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lesyeuxvertsTitle: And Hoped For More
Author: lesyeuxverts
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Charles/Sebastian
Prompt: unrequited love, letter
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The first time Charles touched Sebastian was in Venice – away from school, away from the world that mattered. Cara was the only one who knew, and she thought it was normal – that it was natural.
Charles slept with thoughts of Sebastian on his lips, with visions of Sebastian in the aquatint of Oxford, washed away into pale insubstantiality, and he did not sleep well.
They had gone driving, once, Sebastian driving Charles out to Brideshead, taking him into a glimpse of his past – and preventing him more than a glimpse of his present, and forbidding further questions – but that had not made them any closer. Anthony Blanche, who spoke with a stutter and never said more than he meant, was closer to Sebastian than Charles was. Anthony Blanche could touch Sebastian, could take him by the hand and lead him skipping across the length of campus, reciting The Wasteland by whole verse – Charles could not, would not, do such a thing.
It did not matter, then. Charles hadn't lain awake with thoughts of Sebastian, didn't long to touch him, didn't burn for him. He didn't need Sebastian – but when no letters came, when the letters came and were unsatisfactory, Charles couldn't help but think of him and wait for more. He wanted a letter from Sebastian, a letter that meant something, proof.
So he came, when Sebastian called – he came and was willing for anything, but it was not at Brideshead that it happened. It was in Venice that Charles laid awake, wanting to reach across the corridor that separated them. Facile explanations and easy families and aesthetic principles – they, in the long run, were nothing. Charles counted them for nothing.
In the middle of the night, he rose, and crossed the space that separated them, and hoped for more.
Author: lesyeuxverts
Word Count: 300
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Charles/Sebastian
Prompt: unrequited love, letter
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The first time Charles touched Sebastian was in Venice – away from school, away from the world that mattered. Cara was the only one who knew, and she thought it was normal – that it was natural.
Charles slept with thoughts of Sebastian on his lips, with visions of Sebastian in the aquatint of Oxford, washed away into pale insubstantiality, and he did not sleep well.
They had gone driving, once, Sebastian driving Charles out to Brideshead, taking him into a glimpse of his past – and preventing him more than a glimpse of his present, and forbidding further questions – but that had not made them any closer. Anthony Blanche, who spoke with a stutter and never said more than he meant, was closer to Sebastian than Charles was. Anthony Blanche could touch Sebastian, could take him by the hand and lead him skipping across the length of campus, reciting The Wasteland by whole verse – Charles could not, would not, do such a thing.
It did not matter, then. Charles hadn't lain awake with thoughts of Sebastian, didn't long to touch him, didn't burn for him. He didn't need Sebastian – but when no letters came, when the letters came and were unsatisfactory, Charles couldn't help but think of him and wait for more. He wanted a letter from Sebastian, a letter that meant something, proof.
So he came, when Sebastian called – he came and was willing for anything, but it was not at Brideshead that it happened. It was in Venice that Charles laid awake, wanting to reach across the corridor that separated them. Facile explanations and easy families and aesthetic principles – they, in the long run, were nothing. Charles counted them for nothing.
In the middle of the night, he rose, and crossed the space that separated them, and hoped for more.
