thehollowlungsâ:
Tiberius was not what one might call an  extrovert. He was not a man who enjoyed the impositions of anotherâs company upon his time nor  did he appreciate the existence of many people for its own sake. As a rule there were few people whose presence he tolerated, and fewer still who he actually liked. Still. Every once in the odd while a melody would separate itself out from the herd and wind its way into the backroom amongst the artefacts, twisting and turning through his mind like an earworm burrowing for a home. At such times he might even find himself drawn out of his study and compelled to interact, albeit briefly, with whoever or whatever was the cause for the new sound.  This was not one such time.
No, no. This fell into that other category of times â the times when it felt like someone was marching into his space with a one man band, hammering away with increasing demand until he could feel it behind his eyes. And yet - and bloody yet â for whatever godforsaken reason he had chosen a job that required him to at least be civil to the miscreants who would sometimes wander into his domain. There was always the hope, however, that maybe if he ignored itâŚ.maybe, just maybe it would go away on its ownâŚ
The pitchy grate of  Bethnal Green brogue shattered any hopes he had of that insistent melody drumming itself out of the museum. Eyes closing momentarily, he drew in a slow breath to steady himself before turning his gaze to the intruder. Lanky, cocky, lewdly undressing him with his eyes â brilliant. Returning the manuscript to its proper place on the shelf, the curator arched a brow at the younger brunette, dry sarcasm charring the tips of his words, âThat work on all the boys, does it? The museum exit is back that way â wouldnât want you to be bored by the historical remnants of oh, say, the last few millennia. Whatâs the achievement of humankind through the ages compared to a bad pickup line?â A scoff escaped him in the soft breath that trailed the question mark, the curator shaking his head as it did.Â
Christ, what he wouldnât give to be allowed to smoke in here. Â
This wasnât the first time heâd been around. Hell, the only reason heâd agreed to come to the museum with Pax was because he knew he could come steal a look at the man before him. He wasnât sure what it was about him, but he felt drawn towards the other. âSometimes.â He says with a cocky grin. âWhy, is it working on you?â He runs his tongue along his lower lip already shifting into the office, ignoring the others clear rejection. Des wasnât one who was easily turned away, and far too persistent for his own good. He turns his back away from Tibs for a moment, fingers already running along the various old objects and artifacts, ignoring any common courtesy that one would typically use within a museum--he was never one that could keep his hands to himself. âSo what terribly boring thing are we working on today?â He asks, turning back to the older man, smile still playing off his lips as he walks towards Tibsâ desk. His eyes greedily spot something that catches his attention--a small gold charm, glinting slightly as it caught the light. He stares, and for a moment he could have sworn he saw the figures of the charm move, almost as if they were breathing. He moves forward slowly, eyes flickering between the charm and Tibs, casually moving as though heâs looking around. Fingers reach forward when the other isnât looking, hoping to quietly take the golden charm and pocket it before the other noticed.Â










