Brock Faber is an enigma Quinn can't quite figure out.
He can't quite tell if Faber has a crush on him or is just that nice by default. He was convinced it was the latter for a bit there after the trade deadline and they had acquired a few new players that all got blessed with Brock's niceties. Which he was totally fine about, he wasn't jealous, he didn't need to be special, Faber is just like that.
Then once the sparkly new teammates became less sparkly and new and more like just another part of the team, Fabes gravitated right back to Quinn's side, and right into Quinn's apartment.
He's currently sitting criss-cross on the floor, squinting at Quinn's bookcase as if he has any interest in reading at all. Quinn distinctly recalls an interview where Brock reveals he hasn't read a book in years. Maybe he can convince him to pick one he thinks looks interesting, get him to sound less like an idiot next time they inquire about his reading habits. Jack apparently convinced Boldy to take the book he had brought to the Olympics back home with him. It's still up in the air whether or not Bolds will actually read much of it, although Quinn has a tiny bit of faith in him.
“Have you read all of these?” Faber says, reaching up and snagging a green-spined book off the middle shelf. “These? No, definitely not. The ones I've read are up at the top. I don't really reread books so no use letting them get in the way of the new ones.”
“Right, cause you're short.” Faber tilts his head back to flash Quinn a toothy grin, sharp canines and all. Quinn looks away. “Believe it or not I can reach the top shelf.” He reaches up and grabs a random memoir just to prove a point, letting it fall into Faber's lap on top of the green one. “It's more like out of sight out of mind. What's not here gets put into a box in my closet. Sometimes Jack wants to dig through it and take some, sometimes I donate them.”
Faber hums, picking up the book and flipping through it. If his disinterest in its contents didn't show so obviously Quinn would have started an attempt at getting him to borrow it.
“Got any recommendations?” He says absentmindedly, flipping to the end of the book (which Quinn totally does not wince at). Quinn blinks, lowering himself down to sit beside him. “Recommendations?” He repeats, tilting his head. He didn't even have to try to get him to pick something, Faber did it all on his own. Quinn is actually kind of suspicious. “You want recommendations?”
“Hey, I read! You make it sound like I don't!” Fabes immediately rises to his own defense, swatting at Quinn's thigh, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “You don't!” Quinn counters, swatting at Brock's own thigh.
Faber huffs and snaps the book shut. “Yeah well, maybe I want to start, I don't know. At the Olympics, you spent basically all of your free time not spent with your brother reading. Maybe you've convinced me.”
Quinn doesn't know how exactly to respond to that. He actually did convince Faber to read, but not by doing much of anything aside from just…being himself. “You want to read…because I do?” He says it slowly, vaguely pointing at himself.
“Well, yeah, duh. Boldy sure isn't the reason. He's only reading right now cause he wants Jack's attention, which in my opinion he has enough of already. I don't know, you like reading and your brothers are the only other people I know who like it nearly as much as you do, and maybe you want to talk about books and stuff with someone. It's just a request Quinny, don't make it a big thing–”
Quinn doesn't think about his next action whatsoever, it just happens. One second he is staring at a rambling Faber thinking about how absurdly attractive this whole thing is, and the next he is kissing him.
It's so impulsive and so stupid and absolutely not what Quinn should have done and– Faber is kissing him back. He's leaned as far into Quinn as he can get, one hand on the back of his neck and the other fisted into his shirt so Quinn can't pull away very far– not that he wants to.
“That seriously did it for you?” Faber half laughs once they split apart. Quinn isn't really listening, too focused on how red his face is and the feel of his fingers in his hair. “Shut up,” he hisses and tugs him back in.
