(no subject)
I feel like I've been nothing but crazy for two months, and on here that's nothing but crazy after a very long silence. I still read LJ every single day, though I'm shit at commenting. Just, I'm still here, honest.
I just wanted to post something that isn't about being the obsessive crazy thoughts, so I thought I'd repost the flash fic I wrote for a Valentine's blog hop. It isn't great - partly it's the length, and partly it's because writing it was like pulling teeth. Write a sweet romance thing while being terrified of thinking about love? Anyway, since I'm less constrained here, have a slightly longer version.
If you haven't read Flirt yet, there's no real spoilers in this (apart from the protagonists get together, because hey, it's a romance). All you need to know is Toby is deaf, while Flirt is mute. And a selkie, but that's actually not massively relevant here.
"What do you want to do for Valentine's?"
Toby watched his lover's fingers shape the words with a confidence he knew he could never have mustered after only nine months of signing. At first that confidence had unnerved him, had reminded him that there were things about Flirt's past he'd never know, but now the inhuman nature of his selkie lover was a source of comfort.
"We could go to the pub," Toby put the Sunday paper down and signed back.
Flirt shook his head. "We go every week."
"I could cook."
Flirt shook his head again.
"You could cook."
They both laughed at that.
"I don't know," Toby said. "I'll think of something." The last time Toby had done so much as write a card for Valentine’s Day it had been for his late mother, nearly two decades ago.
Flirt’s interest in human holidays had taken him by surprise at first. St George’s day, Father’s Day, Hallowe’en, Guy Fawkes, St Andrew’s day, Christmas, New Years, even Burns Night. He knew Flirt had been raised human, but he celebrated more festivals than Toby had even heard of.
Toby wanted this one to be special too, but as the day dawned he was still at a loss as to how to celebrate it. He couldn’t even make his lover breakfast in bed; Flirt was already up and dressed when Toby woke.
Up and dressed and holding a picnic basket.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Toby signed.
Flirt put the basket down. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too,” he signed. “Get dressed.”
#
They put their backs to the ocean and headed inland. Even now snow still topped the taller hills and lurked in the deeper valleys. The air was crisp, a gentle breeze chasing them through the bare gorse bushes. The sun behind them made the ocean too bright to look at and the sky ahead was a watery blue.
When Flirt deemed it time to stop for lunch the sea was a glimpse of blue at the horizon, and the sky wasn't blue at all: purple-grey clouds hung low and heavy over them, the sunlight filtering through them bruise yellow. The moors were ripe with potential: prepared to 'wuther' at a moment's warning. Flirt grasped Toby's hand and beamed at him, as in love with Toby's homeland as the Yorkshireman was. Flirt's home now.
They picnicked surrounded by dead bracken and dry heather, sat on Flirt’s sealskin and eating crab paste on cold toast. Toby poured them both another beer he convinced himself no harm would come of ignoring the clouds a little longer.
When the first flakes fell Toby was pleasantly surprised. They were both warmly dressed, and this late in the winter he figured it wasn’t likely to snow heavily. It would be far easier - and more romantic - to walk home in the snow rather than stumble across the muddy tracks in the middle of a thunderstorm.
They packed up at a leisurely pace. Toby kissed the snowflakes from Firt’s eyelashes. And his nose. And his lips. If it hadn’t been so cold he could think of several more places to kiss the flakes from, but though Flirt could withstand freezing temperatures better than any human even he wasn’t keen to strip in the snow.
And there was more of it than Toby had expected, when he pulled back. An inch already, and it was coming down thick and fast.
“We should get going,” Toby signed. “Which way?”
Flirt paused long enough to make Toby nervous. “Downhill?” he suggested.
It was hard to tell when precisely they got lost. They'd definitely been walking for longer than it had taken them to get to their picnic spot, and Toby doubted they'd taken a particularly direct route. The clouds were so low Toby felt like he could reach up and touch them, and the horizon was so close one side of a field was a mystery to the other. They stumbled along dry stone walls and skirted the edges of managed forests. When there was a choice - an actual choice between set paths, rather than a 360 degree circle of infinite choices - they headed downhill. Even if they found themselves in a completely foreign valley, any river would take them to the sea, and the sea would take them to fishing village, and there was no village in walking distance that Toby didn't know.
It was hard to tell when it started getting dark, but Toby realised the sun must be setting when the flakes grew further apart but the visibility didn't get better. They walked with their arms around each other’s waists for the warmth, but it was getting harder to move through the deepening snow. After everything they’d been through together, after all the risks they’d taken for each other, dying of hypothermia because of a poorly timed picnic seemed unfair to Toby.
Flirt squeezed Toby’s hip. Toby looked down at Flirt’s hand, then to Flirt’s face. Flirt pointed further up the valley. Halfway up the side of the low hill was a glow. Toby squinted. A warm, square glow. A window.
It took them almost an hour to reach it, wading through snow almost a foot deep. By the time they reached it the world was dark. A road ran from the back of the cottage up to a road along the top of the moor. If the homeowners were willing to put them up for the night it should be easy enough to find their way home the next day.
Toby rapped on the door. When no response was forthcoming he knocked again, harder. His knuckles stung with the force of it; it was difficult to control his movement when he was shivering so hard. He tucked his hands into his armpits and stamped his feet, trying to ignore the bubble of fear rising in his chest. He glanced over at Flirt for reassurance, and noticed his lover was standing by the window. Flirt waved him over.
It was a kitchen, all high end appliances and giant american-style fridge. The worktops were clean and tidy, the sink empty of dishes, the surfaces clear of crumbs, the only sign of life a newspaper on the kitchen table. Toby squinted at it. It was from last summer.
“Oh,” he said aloud, “fuck them.”
Flirt frowned at him. Toby switched back to signing, though his fingers were too stiff for nuance. “It’s a fucking holiday home. No one lives here. They’re probably not even from Yorkshire! They buy places like this and leave them empty eleven months of the year."
"Empty?”
“Exactly!”
Flirt nodded sympathetically, while wrapping one hand in his sealskin.
"They drive up all the house prices and put all the local shops out of business, then sell up because the area doesn’t have the ambiance any more. They leave the fucking gates open, they stomp across private property, they complain they can't understand anyone's accents-”
Flirt smiled, nodded again, and put his hand through the window pane.
Toby’s hands dropped to his sides in surprise. Flirt reached through the hole he’d made and unlatched the window. He opened it outward, knocking snow from the sill, and gestured for Toby to go first.
The kitchen light was on a timer and promptly went out just after they entered the building. If it was meant to deter break-ins, Toby thought, it would have worked better if it hadn’t drawn attention to the empty building in the first place. He put the out of date newspaper on the floor and kicked the snow off his boots onto it. Flirt watched him, amused.
"What?" Toby signed. "There's no need to be rude."
The cupboards were well stocked with tins and dry goods. The living room had an open fireplace and a stack of wood and kindling ready to use. Everything in the cottage was in full working order: power, electric, even the phone. Toby called his dad so he wouldn’t worry - a strange call, since he didn't have his hearing aid with him, so he did the talking and Flirt did the listening - and patched up the broken window with cardboard from a packet of stale cereal.
An hour later they were settled in front of a roaring fire, sharing pasta with tinned tomatoes and a bottle of very good wine. Toby had debated leaving money to cover the costs of what they used, but suspected his small pile of change would be more insult than compensation. Eh. He’d leave a note.
Flirt kissed him. Both of their lips were chapped from being out in the cold for so long. Flirt brushed his fingers over Toby’s cheek, warm from the fire, and pulled Toby in for another kiss. Warm fingers roved under layers of clothing, pushing and tugging and making space. Goosebumps prickled superheated skin. Hands tightened on hips, hips ground together. Flirt gasped, Toby moaned. They came together.
They slept on the sofa, the fire burning low. In the morning the sky was clear and the sun was up. The road over the moors hadn’t been cleared, but it led all the way to the sea, and the walk was brisk but pleasant.
Toby had remembered to leave a note for the cottage owners. It read:
You have our apologies for the window and the food we ate, and our eternal gratitude for saving our lives in the snow. And the best Valentine’s Day we’ve ever had.
Well, so far, at any rate.
I just wanted to post something that isn't about being the obsessive crazy thoughts, so I thought I'd repost the flash fic I wrote for a Valentine's blog hop. It isn't great - partly it's the length, and partly it's because writing it was like pulling teeth. Write a sweet romance thing while being terrified of thinking about love? Anyway, since I'm less constrained here, have a slightly longer version.
If you haven't read Flirt yet, there's no real spoilers in this (apart from the protagonists get together, because hey, it's a romance). All you need to know is Toby is deaf, while Flirt is mute. And a selkie, but that's actually not massively relevant here.
"What do you want to do for Valentine's?"
Toby watched his lover's fingers shape the words with a confidence he knew he could never have mustered after only nine months of signing. At first that confidence had unnerved him, had reminded him that there were things about Flirt's past he'd never know, but now the inhuman nature of his selkie lover was a source of comfort.
"We could go to the pub," Toby put the Sunday paper down and signed back.
Flirt shook his head. "We go every week."
"I could cook."
Flirt shook his head again.
"You could cook."
They both laughed at that.
"I don't know," Toby said. "I'll think of something." The last time Toby had done so much as write a card for Valentine’s Day it had been for his late mother, nearly two decades ago.
Flirt’s interest in human holidays had taken him by surprise at first. St George’s day, Father’s Day, Hallowe’en, Guy Fawkes, St Andrew’s day, Christmas, New Years, even Burns Night. He knew Flirt had been raised human, but he celebrated more festivals than Toby had even heard of.
Toby wanted this one to be special too, but as the day dawned he was still at a loss as to how to celebrate it. He couldn’t even make his lover breakfast in bed; Flirt was already up and dressed when Toby woke.
Up and dressed and holding a picnic basket.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Toby signed.
Flirt put the basket down. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too,” he signed. “Get dressed.”
#
They put their backs to the ocean and headed inland. Even now snow still topped the taller hills and lurked in the deeper valleys. The air was crisp, a gentle breeze chasing them through the bare gorse bushes. The sun behind them made the ocean too bright to look at and the sky ahead was a watery blue.
When Flirt deemed it time to stop for lunch the sea was a glimpse of blue at the horizon, and the sky wasn't blue at all: purple-grey clouds hung low and heavy over them, the sunlight filtering through them bruise yellow. The moors were ripe with potential: prepared to 'wuther' at a moment's warning. Flirt grasped Toby's hand and beamed at him, as in love with Toby's homeland as the Yorkshireman was. Flirt's home now.
They picnicked surrounded by dead bracken and dry heather, sat on Flirt’s sealskin and eating crab paste on cold toast. Toby poured them both another beer he convinced himself no harm would come of ignoring the clouds a little longer.
When the first flakes fell Toby was pleasantly surprised. They were both warmly dressed, and this late in the winter he figured it wasn’t likely to snow heavily. It would be far easier - and more romantic - to walk home in the snow rather than stumble across the muddy tracks in the middle of a thunderstorm.
They packed up at a leisurely pace. Toby kissed the snowflakes from Firt’s eyelashes. And his nose. And his lips. If it hadn’t been so cold he could think of several more places to kiss the flakes from, but though Flirt could withstand freezing temperatures better than any human even he wasn’t keen to strip in the snow.
And there was more of it than Toby had expected, when he pulled back. An inch already, and it was coming down thick and fast.
“We should get going,” Toby signed. “Which way?”
Flirt paused long enough to make Toby nervous. “Downhill?” he suggested.
It was hard to tell when precisely they got lost. They'd definitely been walking for longer than it had taken them to get to their picnic spot, and Toby doubted they'd taken a particularly direct route. The clouds were so low Toby felt like he could reach up and touch them, and the horizon was so close one side of a field was a mystery to the other. They stumbled along dry stone walls and skirted the edges of managed forests. When there was a choice - an actual choice between set paths, rather than a 360 degree circle of infinite choices - they headed downhill. Even if they found themselves in a completely foreign valley, any river would take them to the sea, and the sea would take them to fishing village, and there was no village in walking distance that Toby didn't know.
It was hard to tell when it started getting dark, but Toby realised the sun must be setting when the flakes grew further apart but the visibility didn't get better. They walked with their arms around each other’s waists for the warmth, but it was getting harder to move through the deepening snow. After everything they’d been through together, after all the risks they’d taken for each other, dying of hypothermia because of a poorly timed picnic seemed unfair to Toby.
Flirt squeezed Toby’s hip. Toby looked down at Flirt’s hand, then to Flirt’s face. Flirt pointed further up the valley. Halfway up the side of the low hill was a glow. Toby squinted. A warm, square glow. A window.
It took them almost an hour to reach it, wading through snow almost a foot deep. By the time they reached it the world was dark. A road ran from the back of the cottage up to a road along the top of the moor. If the homeowners were willing to put them up for the night it should be easy enough to find their way home the next day.
Toby rapped on the door. When no response was forthcoming he knocked again, harder. His knuckles stung with the force of it; it was difficult to control his movement when he was shivering so hard. He tucked his hands into his armpits and stamped his feet, trying to ignore the bubble of fear rising in his chest. He glanced over at Flirt for reassurance, and noticed his lover was standing by the window. Flirt waved him over.
It was a kitchen, all high end appliances and giant american-style fridge. The worktops were clean and tidy, the sink empty of dishes, the surfaces clear of crumbs, the only sign of life a newspaper on the kitchen table. Toby squinted at it. It was from last summer.
“Oh,” he said aloud, “fuck them.”
Flirt frowned at him. Toby switched back to signing, though his fingers were too stiff for nuance. “It’s a fucking holiday home. No one lives here. They’re probably not even from Yorkshire! They buy places like this and leave them empty eleven months of the year."
"Empty?”
“Exactly!”
Flirt nodded sympathetically, while wrapping one hand in his sealskin.
"They drive up all the house prices and put all the local shops out of business, then sell up because the area doesn’t have the ambiance any more. They leave the fucking gates open, they stomp across private property, they complain they can't understand anyone's accents-”
Flirt smiled, nodded again, and put his hand through the window pane.
Toby’s hands dropped to his sides in surprise. Flirt reached through the hole he’d made and unlatched the window. He opened it outward, knocking snow from the sill, and gestured for Toby to go first.
The kitchen light was on a timer and promptly went out just after they entered the building. If it was meant to deter break-ins, Toby thought, it would have worked better if it hadn’t drawn attention to the empty building in the first place. He put the out of date newspaper on the floor and kicked the snow off his boots onto it. Flirt watched him, amused.
"What?" Toby signed. "There's no need to be rude."
The cupboards were well stocked with tins and dry goods. The living room had an open fireplace and a stack of wood and kindling ready to use. Everything in the cottage was in full working order: power, electric, even the phone. Toby called his dad so he wouldn’t worry - a strange call, since he didn't have his hearing aid with him, so he did the talking and Flirt did the listening - and patched up the broken window with cardboard from a packet of stale cereal.
An hour later they were settled in front of a roaring fire, sharing pasta with tinned tomatoes and a bottle of very good wine. Toby had debated leaving money to cover the costs of what they used, but suspected his small pile of change would be more insult than compensation. Eh. He’d leave a note.
Flirt kissed him. Both of their lips were chapped from being out in the cold for so long. Flirt brushed his fingers over Toby’s cheek, warm from the fire, and pulled Toby in for another kiss. Warm fingers roved under layers of clothing, pushing and tugging and making space. Goosebumps prickled superheated skin. Hands tightened on hips, hips ground together. Flirt gasped, Toby moaned. They came together.
They slept on the sofa, the fire burning low. In the morning the sky was clear and the sun was up. The road over the moors hadn’t been cleared, but it led all the way to the sea, and the walk was brisk but pleasant.
Toby had remembered to leave a note for the cottage owners. It read:
You have our apologies for the window and the food we ate, and our eternal gratitude for saving our lives in the snow. And the best Valentine’s Day we’ve ever had.
Well, so far, at any rate.