Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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“Oh no, it’s never just a poem! Write something else, I hated this one!”
“Stop screaming at me! Like I said, it’s only a poem, and a very beautiful one, by the way!”
“No, I want another.”
“All right.” He took the pen again, crossed “Which one?”
“I dunno. A nice one.”
Arthur nodded.
He wrote on his chest again, and this time Alfred had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t move. The soft pressure of the pen, the way Arthur’s hand brushed over his skin, it was sheer agony and it was totally unfair, this. There was nothing less heroic than being ticklish. What a stupid weakness to have.
“There,” Arthur said. “Never seek to tell thy Love/ Love that never told can be/ For the gentle wind doth move/ Silently, invisibly.”
Alfred considered it carefully, a little suspicious:
“I don’t know. What the rest of it says?”
“It doesn’t matter. That’s the part I picked.”
Alfred whimpered.
“Arthur...”
“Well, what did you write? You never told me.”
“And I don’t plan to. Comparing to your depressing stuff, I’ll just look like an idiot.”
“Oh. It’s good you’re used to it, then.”
His smile was almost normal, almost, but there was- something. A shadow. Alfred pouted again:
“You’re making fun of me, choosing these things.”
“No, I’m not. These things, as you call them, happen to be very good poetry.”
“Well, then this makes it worse, because you enjoy depressing poetry and you associate it with me. What’s the problem, do you think I’m going to leave you?”
Arthur’s smiled vanished:
“God, Alfred. You have a way of- of rushing in where angels fear to thread, which, by the way, is another poem that I happen to like. No, I don’t know if you’re going to leave me and I wasn’t even thinking about it. It’s just poetry.”
“You’re lying,” Alfred said “You think I will, and you’re lying. What’s wrong, Arthur? Why won’t you believe me?”
Now both of them were sitting. Arthur’s voice was carefully neutral when he answered:
“Well, you can’t blame me, can you? All these… promises were made before. And they were broken. So, it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that I need to be ready. Just in case.”
“Arthur...” Alfred, on the other hand, sounded pretty much like a whimpering child “Come on, be fair! I had to- to do what I did, because you were suffocating me! You just have to… I don’t know, never go crazy again, and I won’t have any reason to leave you, and I really, really-“
Love you, he thought, but Arthur just gave him a hollow smile:
“And that’s precisely the problem, isn’t it? I can’t- I’m- even when I don’t want to, sometimes I end up being-“ he stopped, rubbing his face “I can’t offer any guaranties that I won’t go crazy. Or that you won’t think I’m being crazy, and so I just have to be ready for when- just in case. In case this happens.”
He was getting up:
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go take my shower.”
Alfred opened his mouth. All the joy and enchantment from the beginning of the night had vanished, but he- he wouldn’t let this happen! Arthur was in pain, was suffering over something he had imagined, and Alfred had just promised to protect him and- and anyway who the hell did he think he was, running away from Alfred like this?
“No I don’t! You’re very much not excused! Come back here!”
Arthur stopped, surprised, and Alfred had to summon up all his awesomeness and genius to come up with something to say:
“You- you wrote poems and classical stuff and I didn’t, and that’s not fair.”
“So? It will wash off.”
“Still, it’s the- the principle of the matter. Come back.”
Arthur bit his lip. Alfred watched his inner fight, the awfully important decision he had to make now, and felt his heart aching a little.
Then Arthur shrugged, taking one deep breath before saying:
“Where do you want to write now?”
“Your leg,” Alfred said, beaming. There was still hope. Arthur sat on the bed, laying back against the pillows, spreading his legs. His face was burning red, and Alfred, sitting between his legs, bended over to kiss his mouth:
“I’ll convince you,” he said, confident, “Just stay around, will you? And I’ll convince you.”
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