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James Morland was sitting in a pub with two of his younger brothers, a pint in front of each. Whether it had been Richard or Charles who had come up with the idea of a night on the town, James did not know. Perhaps it had even been Catherine, and that thought at least made him smile. This seemed like the kind of idea Catherine would have. And he knew that his sister would have joined them, in spite of her own plans for the evening, if Richard had not politely disinvited her. According to his brother, this was supposed to be a boy's night out, you didn't take your younger sister along for those. Especially not if said younger sister also dated the brother of the man who had caused this whole mess to begin with. No, here Charles and Richard had been in complete agreement, taking Catherine along could only make matters worse.
With a sigh, James dipped his finger into a small puddle of beer on the counter, wishing that they had taken Catherine along. There was at least a chance that his favourite sister would have made the evening better. As it was, it couldn't get much worse.
Not that his brothers weren't trying. They had chosen a decent enough pub and had, for once, not declared James to be the designated driver. Quite the contrary, they both intended for him to end this evening truly and utterly sloshed, with enough of a blackout that hopefully, no memory of Isabella Thorpe would remain. In its own way, it was rather sweet, James had to admit, but neither Richard nor Charles had ever really known Isabella. They could curse her now but unlike Catherine, who had been Isabella's closest friend these past few years, they could not understand her betrayal. Not really, at least. Not the way Catherine could.
He sighed again. How was he supposed to simply forget about Isabella?
„James, you are supposed to drink that, not glare at it.“ His tone light, Richard nudged his older brother in the side. „Come now, down with it. Charlie wants to order the next round.“
The youngest of the three nodded emphatically, his own pint long since empty. „Aye! Stop moping James, I mean, yeah, you got ditched by the bitch but so what? I never liked her anyway. Bit of a twat, wasn't she? And all hoity-toity, just because she's a looker. Nah, you dodged a bullet mate!“ Grinning, Charles gave James a hearty clap on the back. „Cheers!“
As much as James loved his brothers, and as much as he valued their kindness and generosity, if their plan for tonight had been to have a good time, they should have left him at home. Here he sat, his heart broken, his whole life a pile of shattered glass and everyone just expected him to get over it. As if it was that easy. He took a sip of his beer and grimaced. Life sucked and his beer had gone flat.
There was a soft clink, as the publican set a tumbler filled with an overly large ice cube and an amber liquid down in front of James. „Um, excuse me, I didn't order any whisky.“
„Yeah, but he did.“
Curious, James looked in the direction the publican had pointed out to him, ready to thank the kind stranger who had taken pity on him. When James saw him, though, any gratitude was swallowed by rising bile. Over at the other end of the bar, with seemingly not a care in the world, sat none other than Frederick Tilney, watching him with a smirk. When he caught James's eye, his grin only widened, as he raised his glass own glass to toast James.
By now, Charles and Richard had spotted him as well, and while neither had ever met him, he resembled his younger brother enough to allow for an educated guess. And even without this resemblance, James's reaction, growing pale at first, then turning red, grinding his teeth, as he stared daggers at the other man, would have been enough to give them a hint.
„What a tosser!“, stated Charles the obvious. He glanced at the whisky. „But at least not a cheap one.“
Carefully Richard placed a hand on his older brother's shoulder in an attempt to calm him, glancing at Charles to make the younger shut up. „Just ignore him. I mean, yeah, he really is a wanker, but that's no reason to let him ruin this evening, now is it? I'm sure he'll leave soon enough. So what, if he wants to waste his money on us, let him. You deserve some compensation after everything he did.“
James downed the whisky without comment. He barely tasted anything and it burned in his throat, but somehow, it felt good. Had he taken his time, it would have been a really good whisky, but that wasn't something he wanted to think about right now. Not when grief and despair had been finally replaced by anger.
„That's not exactly how you are supposed to — James, I don't think this is a good idea.“ Charles was right, it wasn't a good idea, but James had gotten up regardless.
„James, James no. James, Charlie's right, this isn't a good idea. Don't. Just forget about it, why don't you? I mean, yeah, I understand where you're coming from, but don't. Just don't. Really now, mate, come on, what are you going to do? Start a brawl?“
From the looks of it, that was exactly what James had in mind, much to Richard's chagrin. By now he was growing somewhat frantic: „It's not worth it. He's not worth it. James, please! Don't. We could leave, I mean, there are plenty of pubs around. Let's just go somewhere else, the beer around here sucks anyway.“
This last statement earned him a cross look from the publican, but while Richard was busy trying to hold back James, Charles tried to explain, through the use of simple gestures, that this was a desperate situation and as such, called for desperate means. Not that their efforts were of any use.
James was determined. Shaking off Richard's hand, he made his way to the other end of the bar, ready to give Tilney a piece of his mind, and, if possible, a taste of his fist. His figure was neither tall nor imposing, but his posture still conveyed unwavering intent, which was impressive in itself. Not enough to impress someone like Frederick Tilney, and certainly not enough to cow him, but at least compelling enough to draw half the pub's attention to the unfolding scene.
With a groan, Richard slumped down on the counter. „Oh drat! Mum's going to have our heads for this.“
His younger brother, at least, while just as resigned, bore it slightly more cheerfully, as he ordered another round, this time only for two. „Nah, worse. Cathy's going to have our heads for this.“
„How dare you show your bloody face here! Have you no shame?!“
Frederick Tilney, on finding himself addressed in this fashion, lazily turned around on his stool. He made no effort to hide his alleged indifference, as he looked James Morland over with a nonchalant smile.
The young man in front of him was shorter than Frederick and less muscular. And, as Frederick noticed, while undoubtedly slender, there was a certain softness to his features, not unlike his sister's, which did nothing to help with the situation at hand. For all his fury, James Morland looked about as intimidating as an angry, wet kitten, and it took everything for Frederick not to laugh out loud. „No. Never had.“
This statement, bold as brass, was enough to give James pause, though only for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he continued: „Have you any idea what you did? You ruined everything! Someone should wipe that stupid grin off your face, you... you... manky, little, shameless, lunkheaded, nasty, brutish... GIT!“
So far, James had not actually punched him, apparently unwilling to hit an opponent not standing upright, but every insult had been accompanied by a sharp poke with his index finger against Frederick's chest.
Had James wanted to, he could have easily shoved Frederick off the barstool, but he did not even attempt it. All in all, it was rather amusing to witness, adorable even, and had Frederick not been involved himself, by now he would have laughed.
As it was, he only chuckled and finally, slowly stood up, rolling his shoulders, well aware of the sight he presented. He stretched his neck one last time and emptied his glass, before turning towards James. This was starting to get embarrassing, more for Morland than for himself, but either way, there was no need for an audience.
„Git? That's the best you came up with? Impressive.“ Frederick set his glass back on the counter with an audible clink, unfazed. „Well, if that's what you want, let's take this outside.“
Not even waiting for an answer, he simply grabbed James by the elbow and, ignoring the other's protests, effortlessly dragged him to the door.
Once outside, Frederick headed straight into a little alleyway next to the pub, where he let go of James, shoving him hard against the brickwall. His amused smirk was gone, as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and regarded James haughtily. „So, what's your fucking problem?“
„What's... What's my fucking problem?!“ Incredulous, James looked at him, rubbing his elbow. „Are you serious?! My problem?! You are! You are my fucking problem! You ruined everything. I was happy! I would have married Isabella, we would have started a family and you ruined it! She was my fiancée and you fucked her!“
„Because she wanted it.“
„I know!“ James was shouting, his voice cracking away and for a moment Frederick was sure he would lunge at him, but instead the other man just deflated. When he continued, his voice had turned small: „I know. And I know that she never loved me, no matter what she said. But I believed her! What was I supposed to do?! So what if she never reached for my hand, never huddled against me, never kissed me on her own! She told me she loved me and I believed her! And we held hands when I reached for her, we cuddled when I drew her close, we kissed, as long as I took the first step, we even... how was I supposed to know that she never meant any of it?! That she never wanted any of it?! If she hates me so, why did she never tell me to stop?! Why didn't she end things sooner? Why start at all? Why, in God's name, did she ever say yes?!“
Had James been a little more drunk than he was, at this point he would have broken apart for good. Instead he looked up at Frederick, his eyes full of pain and bitterness and loathing, for Frederick, for Isabella, for himself and the world as a whole.
„I wanted to believe her. Because I loved her! Because I trusted her. If it's wrong to believe the person you love, then I don't want to do right! And I'd do it again. Yes I am a fucking fool, but at least I'm not you! You knew about us, you knew everything and you could have at least have the decency to wait for God's sake! You saw how she made a fool of me and you just had to rub it in, hadn't you? Did it feel good? Are you happy now? You took what's most dear to me, only to toss it away immediately afterwards. And because that wasn't enough yet, because I still had some shred of dignity left you just had to taunt me, didn't you? Make fun of me some more, why not, I'm not downtrodden enough yet! Come on, punch me! Bring it on! Smash my face in, what do I care!“
Frederick didn't move, regarding him silently. So James, panting hard, his face flushed and tear-streaked, desperately took a step forward and gave him a shove back. „Just do it!“
And Frederick did, but not what James had asked him to. With one quick stride he loomed over James, pushing him back, back up against the wall. His lips came down hard and hungry and he pressed his body against James, pinning him against the bricks. James's lips still tasted of whisky, as Frederick pushed them apart with his tongue, greedily taking what he wanted. There was nothing soft or tender about this kiss, but Frederick did not care about any of that. He wedged his thigh between James's legs, pressing it up against the other man's groin until James moaned into his open mouth, a strangled, mewling sound, asking, no begging, for more. Only then did Frederick withdraw, gently biting into James's lower lip before breaking the kiss for good. Licking his own lips, he took a step back, slightly out of breath, looking down on James with a cocky grin.
He didn't even see the punch coming and so, when James's fist collided with his jaw, Frederick did nothing to prevent the hit. „Have you gone mad?!“ It was clear that James wanted to sound outraged, but for that his voice was far too shaky.
Now, Frederick finally allowed himself to laugh. He rubbed his jaw, even though he barely felt any pain. Whether it was due to the adrenaline, or because James simply didn't know how to pack a punch, or because the other man had no intention to actually hurt him, Frederick did not know. He did not have to know for it to amuse him. „There, there. What was that supposed to be? Were you trying to tickle me? Come on, you can do better. Wanna try again?“
This time, when James hand shot up, Frederick saw it and prepared for the impact. It did not come. Instead James grabbed the back of his head, burying his fingers in Frederick's brown hair, his nails scraping across Frederick's scalp, as he pulled him down for another kiss.