Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
Matthew came out slowly, his hand against the white walls, just under the line of neon red tiles that made a tacky line through the walls. Francis was looking out of the window, and the moment was so breathtakingly beautiful that it hurt. He wanted to sit back and draw him. And yet it came to him, sudden and precise. If he could take it back and avoid any heartaches to come, he wouldn't. The photographs in his mind of his life before Francis were dull, sepia and lifeless.
I'd do it all again, he thought.
He slipped back into the booth, and saw a little glass of water which he grabbed and gulped down. It had too many ice cubes, which left his teeth aching with the shock of it.
"Something the matter?" Francis asked, glancing up from the menu he'd taken to flipping through.
"I don't think whiskey is my drink," Matthew said apologetically.
"Bad reaction, cher?" Francis asked.
"Maybe," Matthew said.
And yet, it wasn't all bad. He still had the image in his mind. He unfolded his napkin. The waitress had come to their booth.
"Your order is coming soon," she said. She refilled his water.
"I already ordered for you," Francis explained.
"Oh, good. I was just getting hungry," Matthew said. He looked to Betsy, with her dark hair piled high, like she was trying for aging Betty Page does waitress.
"Um, this will sound odd, but, can I have your pen?"
The cocktail waitress-he could now see her name listed on the name tag was Betsy, man Gilbert and Antonio would have a field day with that name-cocked one thin black eyebrow, but handed it over. Matthew started right away, careful not to rip the material. He'd have drawn on his arms if there hadn't been anything else nearby. Slowly the picture of Francis and the passing lights on the street came to focus on the napkin.
"He's quite the artist," Betsy noted as she put the tray of two grilled chicken sandwiches down near Francis, as to not disturb his working area.
Matthew looked up for a second and smiled shyly. "Thank you."
"That he is," Francis said. There was a fondness in his voice. "He's one of my favorites."
This got him blushing a bit, he hunched over, back at the picture which demanded his attention. The perfect moment, the moment of realization.
*
Back at what Matthew had titled the 'base camp' he nearly lunged for the cooler, and was happy to find some beer was still left. He didn't even dig for the Escapes, instead he drank one of the beers. It was too dark out to verify its manliness, but he assumed it was Gilbert and Antonio approved. When he took a drink, Matthew felt the warmth spread through him. He was getting relaxed.
From the side of the camp, he saw Lizzie come out from the dark, looking distinctly more disheveled than when she had been in the club. Roderich was nowhere in sight.
"Hey, Matthew!" she called. "Did you have fun? You changed out already?"
"Um. Francis kind of lost your camisole. And these pants w-will have to be, ah, washed," Matthew said. He looked down, blushing.
Lizzie sighed happily. "I know. So worth it," she said. "So worth it."
*
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Lovely writing as usual, and Matt's point of no return/non-regretting made me smile. And Matt coming from the neck bite/kiss/marking of ownership instead of the slightly-jealous groping? Unf. ♥
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