TDIR: Trust
Fandom: The Dark is Rising
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: Sap, smut
Rating: NC17
Summary: There were many reasons why Will shouldn't give in to his feelings for Bran. For notagain_again.
It shouldn't, Will knew, be a big thing -- to visit one's childhood best friend. It hadn't been the year before, and there was little different this time. He would be staying with Bran and his father in their home, instead of with his family, who had no room for him due to building work. That was all, and it wasn't even the problem.
The problem was that Will was seventeen years old and had only just woken up to the idea that Bran was, in fact, very, very attractive. In some ways that wouldn't change anything -- but in others, Will couldn't help but think he'd spend a lot of his time driven to distraction with Bran never even realising the effect he was having.
He spent most of the train journey staring down at a book without reading a word. He tried to convince himself that it would be nothing, really: just two old friends, now grown up, spending time together. He wouldn't try for anything more than that.
It was difficult to convince himself of that when he kept wondering what it would be like to kiss Bran. He sighed, resting his head against the window, and tried not to think of anything much, watching the scenery blur into itself. It wasn't just that he could lose Bran's friendship, or even that he couldn't imagine Owen being comfortable with his son being gay. There were too many things he'd never be able to tell Bran -- and though that'd be the same with anyone, it felt even more dishonest with Bran.
---
The station was surprisingly busy. Not so busy, of course, that Bran didn't stand out: his paleness was still as shocking as it had always been, and he'd grown tall. Will saw him before he even managed to get out of the train, struggling with his two large bags. He was annoyed at the way his heart skipped a beat at the sight of him -- as if he hadn't concluded that any relationship between them would be dangerous in its way: unfair.
Bran was with him in a second, taking one of the bags. "Need some help, Sais-bach?" he asked, lightly, mocking, and Will punched his shoulder lightly.
"I can manage."
"Didn't look like it from where I was standing," Bran said, with a smirk. "Here, come out of the crowd a bit -- let me look at you."
Will obliged, dragging his bag to a clear spot. Bran dropped the other bag, straightening up and looking him up and down critically. Will tried to squash the idea that there might be a flicker of interest in those striking golden eyes. "You've grown again."
"You have, too," Bran said, laughing a little. "Regular beanstalk you are, these past two years."
"Still not as tall as you."
Bran shrugged slightly. "Da thinks I won't get much taller now. Not that we can really tell, not knowing what my father's height was like."
"I'd say you might grow a few more inches," Will said, thinking of Arthur. He huffed softly, trying to keep things normal -- not to think about any of the things he shouldn't tell Bran: how their closeness made butterflies start up in his stomach, or how his real father had been a strong warrior, surprisingly tall for his time. "I wish you wouldn't, though."
"Yeah, you're still tiny," Bran said, smirking. He grabbed Will's shoulder, pulling him into a hug. "And not much time to catch up."
Will pulled away as quickly as possible, crushing the urge to linger. "My brother Stephen's one of the tallest people I know, and Mum was still altering his clothes for years. I've got plenty of time."
"We'll see," Bran said, with another smirk. He looked over his shoulder at the now mostly empty station, reaching down for one of Will's bags. "Come on, John Rowlands is going to give us a lift. We'd better not keep him waiting."
---
"I hope you won't mind sharing my room," Bran said, already hauling his shirt off. Will watched him for a minute, his mouth suddenly dry. He'd been noticing Bran too much all day -- his mouth, his quick, deft hands, his startling eyes. He was uncomfortably aware now that Bran seemed to wear very little to bed. He turned away quickly, starting to get undressed himself.
"Of course not," he said, as lightly as he could. He dropped his clothes in a heap and crawled into the camp bed quickly, trying not to watch Bran, who -- dressed only in his boxers -- was busy folding up his clothes to leave them in a neat pile. He almost sighed in relief when Bran turned out the light and crawled into his own bed.
"I'm glad you came to stay again," Bran said, quietly. "It's been lonely here without you."
"I thought you'd made some friends?"
"Yeah, but... they're not you."
Will found himself smiling. It was true: no one was quite like him, no one was quite like Bran. He knew he'd never again trust a human as much as he trusted Bran -- he was already aware that his trust was perhaps even deeper than that Merriman had given to Hawkin, and as easily betrayed.
All the more reason, he thought, not to give in to the urge to kiss Bran, to forge an even deeper relationship with him. It would be foolish -- and it'd increase his chances of losing the deep connection they had already.
"Are you asleep already?"
"No." Will hesitated, then turned a little to look up at the dark outline of Bran in his own bed. "You're my best friend too."
He caught the brilliance of Bran's smile even in the dark.
---
Will lay back in the grass, sighing softly. Bran flopped down beside him -- close beside him, so they were almost touching, and elbowed him gently. "What's up with you, boyo? You've been quiet all day. And sighing."
"It's nothing much. It's a nice day."
"And that makes you sigh?"
"No, that was me trying to change the subject."
Bran laughed, rolling over on top of Will and looking down into his eyes. Will felt as if he couldn't breathe, for more reasons than the fact that Bran was laying on his chest. His heart was already pounding -- he could feel the warmth of Bran's body through his clothes, and imagined that Bran must be able to feel the racing of his heart. His mouth was dry again.
"Well, this is me not letting you up until you tell me what's bothering you."
"It's nothing."
Bran rolled his eyes. "You must think I'm a complete idiot. I can already tell it's to do with me -- you look at me, and then you look away, and then you sigh. You're not subtle, Will-bach."
"You're not a complete idiot."
"Then give me some credit."
He wasn't really aware he was saying it until it was already half out of his mouth. "I know you're smart. So what do you think is my problem?"
"I think," Bran said, and he paused for dramatic effect, "I think that you're busy pining, or whatever it is you English do when you fancy someone and you're not planning on saying a word about it. I think you're infatuated with me and you've convinced yourself you're not going to tell me anything about it. Am I warm?"
Will closed his eyes. He could have denied it -- he knew it even at that moment when he was mostly occupied with the warmth of Bran's body and the fact that Bran had figured him out so easily. But -- Bran was on top of him, looking down at him, mouth twitching with laughter; he couldn't have been too bothered by the idea that Will might want him.
So: "Yes," he said, "you're right. Bang on."
"I don't bite, you know," Bran said softly. Will nodded, opening his eyes again. He reached up carefully, tugging Bran's glasses off his face and laying them aside, hoping neither of them would end up rolling on them and breaking them. He looked up into Bran's eyes, his stomach fluttering.
"Can I kiss you, Bran?"
"Yes," Bran said, quietly, leaning closer. Will leaned up just a little and kissed back -- just lightly, at first, and then he reached up and tangled his fingers in Bran's hair, and Bran made a soft noise and pressed closer, deepening the kiss. He could've stayed like that happily for the rest of his life -- Bran's weight solid and real against him, Bran's kiss sure and confident and yet exploratory, as if he'd never kissed before.
Will suspected he hadn't.
"Bran," he said, softly, against his mouth. Bran's tongue traced a line over his lower lip and then Bran was kissing him firmly again, discouraging any further talk. Will kissed back eagerly, wrapping his arms around Bran. He lost count of how many times they kissed, had no idea how long they lay there, just kissing, touching a little -- his fingers skimmed over Bran's side, up under his shirt, feeling the warm smoothness of his skin; Bran's hand crept up under his shirt, resting against his skin, as if he didn't dare to do more.
It was shockingly easy to forget everything but how good it was to kiss Bran -- to realise that he didn't have to be afraid of giving in to his feelings for him.
Bran was breathing hard when he finally pulled back. "Let's go back to my house," he said. Will nodded, unable to say anything, seemingly only able to focus on Bran's body, so close to his. He kissed Bran again and then forced himself to pull away.
"Let's."
---
Bran was quiet. Will looked up, pressing a kiss to his hip, awkward. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice husky, his fingertips lightly tracing patterns on the skin of Bran's stomach. They'd got here so fast: running, stumbling in from their spot on the sunny hillside, and into Bran's room, onto the bed... Perhaps too fast. "You're quiet..."
"Go on," Bran whispered, shifting slightly. His face was a little flushed, his breathing a little fast. Will smiled, kissed again, licked; Bran's skin mostly tasted like soap. He shifted awkwardly, getting Bran to spread his legs a little and settling between. He propped himself up on one arm to free the other, reaching up to wrap his hand round Bran's cock. Bran took a quick breath at that, his eyelids fluttering.
Will thought he understood what it meant to have one's heart in one's mouth. He took a deep breath, lowering his head, licking just lightly at the tip of Bran's cock. Bran stilled even more beneath that touch, closing his eyes. Carefully, Will licked again. "Is this... okay?"
"Yes," Bran breathed. He shifted slightly. "Please -- "
Will smiled. He squeezed Bran's cock a little, licked again, bent lower and took it into his mouth. Bran still barely made a sound, but there was something needy in his tiny whimper, and he reached down to tangle his fingers in Will's hair. Will kept looking up at his face, slowly starting to suck; he moved his hand to rest on Bran's hip and gently held him down, thumb running over the curve of his hipbone. He seemed almost fragile like that, so quiet and yet thrumming with tension -- vulnerable, with his soft pale skin and the lost look in his eyes.
"Please," he whispered, again, and Will moaned softly at the sound of him, the edge of a moan to the word. He shifted slightly, taking Bran's cock deeper into his mouth, sucking eagerly. He knew it wouldn't take long: Bran was so tense, trembling, on the edge of something already. He pushed up a little, and Will let him, opening his mouth wider, swallowing around Bran's cock. The little noise Bran let escape at that made his own cock ache. "Will..."
He looked up again. Bran had struggled up on one elbow, looking down at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and bright all at once, his breathing quick. Will squirmed a little, keeping his eyes on Bran's face. Slowly he moved his hand from Bran's hip, fingertips skimming over his inner thigh and up, moving lightly over his balls.
Bran made a strangled sound. So quiet, he was, and yet so responsive -- his breathing faster again, his fingers curling in Will's hair. "Careful," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I'm going to -- I'll come if you do that."
Will couldn't help but moan a little at that, and couldn't help but smile in pleasure at the little shudder that went through Bran. He touched him restlessly, hands moving over his thighs, pulling back a little so he could concentrate on using his tongue on the tip of Bran's cock.
"Duw," Bran whispered, his eyes finally squeezing shut. Tension seemed to coil tighter in him, little shudders running through him, and his hands grew more restless -- his fingers skimmed the side of Will's face, moved over his neck, back up into his hair. He barely made any noise when he came -- he pushed up a little, taking in a sharp breath, but that was all. He flopped back onto the bed as if his elbow had given way, panting for breath as if he'd been holding his breath the whole time. Slowly, Will pulled back, swallowing Bran's come. He was breathing harder himself -- the very thought that he had made Bran come, the way Bran had said his name, the way Bran had felt under his hands, trembling and tense -- it tied his stomach in knots, almost made him tremble too.
Bran's eyes opened slowly. Will cleared his throat, still tasting Bran in his mouth, his heart racing. "Was that -- okay?"
Bran laughed -- shaky, too, Will noted with relief. He reached up, pulling Will down to him, wrapping himself round him and holding him tightly. "Okay? Cariad, it was -- you were so much more than okay."
For a moment they just lay together like that, breathing, being. Will couldn't help but grin at the realisation that Bran had called him cariad as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Bran shifted a little against him, though, rubbing against him, and he made a soft noise, unable to help it. Bran smirked, then, as if remembering himself. He ran a hand down Will's body, cupping his cock through his clothes and squeezing.
"Let's see what I can do about this, hmm?" he whispered, his eyes intent on Will's face. Will made a soft, indescribable noise as Bran rolled them over, pinning him down and starting to undo his jeans.
"Yes," he said, his voice husky again. "Please."
---
"So what is it you're not planning on telling me?" Bran asked, whispering into his ear as they lay tangled together. He ran his hand over Will's chest, bumping his nose against Will's cheek. Will sighed. He didn't bother asking how Bran knew: they'd known each other long enough that it was no surprise Bran could read him like a book.
"Something I can't tell you."
Bran stayed quiet for a moment. "Afraid of my reaction?"
"Not... exactly." Will squirmed out of Bran's embrace, sitting up. "Can you let it lie?"
Bran sat up, too. There was an odd look -- anger? betrayal? -- in his eyes. "Can't you trust me, Will?"
"Of course I trust you," he said, reaching up to touch. Bran pushed his hand away.
"I wouldn't ever keep secrets from you."
"I don't want to keep secrets from you, Bran, but -- "
"State secrets?" Bran asked, sneering a little, and then he was rolling off the bed, dressing -- his clothes looked rumpled, his cheeks still pink, his hair ruffled. And -- pausing -- more vulnerable again: "I thought you'd tell me, if we -- if I let you -- "
"That's all you did it for?"
He was, he knew, supposed to be the calm one. The patient one. He was the one who was made to wait, perhaps for all eternity. But he was human, too.
Bran stared at him for a moment, and then straightened up, running his fingers through his hair, neatening himself up. His voice was remote, when he spoke. "Yes, of course. Of course that's all I wanted. It's not because I love you and want you, is it? It couldn't be. Do you think I'm incapable of feeling, Stanton?"
Will would willingly have brought a thousand curses down on his own head at that moment. "No, I -- "
"Forget it," Bran snapped, and then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.
---
It was quite a while before Will ventured out of Bran's room. He tried to straighten things up first -- leave no sign of what they'd been doing. He ran his fingers through his hair, changed his shirt.
He was, he realised, putting off leaving the room and perhaps talking to Bran. And Bran would probably know it. Finally, he took a deep breath and went out, closing the door behind him. Bran's father sat there, drinking tea. There was no sign of Bran. Will cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sir -- "
"There's no need to be so formal," Owen said, calmly. "Bran went out in a rush. Had a fight, did you?"
"I -- " Will broke off, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he'd spent much of the afternoon in bed with this man's son. That Owen happened to be religiously -- deeply so -- and likely quite conservative about the matter of homosexual relationships. He wondered, almost blushing, whether Owen had been home when they'd been in bed together. Whether he'd heard their little argument. "Yes," he said, finally. Owen nodded slightly.
"I thought so. I heard raised voices."
Will couldn't help but blush a little, looking down at the floor. Owen sighed.
"And I saw you, earlier. When you were kissing."
"I -- "
Owen raised a hand. "There's no need to say anything. I'm sure you know what I think on the matter, in myself. But... I'm not sure it's my decision to make, is it?"
"Sir?"
Owen smiled, a little. It seemed strange on his solemn face, and Will caught a glimpse for a second of what Owen could've been like -- if he hadn't fallen in love with Bran's mother, if Bran's mother hadn't gone but stayed, instead, with him. "Is it such a surprise? I want Bran to be happy."
Will wanted to say that Owen had gone about it a funny way for so many years. He thought of Bran as a boy -- isolated, strange, friendless. Trapped with his father into something hard and cold and unforgiving, for sins that hadn't been committed and wouldn't have been his fault if they had. Instead, he smiled back slightly. "I don't seem to be making him too happy, judging from what happened just before he left."
"But you could make him happy." Owen looked uncomfortable. "Go after him. Speak to him. I'm sure you can become friends again. Bran has never stayed angry with you for long."
Will thought of the first time Bran had been angry with him, and so terribly dismissive. He thought he knew where he'd find Bran now. He looked up at Bran. "I... Thank you, sir."
"Go on," Owen said, nodding at the door.
---
He was right, of course. Bran was up on the hillside, sat beside Cafall's grave, hugging his knees. Will thought that he hadn't noticed his approach and he stopped for a moment to look at him. He seemed breathtaking, still almost crackling with anger, with tension.
Will was relieved to see that he hadn't been crying.
"What do you want?"
He almost jumped at the sound of Bran's voice, and then quickly made his way over to him. "Bran..."
"What?"
He crouched down, reaching out to carefully lift Bran's dark glasses from his face so he could look into his eyes -- which he saw now were a little reddened, as if he'd been crying a while before, but now angry and defiant. He did what he sometimes wished he'd done back then. No words, just reached out, his fingers tracing the line of Bran's jaw.
"I love you too," he said, at last, watching Bran's face, the involuntary little tip of his head into the touch. He wondered if anyone else had ever touched him tenderly like this since his mother said goodbye to him. His own aunt Jen, perhaps. He couldn't imagine Owen doing it. He moved a little closer, his fingers skimming down over Bran's throat. "I do love you, and I trust you more than anyone on earth."
Bran's expression had softened a little, but he shook his head. "You're still keeping something from me, though."
Will closed his eyes. "If I tell you, I might disturb a balance. I should keep my head, serve my masters without hesitation. But..."
Bran barely even seemed to breathe. "But?"
"You deserve to know," he said, and before Bran had time to say anything, he leaned forward, kissing him, and into the kiss he threw every bit of his longing, his secret loneliness, and with it he tore down the walls in Bran's mind, letting him see. Bran stiffened, not returning the kiss, and then Will moved closer and gathered Bran into his arms, holding him close as he tried to process all the things that rushed into his mind. "It's alright," he whispered, softly. He moved his hand over Bran's back. "I'm here."
He wouldn't have liked to realise how fragile he seemed in the few moments after Will let him remember. His body was tense, trembling -- Will was reminded of the tension of a small quivering mouse he'd once rescued, holding it in his hand shaking, its little heart beating so terribly fast, a mouse he could have crushed with a careless movement.
"Will," Bran breathed, closing his eyes tightly, and then he was hugging him hard, tension falling away. "You could have trusted me."
"I do trust you," Will whispered back, closing his eyes too. They held each other tightly for a long time.
Pairing: Will/Bran
Warnings: Sap, smut
Rating: NC17
Summary: There were many reasons why Will shouldn't give in to his feelings for Bran. For notagain_again.
It shouldn't, Will knew, be a big thing -- to visit one's childhood best friend. It hadn't been the year before, and there was little different this time. He would be staying with Bran and his father in their home, instead of with his family, who had no room for him due to building work. That was all, and it wasn't even the problem.
The problem was that Will was seventeen years old and had only just woken up to the idea that Bran was, in fact, very, very attractive. In some ways that wouldn't change anything -- but in others, Will couldn't help but think he'd spend a lot of his time driven to distraction with Bran never even realising the effect he was having.
He spent most of the train journey staring down at a book without reading a word. He tried to convince himself that it would be nothing, really: just two old friends, now grown up, spending time together. He wouldn't try for anything more than that.
It was difficult to convince himself of that when he kept wondering what it would be like to kiss Bran. He sighed, resting his head against the window, and tried not to think of anything much, watching the scenery blur into itself. It wasn't just that he could lose Bran's friendship, or even that he couldn't imagine Owen being comfortable with his son being gay. There were too many things he'd never be able to tell Bran -- and though that'd be the same with anyone, it felt even more dishonest with Bran.
---
The station was surprisingly busy. Not so busy, of course, that Bran didn't stand out: his paleness was still as shocking as it had always been, and he'd grown tall. Will saw him before he even managed to get out of the train, struggling with his two large bags. He was annoyed at the way his heart skipped a beat at the sight of him -- as if he hadn't concluded that any relationship between them would be dangerous in its way: unfair.
Bran was with him in a second, taking one of the bags. "Need some help, Sais-bach?" he asked, lightly, mocking, and Will punched his shoulder lightly.
"I can manage."
"Didn't look like it from where I was standing," Bran said, with a smirk. "Here, come out of the crowd a bit -- let me look at you."
Will obliged, dragging his bag to a clear spot. Bran dropped the other bag, straightening up and looking him up and down critically. Will tried to squash the idea that there might be a flicker of interest in those striking golden eyes. "You've grown again."
"You have, too," Bran said, laughing a little. "Regular beanstalk you are, these past two years."
"Still not as tall as you."
Bran shrugged slightly. "Da thinks I won't get much taller now. Not that we can really tell, not knowing what my father's height was like."
"I'd say you might grow a few more inches," Will said, thinking of Arthur. He huffed softly, trying to keep things normal -- not to think about any of the things he shouldn't tell Bran: how their closeness made butterflies start up in his stomach, or how his real father had been a strong warrior, surprisingly tall for his time. "I wish you wouldn't, though."
"Yeah, you're still tiny," Bran said, smirking. He grabbed Will's shoulder, pulling him into a hug. "And not much time to catch up."
Will pulled away as quickly as possible, crushing the urge to linger. "My brother Stephen's one of the tallest people I know, and Mum was still altering his clothes for years. I've got plenty of time."
"We'll see," Bran said, with another smirk. He looked over his shoulder at the now mostly empty station, reaching down for one of Will's bags. "Come on, John Rowlands is going to give us a lift. We'd better not keep him waiting."
---
"I hope you won't mind sharing my room," Bran said, already hauling his shirt off. Will watched him for a minute, his mouth suddenly dry. He'd been noticing Bran too much all day -- his mouth, his quick, deft hands, his startling eyes. He was uncomfortably aware now that Bran seemed to wear very little to bed. He turned away quickly, starting to get undressed himself.
"Of course not," he said, as lightly as he could. He dropped his clothes in a heap and crawled into the camp bed quickly, trying not to watch Bran, who -- dressed only in his boxers -- was busy folding up his clothes to leave them in a neat pile. He almost sighed in relief when Bran turned out the light and crawled into his own bed.
"I'm glad you came to stay again," Bran said, quietly. "It's been lonely here without you."
"I thought you'd made some friends?"
"Yeah, but... they're not you."
Will found himself smiling. It was true: no one was quite like him, no one was quite like Bran. He knew he'd never again trust a human as much as he trusted Bran -- he was already aware that his trust was perhaps even deeper than that Merriman had given to Hawkin, and as easily betrayed.
All the more reason, he thought, not to give in to the urge to kiss Bran, to forge an even deeper relationship with him. It would be foolish -- and it'd increase his chances of losing the deep connection they had already.
"Are you asleep already?"
"No." Will hesitated, then turned a little to look up at the dark outline of Bran in his own bed. "You're my best friend too."
He caught the brilliance of Bran's smile even in the dark.
---
Will lay back in the grass, sighing softly. Bran flopped down beside him -- close beside him, so they were almost touching, and elbowed him gently. "What's up with you, boyo? You've been quiet all day. And sighing."
"It's nothing much. It's a nice day."
"And that makes you sigh?"
"No, that was me trying to change the subject."
Bran laughed, rolling over on top of Will and looking down into his eyes. Will felt as if he couldn't breathe, for more reasons than the fact that Bran was laying on his chest. His heart was already pounding -- he could feel the warmth of Bran's body through his clothes, and imagined that Bran must be able to feel the racing of his heart. His mouth was dry again.
"Well, this is me not letting you up until you tell me what's bothering you."
"It's nothing."
Bran rolled his eyes. "You must think I'm a complete idiot. I can already tell it's to do with me -- you look at me, and then you look away, and then you sigh. You're not subtle, Will-bach."
"You're not a complete idiot."
"Then give me some credit."
He wasn't really aware he was saying it until it was already half out of his mouth. "I know you're smart. So what do you think is my problem?"
"I think," Bran said, and he paused for dramatic effect, "I think that you're busy pining, or whatever it is you English do when you fancy someone and you're not planning on saying a word about it. I think you're infatuated with me and you've convinced yourself you're not going to tell me anything about it. Am I warm?"
Will closed his eyes. He could have denied it -- he knew it even at that moment when he was mostly occupied with the warmth of Bran's body and the fact that Bran had figured him out so easily. But -- Bran was on top of him, looking down at him, mouth twitching with laughter; he couldn't have been too bothered by the idea that Will might want him.
So: "Yes," he said, "you're right. Bang on."
"I don't bite, you know," Bran said softly. Will nodded, opening his eyes again. He reached up carefully, tugging Bran's glasses off his face and laying them aside, hoping neither of them would end up rolling on them and breaking them. He looked up into Bran's eyes, his stomach fluttering.
"Can I kiss you, Bran?"
"Yes," Bran said, quietly, leaning closer. Will leaned up just a little and kissed back -- just lightly, at first, and then he reached up and tangled his fingers in Bran's hair, and Bran made a soft noise and pressed closer, deepening the kiss. He could've stayed like that happily for the rest of his life -- Bran's weight solid and real against him, Bran's kiss sure and confident and yet exploratory, as if he'd never kissed before.
Will suspected he hadn't.
"Bran," he said, softly, against his mouth. Bran's tongue traced a line over his lower lip and then Bran was kissing him firmly again, discouraging any further talk. Will kissed back eagerly, wrapping his arms around Bran. He lost count of how many times they kissed, had no idea how long they lay there, just kissing, touching a little -- his fingers skimmed over Bran's side, up under his shirt, feeling the warm smoothness of his skin; Bran's hand crept up under his shirt, resting against his skin, as if he didn't dare to do more.
It was shockingly easy to forget everything but how good it was to kiss Bran -- to realise that he didn't have to be afraid of giving in to his feelings for him.
Bran was breathing hard when he finally pulled back. "Let's go back to my house," he said. Will nodded, unable to say anything, seemingly only able to focus on Bran's body, so close to his. He kissed Bran again and then forced himself to pull away.
"Let's."
---
Bran was quiet. Will looked up, pressing a kiss to his hip, awkward. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice husky, his fingertips lightly tracing patterns on the skin of Bran's stomach. They'd got here so fast: running, stumbling in from their spot on the sunny hillside, and into Bran's room, onto the bed... Perhaps too fast. "You're quiet..."
"Go on," Bran whispered, shifting slightly. His face was a little flushed, his breathing a little fast. Will smiled, kissed again, licked; Bran's skin mostly tasted like soap. He shifted awkwardly, getting Bran to spread his legs a little and settling between. He propped himself up on one arm to free the other, reaching up to wrap his hand round Bran's cock. Bran took a quick breath at that, his eyelids fluttering.
Will thought he understood what it meant to have one's heart in one's mouth. He took a deep breath, lowering his head, licking just lightly at the tip of Bran's cock. Bran stilled even more beneath that touch, closing his eyes. Carefully, Will licked again. "Is this... okay?"
"Yes," Bran breathed. He shifted slightly. "Please -- "
Will smiled. He squeezed Bran's cock a little, licked again, bent lower and took it into his mouth. Bran still barely made a sound, but there was something needy in his tiny whimper, and he reached down to tangle his fingers in Will's hair. Will kept looking up at his face, slowly starting to suck; he moved his hand to rest on Bran's hip and gently held him down, thumb running over the curve of his hipbone. He seemed almost fragile like that, so quiet and yet thrumming with tension -- vulnerable, with his soft pale skin and the lost look in his eyes.
"Please," he whispered, again, and Will moaned softly at the sound of him, the edge of a moan to the word. He shifted slightly, taking Bran's cock deeper into his mouth, sucking eagerly. He knew it wouldn't take long: Bran was so tense, trembling, on the edge of something already. He pushed up a little, and Will let him, opening his mouth wider, swallowing around Bran's cock. The little noise Bran let escape at that made his own cock ache. "Will..."
He looked up again. Bran had struggled up on one elbow, looking down at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and bright all at once, his breathing quick. Will squirmed a little, keeping his eyes on Bran's face. Slowly he moved his hand from Bran's hip, fingertips skimming over his inner thigh and up, moving lightly over his balls.
Bran made a strangled sound. So quiet, he was, and yet so responsive -- his breathing faster again, his fingers curling in Will's hair. "Careful," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I'm going to -- I'll come if you do that."
Will couldn't help but moan a little at that, and couldn't help but smile in pleasure at the little shudder that went through Bran. He touched him restlessly, hands moving over his thighs, pulling back a little so he could concentrate on using his tongue on the tip of Bran's cock.
"Duw," Bran whispered, his eyes finally squeezing shut. Tension seemed to coil tighter in him, little shudders running through him, and his hands grew more restless -- his fingers skimmed the side of Will's face, moved over his neck, back up into his hair. He barely made any noise when he came -- he pushed up a little, taking in a sharp breath, but that was all. He flopped back onto the bed as if his elbow had given way, panting for breath as if he'd been holding his breath the whole time. Slowly, Will pulled back, swallowing Bran's come. He was breathing harder himself -- the very thought that he had made Bran come, the way Bran had said his name, the way Bran had felt under his hands, trembling and tense -- it tied his stomach in knots, almost made him tremble too.
Bran's eyes opened slowly. Will cleared his throat, still tasting Bran in his mouth, his heart racing. "Was that -- okay?"
Bran laughed -- shaky, too, Will noted with relief. He reached up, pulling Will down to him, wrapping himself round him and holding him tightly. "Okay? Cariad, it was -- you were so much more than okay."
For a moment they just lay together like that, breathing, being. Will couldn't help but grin at the realisation that Bran had called him cariad as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Bran shifted a little against him, though, rubbing against him, and he made a soft noise, unable to help it. Bran smirked, then, as if remembering himself. He ran a hand down Will's body, cupping his cock through his clothes and squeezing.
"Let's see what I can do about this, hmm?" he whispered, his eyes intent on Will's face. Will made a soft, indescribable noise as Bran rolled them over, pinning him down and starting to undo his jeans.
"Yes," he said, his voice husky again. "Please."
---
"So what is it you're not planning on telling me?" Bran asked, whispering into his ear as they lay tangled together. He ran his hand over Will's chest, bumping his nose against Will's cheek. Will sighed. He didn't bother asking how Bran knew: they'd known each other long enough that it was no surprise Bran could read him like a book.
"Something I can't tell you."
Bran stayed quiet for a moment. "Afraid of my reaction?"
"Not... exactly." Will squirmed out of Bran's embrace, sitting up. "Can you let it lie?"
Bran sat up, too. There was an odd look -- anger? betrayal? -- in his eyes. "Can't you trust me, Will?"
"Of course I trust you," he said, reaching up to touch. Bran pushed his hand away.
"I wouldn't ever keep secrets from you."
"I don't want to keep secrets from you, Bran, but -- "
"State secrets?" Bran asked, sneering a little, and then he was rolling off the bed, dressing -- his clothes looked rumpled, his cheeks still pink, his hair ruffled. And -- pausing -- more vulnerable again: "I thought you'd tell me, if we -- if I let you -- "
"That's all you did it for?"
He was, he knew, supposed to be the calm one. The patient one. He was the one who was made to wait, perhaps for all eternity. But he was human, too.
Bran stared at him for a moment, and then straightened up, running his fingers through his hair, neatening himself up. His voice was remote, when he spoke. "Yes, of course. Of course that's all I wanted. It's not because I love you and want you, is it? It couldn't be. Do you think I'm incapable of feeling, Stanton?"
Will would willingly have brought a thousand curses down on his own head at that moment. "No, I -- "
"Forget it," Bran snapped, and then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.
---
It was quite a while before Will ventured out of Bran's room. He tried to straighten things up first -- leave no sign of what they'd been doing. He ran his fingers through his hair, changed his shirt.
He was, he realised, putting off leaving the room and perhaps talking to Bran. And Bran would probably know it. Finally, he took a deep breath and went out, closing the door behind him. Bran's father sat there, drinking tea. There was no sign of Bran. Will cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sir -- "
"There's no need to be so formal," Owen said, calmly. "Bran went out in a rush. Had a fight, did you?"
"I -- " Will broke off, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he'd spent much of the afternoon in bed with this man's son. That Owen happened to be religiously -- deeply so -- and likely quite conservative about the matter of homosexual relationships. He wondered, almost blushing, whether Owen had been home when they'd been in bed together. Whether he'd heard their little argument. "Yes," he said, finally. Owen nodded slightly.
"I thought so. I heard raised voices."
Will couldn't help but blush a little, looking down at the floor. Owen sighed.
"And I saw you, earlier. When you were kissing."
"I -- "
Owen raised a hand. "There's no need to say anything. I'm sure you know what I think on the matter, in myself. But... I'm not sure it's my decision to make, is it?"
"Sir?"
Owen smiled, a little. It seemed strange on his solemn face, and Will caught a glimpse for a second of what Owen could've been like -- if he hadn't fallen in love with Bran's mother, if Bran's mother hadn't gone but stayed, instead, with him. "Is it such a surprise? I want Bran to be happy."
Will wanted to say that Owen had gone about it a funny way for so many years. He thought of Bran as a boy -- isolated, strange, friendless. Trapped with his father into something hard and cold and unforgiving, for sins that hadn't been committed and wouldn't have been his fault if they had. Instead, he smiled back slightly. "I don't seem to be making him too happy, judging from what happened just before he left."
"But you could make him happy." Owen looked uncomfortable. "Go after him. Speak to him. I'm sure you can become friends again. Bran has never stayed angry with you for long."
Will thought of the first time Bran had been angry with him, and so terribly dismissive. He thought he knew where he'd find Bran now. He looked up at Bran. "I... Thank you, sir."
"Go on," Owen said, nodding at the door.
---
He was right, of course. Bran was up on the hillside, sat beside Cafall's grave, hugging his knees. Will thought that he hadn't noticed his approach and he stopped for a moment to look at him. He seemed breathtaking, still almost crackling with anger, with tension.
Will was relieved to see that he hadn't been crying.
"What do you want?"
He almost jumped at the sound of Bran's voice, and then quickly made his way over to him. "Bran..."
"What?"
He crouched down, reaching out to carefully lift Bran's dark glasses from his face so he could look into his eyes -- which he saw now were a little reddened, as if he'd been crying a while before, but now angry and defiant. He did what he sometimes wished he'd done back then. No words, just reached out, his fingers tracing the line of Bran's jaw.
"I love you too," he said, at last, watching Bran's face, the involuntary little tip of his head into the touch. He wondered if anyone else had ever touched him tenderly like this since his mother said goodbye to him. His own aunt Jen, perhaps. He couldn't imagine Owen doing it. He moved a little closer, his fingers skimming down over Bran's throat. "I do love you, and I trust you more than anyone on earth."
Bran's expression had softened a little, but he shook his head. "You're still keeping something from me, though."
Will closed his eyes. "If I tell you, I might disturb a balance. I should keep my head, serve my masters without hesitation. But..."
Bran barely even seemed to breathe. "But?"
"You deserve to know," he said, and before Bran had time to say anything, he leaned forward, kissing him, and into the kiss he threw every bit of his longing, his secret loneliness, and with it he tore down the walls in Bran's mind, letting him see. Bran stiffened, not returning the kiss, and then Will moved closer and gathered Bran into his arms, holding him close as he tried to process all the things that rushed into his mind. "It's alright," he whispered, softly. He moved his hand over Bran's back. "I'm here."
He wouldn't have liked to realise how fragile he seemed in the few moments after Will let him remember. His body was tense, trembling -- Will was reminded of the tension of a small quivering mouse he'd once rescued, holding it in his hand shaking, its little heart beating so terribly fast, a mouse he could have crushed with a careless movement.
"Will," Bran breathed, closing his eyes tightly, and then he was hugging him hard, tension falling away. "You could have trusted me."
"I do trust you," Will whispered back, closing his eyes too. They held each other tightly for a long time.