and what's this? not MORE backstory!
[london, june 1997. tuesday.]
It's that sort of June afternoon that's damp but not chilly, misty but not rainy, with a determinedly cheerful sun poking out from behind the clouds now and again, trying to make the best of a bad situation. The pink roses twining through the iron fences on the grounds of Jack's school are in full heady bloom, a sign that classes have ended until the blossoms have all dropped again.
From the bedroom door Johnny watches Jack doze on the couch, reading glasses riding down on his nose and a book held loosely to his chest, some Indian novel or other; he watches the gentle rise and fall of Jack's breathing with overwhelming tenderness.
He crosses the flat, puts the phone back on the desk and turns the ringer off.
"Shove over," he says, sits down and pushes gently at Jack until Jack wakes enough to shift and pull Johnny down by his side, and Johnny snuggles close, pillows his head on Jack's shoulder and reaches across Jack's body to curl one hand possessively around Jack's waist, and he strokes, fingers finding their way warmly under the soft blue cashmere of Jack's sweater.
"Incorrigble," Jack murmurs, shifts a little more and Johnny presses closer. Jack's left hand comes up and tangles in Johnny's hair. "Mmm, who was on the phone?"
"Business," Johnny answers, and it's not an evasion, not really, it's just he's wondering the best way to put it. He smooths his hand up Jack's side. "Um, good news, actually."
The bubble of excitement in the pit of Johnny's stomach grows, pressing almost painfully at his heart.
It's that sort of June afternoon that's damp but not chilly, misty but not rainy, with a determinedly cheerful sun poking out from behind the clouds now and again, trying to make the best of a bad situation. The pink roses twining through the iron fences on the grounds of Jack's school are in full heady bloom, a sign that classes have ended until the blossoms have all dropped again.
From the bedroom door Johnny watches Jack doze on the couch, reading glasses riding down on his nose and a book held loosely to his chest, some Indian novel or other; he watches the gentle rise and fall of Jack's breathing with overwhelming tenderness.
He crosses the flat, puts the phone back on the desk and turns the ringer off.
"Shove over," he says, sits down and pushes gently at Jack until Jack wakes enough to shift and pull Johnny down by his side, and Johnny snuggles close, pillows his head on Jack's shoulder and reaches across Jack's body to curl one hand possessively around Jack's waist, and he strokes, fingers finding their way warmly under the soft blue cashmere of Jack's sweater.
"Incorrigble," Jack murmurs, shifts a little more and Johnny presses closer. Jack's left hand comes up and tangles in Johnny's hair. "Mmm, who was on the phone?"
"Business," Johnny answers, and it's not an evasion, not really, it's just he's wondering the best way to put it. He smooths his hand up Jack's side. "Um, good news, actually."
The bubble of excitement in the pit of Johnny's stomach grows, pressing almost painfully at his heart.