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dolevalanTitle: ...none of this ever happened...
Fandom/original: original/a.u. of other original things - some of which are mine, some of which are![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rougen's.
Characters: Arthur Sloane, Nicolas Willoughby, Katiya
Rating: PG-13 for language and some implied sexuality
A/N: A gift forrougen. Certain names have been fiddled with...to protect the not-so-innocent.
1.
The first time Arthur Sloane saw Nicolas Willoughby, the young man was smiling, clearly full of himself and aware of his own charms. He was going down the stairs from the apartment that Arthur was climbing up to, taking them two at a time. He gave Arthur a small stranger’s grin; he didn’t recognize him by description. If he’d even had one from Emily: doubtful, under the circumstances. Arthur paused on the landing after Nicolas had passed, watching the other man go. It was like watching his younger self go by, all strong youth and confidence. Though there was… something less pleasant lingering about the other man too. Something wild, smoky... uncaring.
Well, maybe that was prejudice.
As Nicolas sliced through the slanting lines of morning light, he began to whistle. Arthur sighed, and turned back to the stairs. If he was this happy, he probably hadn’t left her crying.
You never knew, though.
2.
It was snowing. Arthur punched Nicolas in the jaw.
“Bloody hell. What was – ”
“You know damn well what it was for.”
“Some people start with a hello. Or at least saying one’s name.” Nicolas licked the lip that Arthur had bloodied. Arthur’s fists clenched harder. “Besides. How come you’re her knight in shining armor?”
“She’s my friend. Hell, she’s like my kid sister. And even if she weren’t, that gives you a right to throw her around?”
“People are staring,” Nicolas said, low.
“Let them. Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”
Nicolas shook his head. The snow settled on his dark chocolate hair, though why Arthur noticed it through his fury, he couldn’t say. “You want to go someplace less busy, then?”
“Like where? We’re in the middle of the damn city.”
Nicolas raised one gloved hand in a noncommittal gesture. “Well, it depends on if you want to talk, or if you’re just going to keep hitting me.”
“I don’t know. The second option seems pretty damn appealing.”
“I let you hit me once. Don’t push your luck, Mr. Sloane.”
“You let me? Jesus. I’ll…” His cell phone rang. He hesitated on the verge of ignoring it, but finally he pulled out the phone and looked at it.
“Margaret?” Nicolas almost smirked.
Sloane growled, turned away, and answered.
3.
Nicolas was sitting in the living room, on an overturned footstool. He was working on a large glass of red wine. In the next room, the CD was repeating for the fourth time.
Arthur pushed the outer door the rest of the way open, not bothering to knock. He came in a few paces, glaring. Before he could speak, however, Nicolas did.
“Is she hurt?”
“She’s not injured,” Arthur said, curtly.
Nicolas took another long drink. His shirt was half undone, and he looked deeply shaken.
Arthur strode past him into the next room, and turned off the music. “What in god’s name were you thinking? Or weren’t you?”
“Why are you here? To gloat? Congratulations, I’m an awful man, I’ve proved you right.”
Arthur came in and crouched in front of Nicolas. “Yes, your mea culpas are doing worlds of good.”
“Are you going to tell Emily?”
“I won’t have to. She’ll find out on her own.” Arthur surveyed Nicolas’ face. His voice was not soft, but it was quieter than it usually was with Nicolas. “I swear, Willoughby, I will never understand you.”
“What, were you trying to?”
“Sometimes.” He shakes his head. “How two such intelligent women - ” He broke off.
Nicolas met his eyes. “Must be my animal magnetism.”
Sloane had leaned in, as if to study the face before him. He snorted at the conjecture. “More than likely.”
Nicolas blinked, dark eyes nearly focused despite the alcohol. Arthur met his gaze, and his expression twisted.
“You are a bastard,” he said, low, before leaning in to kiss Nicolas roughly. Nicolas, for his part, was too startled to do much of anything but submit to it, and in fact it was over before it had really begun.
Arthur stood, and said roughly, “You still taste like her.” And he turned to go.
4.
The rain was beating hard and fast against the windowpane. It was Arthur who was drinking, this time, watching it fall. The knock on the door was sudden and impatient.
When he opened it, Nicolas stood there in a trenchcoat, drenched, hair plastered to his neck. “Is she here?”
“Which one?” Arthur asked bitterly, stepping back to let the other man in. “Neither, is the answer.”
“Damn it…” Nicolas looked around the room, as if hoping for a hint as to what to do next.
“I guess it’s nice to know that she didn’t go running to you.”
Nicolas shook his head. “You’re drunk, Mr. Sloane.”
“Well-spotted, Willoughby.” He sat on the couch. “Maybe you should take up investigating.”
“Oh, for god’s sake.” Nicolas looked pain. “What are we going to do?”
“Do? Hell, there’s nothing to be done. They’re adults. No crime in leaving someone. Though under the circumstances, rough on you, I suppose.”
“Oh do stop it.”
Sloane took another long drink. “My apartment. I’ll say whatever I damn well please. Besides, it’s true.”
Nicolas looked angry and pained. But he said, “You have any more of that bourbon?”
“Help yourself. It’s on the desk.” Arthur closed his eyes a moment.
“Not much left. How long ago did you start?” Nicolas lifted the bottle, tilting it critically.
“Oh, for the love of god, don’t try to make small talk. Drink, if you’re drinking.”
Nicolas poured himself a glass and emptied it. He stood, staring out the window. After a moment, Arthur said, “And stop dripping on the goddamned carpet.”
“First time it’ll have gotten washed since you bought it,” Nicolas said absently, still looking out the window. A minute passed, then Arthur got up and came over to him. Roughly, he pulled the trenchcoat down off Nicolas’ shoulders. “The hell,” the younger man protested.
“Person’d think you were born in a barn,” Arthur said, low and rough and slightly slurred.
“Who knows, maybe I was.” And Nicolas grabbed Arthur’s arm. “Don’t push me.”
“This isn’t me pushing you.”
“Oh? Doing a great job, then, of imitating it.”
“Willoughby -”
Nicolas kissed Arthur hard, and Arthur returned it a moment later, equally. The two men kissed like they were still fighting.
Nicolas’ trenchcoat, sopping, fell to the floor.
5.
Katiya held her scarf together with one gloved hand, the wind whipping at her hair. “He wasn’t…” She swallowed. “It’s not as if he left, really. He just wasn’t there, ever. So it wasn’t…” She looked away.
Arthur exhaled, slowly, running his hand back through graying hair. “It’s okay, kid.”
“He looks bad, Arthur,” she said quietly. “He lost my brother, and he…”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “You alright?”
She managed a weak smile. “I will be. I’m going to fly back, spend a few weeks with my mother.”
Arthur smiled a little himself. “Give her my love.”
“I will.” She hugged him. Softly, “I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”
“I understand.” He stroked her hair once, then let her go. With a small squeeze of his hand, she turned and left. She didn’t ask why he was there.
Arthur walked up to the door and took a deep breath before knocking, even as Katiya drove away in the background.
The house was dim, still neat, but quiet. Distinctly a bachelor’s house, though it would be hard to say why. There were photos, though, of a pretty young woman, the one who had just left, and a smiling boy… young man, really. Though he never quite got as old as the girl, and the two were very seldom in pictures together.
“Nicolas?”
“It’s a veritable parade of sorrow. This way.”
Arthur followed the raw voice into a room at the back of the house. “I’m late to the pity party, I see. And forgot to bring a gift.”
“Why aren’t you with her?”
Nicolas was sitting with his back to the door, looking out on the picture window that provided a view of his large backyard. There was a well-made but neglected swing set, nestled among the trees, one swing going idly back and forth in the high wind.
“She didn’t want me there.” Arthur slipped his hands in his pockets. “Thought I wouldn’t understand, maybe.”
“Of course she wanted you there, idiot,” Nicolas said, wearily. “Don’t you ever learn?”
“Don’t. Not now. God.”
“So she’s alone?”
“No, Grace is there. Staying for a while. Woman’s touch, I guess.” Arthur exhaled looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “She got her to start eating again. So that’s something.”
“That is something,” Nicolas said, quietly.
Arthur came over to where he could see him. “You look like death warmed over.”
“Spare me. Katiya was just in here trying not to wring her hands. I’m a little thin, that’s all.” In fact, Nicolas looked grayish, and drawn, his strong features hollowed. “It’s bound to happen.”
Arthur shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”
Nicolas snorted. “Now you sound like my sister. I’m as fine as circumstances allow, and that is all there is to say about it.”
Arthur sat, and they were quiet, for a little while. “Would it bother you, if I stayed for awhile?”
Closing his eyes, Nicolas said, “Do what you like. You always do anyway.”
The clock ticked in the next room, steady.
“This doesn’t change the fact that I hate you, you know.”
Nicolas’ lips curved, slightly. “I never imagined it did.”
And together, the men watched the fading light.
Fandom/original: original/a.u. of other original things - some of which are mine, some of which are
rougen's.Characters: Arthur Sloane, Nicolas Willoughby, Katiya
Rating: PG-13 for language and some implied sexuality
A/N: A gift for
rougen. Certain names have been fiddled with...to protect the not-so-innocent.…none of this ever happened…
1.
The first time Arthur Sloane saw Nicolas Willoughby, the young man was smiling, clearly full of himself and aware of his own charms. He was going down the stairs from the apartment that Arthur was climbing up to, taking them two at a time. He gave Arthur a small stranger’s grin; he didn’t recognize him by description. If he’d even had one from Emily: doubtful, under the circumstances. Arthur paused on the landing after Nicolas had passed, watching the other man go. It was like watching his younger self go by, all strong youth and confidence. Though there was… something less pleasant lingering about the other man too. Something wild, smoky... uncaring.
Well, maybe that was prejudice.
As Nicolas sliced through the slanting lines of morning light, he began to whistle. Arthur sighed, and turned back to the stairs. If he was this happy, he probably hadn’t left her crying.
You never knew, though.
2.
It was snowing. Arthur punched Nicolas in the jaw.
“Bloody hell. What was – ”
“You know damn well what it was for.”
“Some people start with a hello. Or at least saying one’s name.” Nicolas licked the lip that Arthur had bloodied. Arthur’s fists clenched harder. “Besides. How come you’re her knight in shining armor?”
“She’s my friend. Hell, she’s like my kid sister. And even if she weren’t, that gives you a right to throw her around?”
“People are staring,” Nicolas said, low.
“Let them. Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”
Nicolas shook his head. The snow settled on his dark chocolate hair, though why Arthur noticed it through his fury, he couldn’t say. “You want to go someplace less busy, then?”
“Like where? We’re in the middle of the damn city.”
Nicolas raised one gloved hand in a noncommittal gesture. “Well, it depends on if you want to talk, or if you’re just going to keep hitting me.”
“I don’t know. The second option seems pretty damn appealing.”
“I let you hit me once. Don’t push your luck, Mr. Sloane.”
“You let me? Jesus. I’ll…” His cell phone rang. He hesitated on the verge of ignoring it, but finally he pulled out the phone and looked at it.
“Margaret?” Nicolas almost smirked.
Sloane growled, turned away, and answered.
3.
Nicolas was sitting in the living room, on an overturned footstool. He was working on a large glass of red wine. In the next room, the CD was repeating for the fourth time.
Arthur pushed the outer door the rest of the way open, not bothering to knock. He came in a few paces, glaring. Before he could speak, however, Nicolas did.
“Is she hurt?”
“She’s not injured,” Arthur said, curtly.
Nicolas took another long drink. His shirt was half undone, and he looked deeply shaken.
Arthur strode past him into the next room, and turned off the music. “What in god’s name were you thinking? Or weren’t you?”
“Why are you here? To gloat? Congratulations, I’m an awful man, I’ve proved you right.”
Arthur came in and crouched in front of Nicolas. “Yes, your mea culpas are doing worlds of good.”
“Are you going to tell Emily?”
“I won’t have to. She’ll find out on her own.” Arthur surveyed Nicolas’ face. His voice was not soft, but it was quieter than it usually was with Nicolas. “I swear, Willoughby, I will never understand you.”
“What, were you trying to?”
“Sometimes.” He shakes his head. “How two such intelligent women - ” He broke off.
Nicolas met his eyes. “Must be my animal magnetism.”
Sloane had leaned in, as if to study the face before him. He snorted at the conjecture. “More than likely.”
Nicolas blinked, dark eyes nearly focused despite the alcohol. Arthur met his gaze, and his expression twisted.
“You are a bastard,” he said, low, before leaning in to kiss Nicolas roughly. Nicolas, for his part, was too startled to do much of anything but submit to it, and in fact it was over before it had really begun.
Arthur stood, and said roughly, “You still taste like her.” And he turned to go.
4.
The rain was beating hard and fast against the windowpane. It was Arthur who was drinking, this time, watching it fall. The knock on the door was sudden and impatient.
When he opened it, Nicolas stood there in a trenchcoat, drenched, hair plastered to his neck. “Is she here?”
“Which one?” Arthur asked bitterly, stepping back to let the other man in. “Neither, is the answer.”
“Damn it…” Nicolas looked around the room, as if hoping for a hint as to what to do next.
“I guess it’s nice to know that she didn’t go running to you.”
Nicolas shook his head. “You’re drunk, Mr. Sloane.”
“Well-spotted, Willoughby.” He sat on the couch. “Maybe you should take up investigating.”
“Oh, for god’s sake.” Nicolas looked pain. “What are we going to do?”
“Do? Hell, there’s nothing to be done. They’re adults. No crime in leaving someone. Though under the circumstances, rough on you, I suppose.”
“Oh do stop it.”
Sloane took another long drink. “My apartment. I’ll say whatever I damn well please. Besides, it’s true.”
Nicolas looked angry and pained. But he said, “You have any more of that bourbon?”
“Help yourself. It’s on the desk.” Arthur closed his eyes a moment.
“Not much left. How long ago did you start?” Nicolas lifted the bottle, tilting it critically.
“Oh, for the love of god, don’t try to make small talk. Drink, if you’re drinking.”
Nicolas poured himself a glass and emptied it. He stood, staring out the window. After a moment, Arthur said, “And stop dripping on the goddamned carpet.”
“First time it’ll have gotten washed since you bought it,” Nicolas said absently, still looking out the window. A minute passed, then Arthur got up and came over to him. Roughly, he pulled the trenchcoat down off Nicolas’ shoulders. “The hell,” the younger man protested.
“Person’d think you were born in a barn,” Arthur said, low and rough and slightly slurred.
“Who knows, maybe I was.” And Nicolas grabbed Arthur’s arm. “Don’t push me.”
“This isn’t me pushing you.”
“Oh? Doing a great job, then, of imitating it.”
“Willoughby -”
Nicolas kissed Arthur hard, and Arthur returned it a moment later, equally. The two men kissed like they were still fighting.
Nicolas’ trenchcoat, sopping, fell to the floor.
5.
Katiya held her scarf together with one gloved hand, the wind whipping at her hair. “He wasn’t…” She swallowed. “It’s not as if he left, really. He just wasn’t there, ever. So it wasn’t…” She looked away.
Arthur exhaled, slowly, running his hand back through graying hair. “It’s okay, kid.”
“He looks bad, Arthur,” she said quietly. “He lost my brother, and he…”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “You alright?”
She managed a weak smile. “I will be. I’m going to fly back, spend a few weeks with my mother.”
Arthur smiled a little himself. “Give her my love.”
“I will.” She hugged him. Softly, “I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”
“I understand.” He stroked her hair once, then let her go. With a small squeeze of his hand, she turned and left. She didn’t ask why he was there.
Arthur walked up to the door and took a deep breath before knocking, even as Katiya drove away in the background.
The house was dim, still neat, but quiet. Distinctly a bachelor’s house, though it would be hard to say why. There were photos, though, of a pretty young woman, the one who had just left, and a smiling boy… young man, really. Though he never quite got as old as the girl, and the two were very seldom in pictures together.
“Nicolas?”
“It’s a veritable parade of sorrow. This way.”
Arthur followed the raw voice into a room at the back of the house. “I’m late to the pity party, I see. And forgot to bring a gift.”
“Why aren’t you with her?”
Nicolas was sitting with his back to the door, looking out on the picture window that provided a view of his large backyard. There was a well-made but neglected swing set, nestled among the trees, one swing going idly back and forth in the high wind.
“She didn’t want me there.” Arthur slipped his hands in his pockets. “Thought I wouldn’t understand, maybe.”
“Of course she wanted you there, idiot,” Nicolas said, wearily. “Don’t you ever learn?”
“Don’t. Not now. God.”
“So she’s alone?”
“No, Grace is there. Staying for a while. Woman’s touch, I guess.” Arthur exhaled looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “She got her to start eating again. So that’s something.”
“That is something,” Nicolas said, quietly.
Arthur came over to where he could see him. “You look like death warmed over.”
“Spare me. Katiya was just in here trying not to wring her hands. I’m a little thin, that’s all.” In fact, Nicolas looked grayish, and drawn, his strong features hollowed. “It’s bound to happen.”
Arthur shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”
Nicolas snorted. “Now you sound like my sister. I’m as fine as circumstances allow, and that is all there is to say about it.”
Arthur sat, and they were quiet, for a little while. “Would it bother you, if I stayed for awhile?”
Closing his eyes, Nicolas said, “Do what you like. You always do anyway.”
The clock ticked in the next room, steady.
“This doesn’t change the fact that I hate you, you know.”
Nicolas’ lips curved, slightly. “I never imagined it did.”
And together, the men watched the fading light.
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Date: 2008-02-25 06:41 pm (UTC)