8 - upwards to infinity
Welcome to our eighth prompt post.
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
There is a line between them and it's starkly drawn, but above all Darling is polite, so that their disagreement is mature and relaxed. When George sees the man around Westminster, they continue their conversations fluidly, as if it were nothing, and glares from others don't seem to interrupt them.
As months pass by, the disagreements deepen but the tone stays similar, and little by little Darling becomes Alistair. George's hands hover over the keyboard for a full minute until he types the question, unsure why he's asking it, unsure why he feels compelled to do it, every fibre in his being feeling this is right.
"I'd like to have dinner with you," he writes, again a question not really a question, and Alistair writes back, in agreement, and in misunderstanding -- his wife cooks, and does it splendidly, and would surely not mind meeting George's spouse. It's only then that it becomes clear to George, the thinking behind his own request, and the pang of guilt weights on him, heavy and unwelcome. There's been desire, lurking in the back of his head, for years and years and years, but he's never, and would never act on it, not like this.
But the wine relaxes him and over peculiar but tasty Scottish food he observes the feeling in himself, desperate and misguided, and holds his wife's hand as if to remind himself this is what he's allowed to have. This and only this.
When Alistair says goodbye at the end of the evening, George allows himself a flash of fantasy, and is sure there's something mirrored in his eyes because Alistair's turn dark for a moment and then look away, as if in guilt.
It's not surprising when Alistair ceases correspondence, but George still takes the time out of his day to read through their last exchanges, searching for a word between the lines that betrayed his own feelings, or any that reveal Alistair's own.
He finds none there.
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Beautiful, anon!
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Captcha says the dicing. Of what?
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