Pairing: Ambrósio ‘Ambrose’ Fargas (OC) x Dean Corso
Warnings: Swearing, Faggotry, Spoilers for The Ninth Gate, Flirting, Homoerotism, Sexual phone stuff but not phone sex y’know, Ambrósio has no chill and knows no bounds y’all,
Notes: what is going ON y’all....lmao
Dean lay on the bed of his hotel room in Paris, talking to Ambrósio over the phone. "Ambrósio, how are you holding up?"
"I'm lying down if that answers your question, Dean" Ambrósio answered, definitely wearing a shit-eating grin.
Lying down, Dean thought. "What're you doing?"
"Oh, I dunno...talking to some shady book dealer over the telephone."
"I'm shady?" Dean chuckled. "First I'm out of place, and now I'm shady?"
"Yea, man, what the fuck is with your fucking gray hairs around your ears, you got premature graying or something?" Ambrósio inquired, squinting a bit.
"Have you just been thinking about the hairs around my ears lately?"
"I've been thinking of more than the hair around your ears, Dean."
"My facial hair?" Dean teased.
"More than your hair, man."
Dean grinned, "ever the flirt?"
"I try my best, Corso." Ambrósio rubbed his thigh, biting the edge of his lip.
"You been, uh...back at the house, as of late?"
Ambrósio shrugged. "Carmen let me go back to check it out with her really buff boyfriend, like, wrestler-type buff, Jeronimo's huge."
"Is he setting some high expectations up for me?"
Ambrósio decided to mess with Dean. He put on a puzzled tone, "who said they're for you?"
This caught Dean off-guard, like Ambrósio wanted it to. "Oh- uh, nothing, I just- all this had led me to assume-"
"Chill, man, calm down, I'm playing around" Ambrósio giggled. "It felt a bit...grim, but that's obvious, y'know? I mean, with...the reason why I'm staying with my friends in the first place."
"Yea."
A moment of silence struck the two before Ambrósio asked Dean another question. "Where are you right now?"
Dean's gaze darted around his hotel room. "In a hotel."
"Central?"
Dean slowly licked his lips in thought. "Uhh...Sure." He nodded, pulling out a slip of paper and a pen. "I'm staying at this Hotel Central place nearby, in this room. You can reach me there if you're specific."
"No, no. Out of the country." Dean corrected him.
Ambrósio scoffed, "yea, so where are you?"
"France. Ever been?"
"You offering?"
"Again?"
"I'm assuming that's a no."
Ambrósio broke out into a smile as he leaned back in his seat. "Does adoption not exist in America, or wherever?" He giggled. "I'm adopted, half-Pakistani."
"Ever been?"
"You offering?" Ambrósio joked.
"Don't lose hope" Dean smiled. "If I grow to like you enough, decide I need some sort of companionship in my life, I'll reach out."
"You make it seem like it'll be a privilege to me, to be able to hang out with you. It's quite the opposite."
"Oh, really?"
"Yea. It'll be a privilege to you, or rather anyone, to hang out with me, Ambrósio Fargas."
"That's true. Any new up-comings with your..uh...grandfather?"
"Mmh." Ambrósio hummed in a gloomy way. "Jeronimo has an uncle that's in the funeral business. He'll help with all the funeral stuff for my Avô."
"Wish I could come."
"It's like you want to be out of place, Dean, jeez" Ambrósio laughed.
Dean liked listening to Ambrósio's laughter, even more-so since he caused it. He assumes he just liked that he was able to make Ambrósio smile during this suddenly-dark time in his life, given the abrupt death of Victor and all.
Ambrósio and Dean got hit with another moment of comfortable silence. It seemed to be a running thing between the two men.
"You still lying down?"
"On my bed in Carmen's guest bedroom, yea. Why? You gonna ask me what I'm wearing?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if you're still wearing that red shirt."
"I have a damn washing machine, Dean" Ambrósio licked his lips. "It's unbuttoned just like the first time you saw it."
"You wearing those gray pants, too? With the stripes?"
Ambrósio hummed his answer, meaning a 'no." "I'm wearin' some shorts, actually. Switching things up, today. What're you wearing, Corso?"
"Same things from the day you first saw me."
"Not one for changes, eh?" Ambrósio questioned. "Well, no. You probably are, given that Balkan's making you go here 'n' there around the globe for some old books 'n'...whatever. Y'know?"
"Yea," Dean nodded. "I'm really sorry, too, Ambrósio. About your grandfather. I never meant for this to happen to him, I didn't anticipate it like you did, but anticipation really has nothing to do with it." He explained. "I'm sorry."
"It's nothing. My Avô was old as hell anyway, Dean. He was bound to go sometime, but I just...not so soon. He was a good man."
"I'm sure he was, he seemed like it."
Ambrósio smiled. "You're a good man, too."
"Really?"
"Yea." Ambrósio nodded. "You, you- you didn't need to give me your hotel number that night you first came, you didn't need to come inside the house to call for me the other day. You didn't need to make sure I was okay, and gonna be okay. You didn't need to make sure I had some place to stay, or ask for Carmen's number in order to reach me. Hell, you don't need to be talking to me right now" he listed out, admittedly blushing a bit.
"But...I am."
"But you are, exactly. You added me into your little equation when you had the choice to leave me in your memories as Fargas' pretty, queer grandkid."
"'Pretty'?" Dean repeated.
"I'm fucking divine, Dean, it's in my name. Meanwhile, Dean means like...'valley.'"
"Would you describe me as a valley, Ambrose?"
"A valley of weird gray hairs, some round glasses, dark academia, and an angular face."
"You think my face is angular?"
"In a good way, pretty boy."
Dean smirked to himself, dragging his free hand slowly down the side of his face. "You think I'm pretty, too?"
"I thought the flirting made it obvious."
"I'm more than a pretty face, y'know" Dean sassed.
"Well, duh. I'm not shallow" Ambrósio scoffed. "I like when we talk, too, and not just for your voice-"
"You like my voice?"
"I've told you this before!"
Ambrósio chortled. "I don't only listen to Hendrix and Foreigner, Dean, Jesus Christ."
"Who else do you listen to?"
Ambrósio stepped back, towards his staircase. "I could listen to you. You sound like you could do a number on people if you sing."
Dean knowingly shook his head, looking down to hide his smile. "I don't sing, but...thanks."
Dean hummed in agreement. "You mentioned reciting poetry, when I met you."
"Yessir."
"What writers do you like?"
"Aw, damn, uh..." Ambrósio scratched his jaw in thought. "Baudelaire, definitely. And JP Marquand, Oscar Wilde, and Lord Byron. To name a few."
"Quite an array."
"You like?"
"I wouldn't shy away from the names. It's an impressive list."
"Thank you, I know." Ambrósio smiled, proud of himself.
"You still lying down?"
"Yea, what're you doing?"
"Lying down, on my hotel room's bed, talking to the dreamy, divine grandson of Victor Fargas." Dean flirted, stroking his beard.
Ambrósio poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "I am dreamy."
"You really are."
"So..."
"So?"
"So, we're just both lying down, on our beds, talking to each other over the telephone?"
"Why, would you rather be doing something else, with somebody else?" Dean joked.
Ambrósio raised his eyebrows. "I'd rather be doing something else that involves being on a bed, with you...Doing a far more scandalous activity than just talking."
Dean fought back a grin, looking over at the wall. "You're on quite the roll, huh?"
"Whether it be the romantic poets I indulge in, or my natural-born charm, the world may never know."
"I think it's just you, honestly."
"I'm touched." Ambrósio placed his free hand over his chest, where his heart lay underneath. "Oh, also- I figured out another song you remind me of."
"Really? Which?"
"Poison by Alice Cooper. I was gonna say his other song Feed My Frankenstein for the sake of the title and sexual themes, but there's lyrics in there regarding a body part that neither I nor you have...I'm assuming. There's nothing wrong with if you do, though. I have a guy friend with the body part, but he's saving up money to get rid of it."
Dean's eyebrows jumped. "You listen to Alice Cooper?"
"Sometimes, do you?"
"Not really my thing."
"Ah, yes, let me guess." Ambrósio raised a finger in thought. "You enjoy sitting back in leather armchairs, surrounded by dusty, possibly-expensive books and listening to the likes of Debussy, Chopin...I happen to like Tchaikovsky myself, if he's any your style."
Dean laughed softly. "No, not actually. I don't know what I listen to, I don't know if it could be classified as one thing."
"If you ever come back to Portugal, we could listen to my records together 'n' see what you're into" Ambrósio offered.
"Are you asking me out?" Dean joked.
"Don't flatter yourself. I'm a gentleman, I'd buy you dinner, first." Ambrósio corrected him. "I'm just flirting your socks of for the time being." He told, sliding a hand through his dark hair; he closed his eyes and gave it a tug, trying to imagine that it was someone else, someone specific, tugging his hair in his bed.
"I'm not wearing any socks right now."
"Task complete." Ambrósio nodded slowly, sure of himself. His smile grew when he heard Dean's slight laugh through the phone.
"Dinner, huh?"
"Yea. Wine, music, candlelight, the whole shebang. Again, a gentleman."
"The sound of it does intrigue me."
"That's the goal" Ambrósio stared up at the ceiling.
"Your activity from before, regarding a bed...What would that include?" Dean didn't know what he was doing, nor what he was hoping to accomplish, but liked the power it held over Ambrósio trying to flirt with him...Well, trying and succeeding, but he liked playing a hard-to-get guy.
"Oh, I'm not entirely sure." Ambrósio partially lied. "Winding, twisting, turning, gyrating, writhing...incessant writhing" he purred. "Perhaps some assorted debaucheries along the way."
"You can be so charming when you want something, eh, Ambrose?"
"Or someone," Ambrósio added. "And I can be so charming, full stop."
"Of course you can."
"Alright, how can I get to you, Dean?" Ambrósio asked him. "Tell me the rules." He whispered through the telephone, Dean stifling a shiver.
"Can I trust you?" Dean playfully rolled his eyes.
"Oh, my dearest Dean, have I given you any reason not to?"
"That's true."
Ambrósio's voice turned into another whisper, "you and I could be as thick as fuckin' thieves. Tell me the rules, Dean." His fingers stroked from his chin to his cheek, a faraway look on his face.
Dean could just imagine the look on Ambrósio's face as they spoke. "First, you gotta tell me if I can call you 'chico' yet."
"Beg for it, like you wanted to" Ambrósio reminded him, free hand trailing down his neck, down his torso.
Dean turned back around, seeing Ambrósio holding onto the opened gate. "What is it, chico? Can I call you ‘chico’?"
“If you ask nicely.”
Dean rolled his eyes knowingly, “save either one of us begging for something from the other for another time.” He finally flirted back.
Dean held a knowing expression on his face. He should've expected this.
"No problem, Ambrose. Can I call you 'chico', yet?"
"Only if you beg like you wanted to." Ambrósio flirted.
Dean looked around in thought, "wouldn't you rather in person?"
"Would either one of us want to travel seventeen-ish hours for you to beg me for something so small in the midst of your big book mission?" Ambrósio rhetorically asked. "You wanna call me 'chico', you gotta do what you suggested. It was your words, not mine, big man."
Dean hummed. "Please?"
"'Please' what?"
Dean giggled quietly. "Please, can I call you 'chico'? Please?" He insisted, "please? Let me call you 'chico', Ambrósio, please."
Ambrósio had a smug look on his face, "you may."
"That was barely any begging."
"Let's save actual begging for some other time, when we're closer together. Okay, amor?"
"Okay, chico."
"I also thought of another song."
"You're full of them for someone who supposedly couldn't think of any."
"Shut up," Ambrósio chuckled. "I Was Made For Loving You."
Dean licked his lips, "by Kiss?"
"You like Kiss?" Ambrósio looked surprised.
"I know Kiss, and I know the song you mentioned. How come I never remind you of any Jimi Hendrix songs?"
"That's not my problem" Ambrósio replied. "I Was Made For Loving You, Dean. Take it or leave it."
"Y'know what, Ambrósio?" Dean inquired. "Maybe you were."
"Not even 'maybe', Dean. I know I am." Ambrósio checked the time. "Listen, I gotta get going, a guy's gotta run. Talk soon?"
"Sure thing, chico."
"Bye, Dean. Stay safe."
"You too."
Ambrósio and Dean hung up their phones, Ambrósio's head spinning of round glasses, prominent cheekbones and smooth voices as he left the bedroom. Whereas Dean stayed where he was, rubbing his thighs with thoughts of dark, soulful eyes, inked-up torsos, and dreamy grandsons.
Both of them just hoped Dean's mission would end quick so the two could talk physically again, or maybe do a greater deal than talking.
Pairing: Ambrósio ‘Ambrose’ Fargas (OC) x Dean Corso
Warnings: Swearing, Faggotry, Spoilers for The Ninth Gate, Flirting, Angst kinda, Grief,
Notes: they’re back, deal with it or whatever
Dean opened the door to his hotel room, shirtless and bed-headed.
The strange blonde girl stared back at him.
Dean held onto the blanket he had wrapped around his waist, "what time is it?"
"Early, but you have to go."
"Go? Go where?"
"To Fargas' place.”
"I've already seen Fargas and his fruity little grandson." Dean didn't mean it as an insult more than he meant it as an adjective. He had other adjectives in mind when it came to Ambrósio, but kept those in his head for a reason.
"I think you should see them again."
"What is this, some kind of practical joke? Who are you? What do you know about Fargas and Ambrósio?"
"Get dressed. I'll wait for you outside." The girl didn't answer his questions, instead turning and walking off.
Dean almost didn't do as he was told. If there was a problem with either one of the Fargas', he knew Ambrósio knew to call him at the hotel. But, maybe something popped up in which Ambrósio couldn't call Dean. He thought back to his conversation with Balkan on the telephone the previous night.
"I must have that copy, Mr. Corso. Get it for me." Balkan instructed.
"The old man wouldn't sell it to save his life, he said as much. And the young'un, his grandson, he...well, he said he helps Fargas take care of the books for a reason."
"Did they?"
"Hello?" Dean called, repeating himself when Balkan didn't answer. He hung up the phone and leaned back against the headboard of his bed, deep in thought. Mixtures of the copies discrepancies, red Hawaiian shirts, the blonde girl from the lobby, and tattooed arms, Balkan's suspicious last words, along with special song abilities. Dean figured he had too much on his mind, more than he knew how to handle.
Dean exited the hotel, seeing the girl waiting for him on a strikingly familiar motorcycle. He didn't ask questions and got on, allowing the strange girl to ride him over to the Fargas house.
Once at the house, Dean led the girl up to the front doors and tried ringing the doorbell. Maybe Fargas or his cute grandson would answer the door, along with his various questions.
"Don't bother, Fargas isn't there." The girl told.
Dean turned to face her, "oh really? Then where is he?"
The girl pointed over at the dull fountain, "over there."
Dean hesitantly looked over at the front door, as if expecting for at least Ambrósio to answer it. When nobody came, he shuffled over to the steps.
The girl pointed over at the fountain again.
Dean looked at her suspiciously, then back to the fountain. He walked over to the fountain, and peered into it. "God almighty."
Victor Fargas' dead body lay face-up in the fountain, floating lifelessly as the Koi fish picked at him like vultures on a carcass.
Dean turned to the girl, taking one last look at Victor before marching past her, and to the door. He attempted opening it to get inside, get to the book, or hopefully a breathing Ambrósio.
"You want to get inside?" The girl inquired.
Dean sighed, locking eyes with her. "I had thought about it, yes. If Victor is out there, his grandson is probably in there. His grandson, is he still in there?"
"Yes, but he won't answer, he’s too afraid." The girl looked up at the wall, and began to climb it.
Dean watcher her slip in through the window and get inside, walking over and unlocking the front door for him. He stepped into the Fargas house, stopping when he noticed the girl following him. "You wait here."
The girl obliged.
Dean made his way over to the room full of Victors' books, accidentally stepping on the shattered remains of a glass cup.
Dean took a glass from Victor when it was offered, allowing the old man to pour him some brandy. "What handsome glasses.”
"Yes, my grandson thinks so, too. They're the only ones I have left."
Dean looked into the room of Victors books, walking towards his display from the previous day. "Shit." He cursed, realizing the Fargas copy was missing. Dean turned and saw a strange-looking addition to Fargas' fireplace, creeping over and kneeling down by it.
The Fargas copy.
Dean took it out, inspecting the now-burnt cover and smoking pages. He walked out of the room, and began to call. "Ambrósio? Ambrósio! Ambrósio, it's me, Dean Corso, are you here?" Dean exclaimed, glancing around at the ceilings and by the stairs. "Ambrose, Ambrósio!"
Careful footsteps by the top of the stairs.
Dean let his guard up, cautious. "Ambrósio-?"
"Dean!"
"Ambrósio!"
Ambrósio raced down the stairs, running over to Dean and collapsing into his arms. "Dean, oh my fucking god-" He choked.
Dean wrapped his arms around Ambrósio instinctively, quick to calmly shush him and stroke his hair. "Ambrósio? Are you alright?"
"I was," Ambrósio answered. "One second, my Avô and I were drinking from his pretty blue glasses, the next thing I- I know, he urged me to go upstairs and not let myself be known. I- I- I locked myself in my room and listened by the door, I heard stomping and stuff downstairs, like glass b-breaking."
Dean listened intently, Ambrósio's cologne wafting into his nostrils.
"I heard water, and- and splashing from outside, then a car speeding off. I looked out the window, and- and-" Ambrósio stuttered to a stop, tears welling in his dark eyes.
Dean continued softly shushing him and rubbing his back, noticing that Ambrósio was wearing the same thing from the previous night.
"I wanted to call you, but- but the telephone was broken. I really wanted to, I did-"
"Hey, hey, it's okay" Dean pulled away, hands on Ambrósio's shoulders. "At least you're okay, I'm glad you're still okay."
"Fucking barely, my Avô is dead floating in the f-fucking fountain-!" Ambrósio sobbed, weakly pointing in the direction of the fountain. "I fucking knew something was gonna go bad, and- and- and I knew what to do, I knew I had to call you, 'cause you're a safe zone, but I fucking couldn't, and now the last thing I had to call a fucking family is fucking dead!" He complained.
"You couldn't have done anything, Ambrósio. He told you to go upstairs."
"Avô ushered me upstairs to keep me safe, I could fight for my damned self better than he could, Dean!" Ambrósio pointed out. He exhaled shakily, raking a tatted hand through his hair. "God, fuck-" Ambrósio cursed.
Dean gulped, eyes trailing the floor as he thought of something else. "Do you have anywhere else to go? I'm sure you feel far from safe here, now. You could, come with me, maybe-?"
"Are you kidding?" Ambrósio pulled away from Dean's touch, looking at him with wide eyes. "The little books you and him liked so much are the reason he's fucking gone!"
"That's true, very true."
Ambrósio groaned. "Thanks, but no thanks. I-I'm sure my friends could let me waver with them until this home feels like home, again. God." He shook his head, clutching handfuls of his black hair.
Dean looked as sympathetic as he could. "You're gonna be okay? By yourself, I mean. Once it feels more safer to get back in here."
Ambrósio hummed in an unreadable tone. "I got no choice." He admitted, shrugging. “This is my home, Dean.” Ambrósio sniffled, wiping his eyes. "Fucking Avô, man, with his little demonic baloney books" Ambrósio choked out, shoulders shaking.
Dean glanced behind himself, then back over at Ambrósio. "Listen, is there a friend you definitely know for sure that you can crash with?"
"Uh..." Ambrósio sniffed, wiping his eyes again. "Carmen, she definitely will, she's a real giver. Her and her boyfriend Jeronimo, they'll let me. I guess." He stared down at the floor, grief consuming him.
Dean softly cupped Ambrósio's neck, thumb stroking gently. "Lend me their number, then. I'll make sure I can check in on you every once in a while."
"Why? What do you want with me?" Ambrósio grew grumpy, but perhaps his sudden, impactful loss can make up for it.
Dean shrugged back at him. "I'm worried about you, to say the least. C'mon, Ambrósio, a number for a number." He explained, offering Ambrósio a slip of paper and a pen.
Ambrósio glanced between Dean and the two objects. He gave in, writing down Carmen's number. "Here."
"Thank you." Dean smiled slightly, but it couldn't hide his concern. "Get outta here quick, okay? Hope you don't have too many Hendrix or Foreigner vinyls to pack."
Ambrósio chortled. "I don't only listen to Hendrix and Foreigner, Dean, Jesus Christ."
"Who else do you listen to?"
Ambrósio stepped back, towards his staircase. "I could listen to you. You sound like you could do a number on people if you sing."
Dean knowingly shook his head, looking down to hide his smile. "I don't sing, but...thanks."
Ambrósio scratched his jaw, as if slacking to ask Dean something.
Dean read him like a kids book, and opened his arms. "Do it before I regret it."
Ambrósio broke out into a wide smile, enveloping Dean into a tight hug. "Thank you. Thank you." He whispered, feeling safe for the first time all day.
"No problem, Ambrose. Can I call you 'chico', yet?"
"Only if you beg like you wanted to." Ambrósio flirted.
Dean turned back around, seeing Ambrósio holding onto the opened gate. "What is it, chico? Can I call you ‘chico’?"
“If you ask nicely.”
Dean rolled his eyes knowingly, “save either one of us begging for something from the other for another time.” He finally flirted back.
Dean chuckled, pulling away from the hug. "Never lose the attitude, man."
"Would never dream of it."
The two stood in comfortable silence, gazing at one another.
Then reality took its hold on Dean, who regained his focus. "I should...get going. You'll be fine until your little friends get here?"
"Carmen picks up the phone fast, and Jeronimo drives fast. I can manage in due time...Thank you, again."
"No problem. I'll keep in touch" Dean held up the slip of paper before pocketing it, allowing Ambrósio to escort him out. "Stay safe, Ambrósio."
"No safer than you, Dean." Ambrósio replied, closing and locking the front door.
Klaus x Asha: Elka-12, Anoki-5, Franz-2 & Gabriel-6m.
Avonaco x Marie: Kishori-3.
Viho x Chelan: Elina-3 & Kanaka-1m.
Parents: Felix & Darika (RedFox) Zelwyn
How They Met: Zayn was at a bar with the boys when he met her, and the boys encouraged him to meet her.
Scars/Tattoos: Tribal tattoo of a bison in black across her back.
Special Jewelry: Braided leather necklace heirloom that she wears constantly.
Morning Routine: She’s normally up at a decent time to feed her animals and get breakfast for Zayn. Normally fairly cheerful and just a bit bleary-eyed for awhile.
Afternoon Routine: Has it to herself to read or ride; explore the forest.
Evening Routine: She goes out to the bars to sing, or provides entertainment at smaller venues. Would prefer to spend more time with Zayn though.
Birthplace: North Cheyenne Reservation, Montana
Current Residence: 5255 Whippoorwill Str., Palm Springs, CA
