absentmindedly as he watched the others, trying to listen to them over the music and come up with the right words in English to explain. “I want to keep drinking,” He said seriously, copying the tone of the person speaking. “But we have mulled wine at the apartment,” he translated, speaking in a high voice. Prosper added a little huff at the end, mocking the speaker. She noticed and slapped his arm before returning to the conversation. Prosper turned back to Dean. “You want to come?” he asked.

They danced and danced, and Dean lost track of everything. Prosper’s arm was around his waist and then it wasn’t, he was laughing, he was passed around between ballerinas and circus performers and whoever else, feeling uncharacteristically light and free. He really had to do this more often, even if he would regret it in the morning.

Then, however, he was pulled off the floor. Prosper and his friends were talking in French, but the other man decided to clue him in. “Oh,” he said, listening, waiting for the translations, nodding. “Er, alright.” It wasn’t against his plans to go running off with a bunch of foreigners. He hadn’t really had plans for anything besides going where the night took him. And if it was taking him home for mulled wine with Prosper and company, so be it. He looked down at their hands, still joined. For a moment he was reminded again of Dennis and shook his head to get the memory out.

The group spilled out of the club, giggling and falling all over each other, just the sort of wild, affectionate friends Dean had always wanted. The cool air felt nice on his flushed skin. “Just take me with you,” he said. “I’m going wherever you’re going.”

Prosper let go of Dean’s hand as the group tumbled out into the cold London air. He could feel the wind stinging his cheeks, but couldn’t really feel the cold. The alcohol was doing its job, he thought. Conversation picked up as they moved to a space where they could actually hear each other, though Prosper was sure that the volume they were speaking at was closely bordering on obnoxious. His ears were ringing slightly, a remnant of the loud music in the club.

The group of young adults made their way aimlessly away from the club, conversation and laughter overlapping. Prosper shot Dean a charismatic smile, glad that the other man had somehow been absorbed into their group. He reached out to touch Dean’s back affectionately before letting his arm fall back to his side. His thoughts turned inadvertently to the layout of the apartment they were all staying in and the fact that everyone was basically sleeping in the lounge room. Not that that had stopped things happening that might usually happen in private, he noted. Actors, he thought, feigning exasperation.

“Are you going to see Pierce while you’re here?”

Prosper glanced over at the person who’d spoken, clearly talking to him in very smooth English. Clemence was a lovely girl, but she had an unfortunate habit of bringing up jarringly unrelated topics at moments when Prosper didn’t feel like talking about them. The tall Frenchman reached out with his free hand, bringing her in under his arm as they walked. Dean was on his other side, and he appreciated that Clemmy was speaking in a language that their new friend could understand. Prosper reached out for the other man with his free hand, entwining their fingers again.

“Am I going to visit Pierce while we’re in London?” he asked mock-wistfully, staring ahead of them as he let the moment stretch dramatically. Prosper gave Clemence a quick squeeze, laughing before shaking his head. “Probably not. We’ve only got a few days here, after all.” He smiled.

Prosper’s touches were soft and fleeting, the right amount of affectionate. Dean leaned against the brief pressure at his back, the warmth at his side. This was nice.

Someone else captured Prosper’s attention then, so he idly watched them talk. But then he heard a name he recognized. He perked up instinctively but then scolded himself. Better it was some other Pierce, that he’d managed to escape that nonsense for a night. Prosper slipped his hand in Dean’s again and he watched him look out over the dark street, shake his head and laugh. Clearly Prosper wasn’t too attached to this Pierce.

“Not Pierce Lachapelle by any chance?” he asked casually, too curious to let it go. It made sense, he supposed. Beauxbatons, similar ages. “I guess you’d know him from school…” He dully regretted saying anything at all when he realized he’d have to explain how he knew Pierce if he was right. We’re friends. That would do. He could tell Prosper whatever he wanted about his life.

Prosper absentmindedly stroked Dean’s hand with his thumb as they walked. It wasn’t different, he thought. He’d teased and charmed Dean in the same way he flirted with girls; he’d gotten a similar response. The night was still young, the vibe was good. Things could go a number of ways. Prosper’s “experience” with men was fairly limited, but it didn’t make him feel bad or uncomfortable. Prosper wasn’t the kind to be intimidated by such a small and insignificant thing as inexperience. He was too confident for that.

“Hmm?” Prosper turned his grey eyes back to the dark-skinned Londoner they’d picked up. It took him a moment to process what Dean had said, mostly because he hadn’t been expecting him to say it. Hearing his own surname come out of this stranger’s mouth was bizarre. Prosper slowed to a stop. “You know Pierce?” he asked, puzzled. A couple of his friends – more in tune and aware than Clemence – exchanged glances. He ignored them. Prosper’s smile faded a little but his expression was still pleasant, just curious.

Prosper was an emotional person all the time, every day. He always had been. He felt things ardently – it was what made him such a passionate lover and a passionate friend. He was loving and affectionate; jealous and dramatic. Pierce was a source of mixed feelings for Prosper. It had been that way for a while. When they were growing up, Prosper had always been the child in the spotlight; the one who’d demanded attention at all times. Pierce had always been so sensible and obviously preferred by their father. Prosper remembered feeling the comparisons ticking away in the older man’s head, and it had made him jealous and rebellious all at once. But as soon as Pierce had finished school, he’d taken off – flown far away from their dad and his ministry job expectations. It had taken Prosper by surprise in a way that he didn’t like. He missed his big brother. He felt like he’d been left behind.

More recently, Pierce had finally moved back and – apparently – had settled down in London. Apparently Dean, here was a part of his new London life too. Prosper wouldn’t have cared if his brother hadn’t told their parents or even Adrien or Leon that he was back, but he hadn’t told him and that had hurt. Pierce made him feel like a little kid being kept in the dark for his own good or something. More than anything, Prosper just wanted to be in on his brother’s adult life, especially now that he was an adult too. He wanted Pierce to like him. Prosper’s friends continued talking but the group’s movement had slowed, the young adults milling a few steps away, most of them barely noticing why they’d stopped.

The look on Prosper’s face was odd as he asked how Dean knew the name he’d just thrown out there. “Oh,” said Dean quickly, “we’re friends, met when he moved here.” Just like he’d rehearsed. It was probably stupid, he realized then, to admit to being a friend of Pierce Lachapelle, who Prosper had expressed no desire to go see. Would he judge him? Would it ruin their night?

He wanted this night. He wanted soft, glittery kisses with Prosper, tangled up in so many young, shimmering bodies. It was different that what he’d felt with Riley, say, or with Pierce himself. These people were taking him on some otherworldly kind of adventure.

"Are you close?" he asked. "Or not, I mean—I don’t want to pry.” It was falling out of his mouth before he could think about it. “Things between him and me are weird anyway, I’m not like—you don’t have to—I dunno.” Dean held onto Prosper’s hand, stabilizing his dizzy head.

“Oh yeah, not that long ago,” Prosper said thoughtfully as he started moving again, one foot in front of the other. He was distracted; distracted by thoughts about Pierce and the fact that this stranger had known he was here before Prosper did. “That makes sense,” he added, even though it didn’t feel like it made sense. The wizarding world could feel so small at times, and things could be so intertwined. He wondered how there was space for this weird, vulnerable distance between brothers in a world that didn’t always feel as big as it should.

Were they close? Prosper raised his eyebrows, looking off to the side as he contemplated how he should answer that question. “Hmmm… Are we… close?” he repeated slowly, dramatically thoughtful for a moment before cracking a cheeky smile. Suddenly the boys were being ushered onto a giant bus by Prosper’s friends. Prosper stepped up inside, making sure Dean was steady as he got on too. He heard the clinking of coins as one of his friends paid for their tickets. Prosper glanced around at his new environment and held steadily to the back of one of the seats and Dean’s hand to keep them both upright as the vehicle lurched forward.

“You could say that,” he answered finally, once they were steady. It was an enigmatic answer, but Prosper was more interested in asking basically the same question back to his new friend. He didn’t interrupt Dean’s flustered half-sentences, but instead just watched curiously. It was fascinating, and really made Prosper wonder… He tilted his head to the side. “You and Pierce…?” The sentence didn’t really have a question in it, but the question in his tone and on his suddenly very curious expression said that it explicitly did.

There was certainly something weird about the idea of sharing lovers or even crushes between siblings. It was sort of bound to happen in school, with the boys always being so close in age. If Gabrielle Delacour had been a year older Prosper was sure he would have asked her out at some point – he always seemed to lose his head when he’d been around her (well, more than usual) – and she’d ended up dating Adrien. Prosper was sure that his younger brother had had crushes on more than one of his girlfriends, including Maria, and that made things very strange.

Pierce had been away for long enough, though, that the idea felt somehow more foreign. Or maybe that was just because it was Pierce.

Even in his state, Dean could tell there was something weird going on. He had a hard time imagining what Pierce could have done to make Prosper so…off. Possibilities ran through his mind. Prosper was a former friend, perhaps. Another jilted lover. Dean laughed softly. It blew his mind sometimes how much smaller the wizarding world was than the muggle one, how half of Europe seemed to converge on London. How things could get this tangled. They stepped onto the bus, Prosper’s hands still on him protectively. At least he hadn’t seemed to ruin things.

At Prosper’s answer Dean raised his eyebrows. “Er, okay.” It seemed Prosper was just as uninterested in telling him about his life, and not as drunkenly inclined to overshare. But then he returned the question, with a little head tilt and curious lingering tone. Dean got exactly what he was getting at. “Oh, no,” he said quickly in his defense, waving a hand. “It’s not like that—well, it was, in the beginning, but we only kissed the once—well, more than once, but just the one night—“ He waved his hand again, embarrassed. “And of course now he’s got his girlfriend, so, things are—just things. We’re friends.”

Prosper took his lower lip in between his teeth, holding back a smile as he teetered on the edge of finding all of this absolutely hilarious and feeling put out. Pierce had a girlfriend? Was she English? Was that why he was here? Prosper’s older brother had been around London long enough to have some fling with the man in front of him and start dating someone else. Pierce had an entire life happening here, completely separate to Prosper. And this stranger seemed to know all about it, unlike Prosper. It hurt a bit, for some silly reason.

Just for one night. Now that was a weird thing to think about. The bus came to a stop before he could speak and in a moment he and Dean were being pulled off of the bus by his friends, some chattering in French and others being terribly conspicuous about the fact that they were listening in.

“Is she hot? The girlfriend?”

It wasn’t Prosper that spoke this time, but one of his friends. Prosper dropped Dean’s hand to slap at her arm, but both of them laughed. “Don’t be jealous, Chloé,” he chastised, pulling her into his chest for a quick hug only to mess up her hair, little bits of glitter falling around them as he did. “You know you’re not his type.” In reality, Prosper had no idea what Pierce’s type was. He hadn’t been nearly as romantically inclined – or promiscuous – in school as Prosper had. And it wasn’t as if they talked about that sort of thing all the time. Their letters hadn’t been so personal, or maybe they’d just been the kind of letters that a newly adult man and a teenager who was still a boy had exchanged. Prosper wondered what their adult friendship could look like.

Turning back to Dean, Prosper exhaled in a slow sigh. Where to start? He clapped his palms together, tapping his fingers lightly on his lips before letting his hands drop. “So. Pierce Lachapelle… We’re kind of close.” Prosper used his hands as he spoke, enjoying the attention that he seemed to have from his crowd of merry wanderers. A few of his friends were listening in and smiling to themselves. “I say kind of close because… well…” He tilted his head to one side, then the other, all of his movements and expressions exaggerated even more than usual because of the alcohol. “I’m Prosper Lachapelle… and Pierce is kind of my brother.”

Dean laughed with the rest of them at the girl's question, but he had a feeling the truthful answer wasn’t what anyone wanted to hear. Zoé was. She was beautiful and kind enough the time he met her. She captivated Pierce in a way no one else seemed to. But he didn’t want to say that, didn’t want to admit how second-best he was, so he didn’t say anything.

Prosper turned away from her then, and looked at him, seeming to be trying to find the words for something difficult. Dean began to panic internally. Oh god, he really had been picked up by Pierce’s ex-lover, out of all the wizards in London… How would he make his exit, casually? Just walk away as soon as they got off the bus? Because he didn’t know if he could go through with this, knowing…

But then Prosper finished his thought. “Oh,” said Dean, relieved. “You’re brothers.” He looked at the man in front of him, wondering if he could see a resemblance.

His first thought was that he should fuck Prosper out of spite.

Then, of course, he wished he hadn’t thought it. He didn’t want to do anything to Pierce out of spite, he wanted to mend their friendship. He didn’t want to make things weirder than they were by doing anything with his brother. Again he wondered how to get out of this situation. Did he want to, though? He’d been seduced by the glittering throng of youths and wanted to live their life a little longer.

Maybe he’d shag someone else.

The Frenchman tilted his chin up, then to the side, giving Dean a look as the other man was obviously searching for signs of resemblance. “Something in the chin?” he offered, running a slender finger up and down his jawline. “Something in the nose?” Prosper grinned. “Different eyes. Different lips. He has our dad’s lips, I have mum’s.” Adrien looked the most like him, he thought. Curls, full lips, cupid’s bow. Adrien’s hair was a few shades darker and Pierce’s hair was a few shades lighter. Pierce had rather thin lips compared to the next two brothers closest to him in age.

Prosper gave his new friend a curious smile. “Oh, you thought…” He trailed off, then burst into laughter. Of course Dean would assume something like that. “I don’t think our father would approve,” he replied jokingly, reaching out to wrap an arm around Dean’s shoulder. Prosper remembered that the incest part of that pairing wouldn’t be the only thing their father would have disapproved of and he sighed, pushing that thought away and pulling Dean a little closer just to spite the idea.

The group stopped outside an old industrial looking building and Prosper turned his grey eyes back to Dean. “Look, I don’t know what happened with you and Pierce…” things are – just things, he’d said. “… But you still want to come up? We’ve got homemade mulled wine and lots of paint,” he said, “If you’re lucky, Clemence might do a twirl for us, wont you Clemmy?” Prosper shot a smirk at the French girl, who was hovering by his other side.