Sapientia Et Veritas, Et Non
"Today is born the seventh one
Born of woman the seventh son
And he in turn of a seventh son
He has the power to heal
He has the gift of the second sight
He is the chosen one
So it shall be written
So it shall be done"
You might've guessed it: We are on the 7th prompt post. Hurray!
And although seven is "the most magical number there is", the rules for ( Read more... )
Winter’s drawing near. The trees are already losing their leaves, there’s a chill in the air, and it’s already darkening as Ed walks hurriedly from his car to the door of Andy’s house (it’s still Andy’s house, despite Ed’s pans in the kitchen and pants in the washing machine. There’s a small part of him that’s holding on, like a fictional heroine, waiting for Andy to ask him formally).
He unlocks and opens the door with slightly shaking hands, quickly closing it behind him as he enters the house - which, actually, isn’t a great deal warmer than outside. Shrugging reluctantly out of his coat, he pulls a face.
Andy’s head peers into the hallway, smiling. “Evening,” he says, coming forward to kiss Ed’s cheek.
“What are you wearing?” Ed asks, gesturing towards the top half of Andy’s body, which is clad in thick wool, pillar-box red with a polo neck. It suits him, the bright colour enhancing the flawless pale of his skin and the dark of his eyes, the angle of the neckline reflecting the lines of his cheekbones and jaw.
“It’s a jumper,” Andy tells him, with the slow patience of someone talking to a child.
“Why are you wearing it?”
Andy shrugs. “It’s getting cold. I got you one too,” he adds, turning and walking in to the living room, where the TV is on, quiet, in the corner.
Ed follows. “You didn’t, did you?”
Andy’s already holding up a powder blue thing, which, Ed reluctantly thinks, looks quite warm and cosy.
“I’m not wearing that,” he says, admittedly a little gracelessly. “I’d look like a twat.”
Andy looks a little put out, and Ed struggles a little to understand exactly how seriously he’s taking this non-issue (the most accurate guess is usually ‘not at all’ - in his own quiet, understated way, Andy thrives on conflict as much as Ed does, usually for the fun of the argument itself rather than for any deeply-held offence. But Ed must acknowledge that there are times when Andy is deadly serious - usually about things that don’t seem important, to Ed at any rate -, and on those occasions, to treat him as if he’s joking will make him even more angry). “Are you trying to say I look like a twat?”
Ed doesn’t answer. Presumably, Andy’s aware that he looks like a model on a knitting pattern - and if he doesn’t know it, Ed’s not going to tell him. That’s not how it works.
Andy sits down on the sofa, placing the blue jumper next to him.
“You know,” Ed says, sitting at the other end of the sofa, “central heating was invented so people wouldn’t have to wear woollen monstrosities.”
A smile plays across Andy’s lips, and Ed’s heart leaps. It’s one of his favourite things about their relationship; the way even disagreeing can be fun and funny, and sends happiness fizzing through him like being polite with other people never will. The way Andy never backs down over the little things, like he’s not scared of messing it all up, makes Ed less scared too. “There’s no point in putting the heating on,” Andy tells him, “if you’re not even properly dressed. It’s wasteful.”
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“It’s how sensible people do things.” Andy’s voice is a little cold, and he stares straight ahead, avoiding eye contact.
“Sensible people share body heat -“
Andy ignores the suggestion in Ed’s voice.
“...Oh, for fuck’s sake, Andy. It’s freezing. Pass the bloody thing over.”
Grinning, Andy throws the jumper to Ed. Ed puts it on - it’s soft, warm, and fits perfectly, which is strangely touching.
“That’s better, isn’t it?”
Ed doesn’t reply, as is his tendency when someone else is right.
They sit there for a few moments in stubborn silence, looking at - if not actually watching - the flickering television. After a little while, Andy migrates along the sofa. Soon, he’s close at Ed’s side, leaning on his wool-clad arm.
Ed looks at him, allowing a little smirk to cross his lips. “Cold?”
Andy jabs him with an elbow, and Ed lifts his arm, wrapping it around Andy’s shoulder.
Ed has to concede, it is nice, sitting like this, warm and comfortable, with Andy’s arm snaking around his waist. It’s almost worth looking like a twat, to have an excuse to do this. He strokes Andy’s shoulder, savouring the texture of the wool and the warmth that radiates from the skin beneath it.
Andy turns a little, rubbing his face against Ed’s chest, his hand sliding underneath Ed’s jumper.
“Oh,” Ed says. “I get it. This is your thing, isn’t it? You’ve got a jumper fetish.”
Andy laughs a little, holding Ed tighter, but doesn’t answer.
Smiling, Ed pushes Andy back a little, so he’s leaning back against the back of the sofa. Ed leans over him, tugging at the neck of the jumper, pulling it down a little to reveal his long, pale neck. He presses a slow kiss to Andy’s collarbone. As he moves the kiss up his neck and towards his jaw, Andy lets out a little whimper. Ed grins. “You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met,” he murmurs.
Hands on Ed’s shoulders, Andy pushes against him, so that he’s leaning over Ed. He kisses Ed’s mouth softly, before wrapping his arms around his waist once more, and swinging a leg over Ed’s knee. He nuzzles into Ed’s jumper, and Ed strokes his bank. “When are you going to sell your house?” he asks.
Ed freezes.
“I mean, all your stuff’s here. You’re not thinking of going back, are you?”
They sit there for a moment, arms around each other, legs entwined, sharing warmth. “No,” he says, surprised at his own emphatic tone. “No, I’m not.” He leans forward a little, and kisses the head that rests on his chest.
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If only I could draw... that image would make a fucking awesome lolitical christmas card.
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P.S. LOVE this fic! ♥
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This anon is really cold this evening, and could do with some jumper-based snuggling!
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