The Dark Is Rising. Will Stanton/Bran Davies. #18, Cherish.
TITLE: Forever
AUTHOR: Nikki (twilightsrain/edenbound)
FANDOM: The Dark Is Rising
PAIRING: Will Stanton/Bran Davies
GENRE: Slash
PROMPT: #18, Cherish.
RATING: R
WORD COUNT: 450
SUMMARY: It's only when they do this that Bran really believes.
DISCLAIMER: Susan Cooper owns the characters and the world, I'm just playing with them.
Bran holds onto Will tightly, letting him bury his face against his neck, arching up against him. His hands are everywhere, memorising Will's body, because this always feels so good -- like something that they shouldn't really be allowed to have. He's not sure why he feels that way, Will is so damned ordinary and they're not doing anything wrong, not in his beliefs anyway, and everything between them has always been crazily easy, like they've always been too halves of a whole. But he does, and this -- this is what makes him feel like Will is really his.
It's the way Will says his name, maybe, breathless, reverent; the way his eyes shine; the way, like the first time, his hands still shake a little. Bran thinks that maybe Will feels the same way about it all, that maybe this is something they can't have, and he also knows that with their hands and mouths and moans and cries they drive that shadowy thing away, make it perfect and right and destined, throw away all doubt.
It's the way Will looks, if there's enough light to see his face by, if they're facing each other. Pleasure makes him beautiful, his eyes dark and deep and his mouth open and his cheeks just a little flushed, and Bran knows that maybe he's the only one who sees it but he sees it all the same, Will's beautiful sometimes, so damn beautiful. And maybe this is arrogance, but it's not Will on his own -- it's them together, what they make together, that's the beautiful thing, the precious thing.
Bran would like it to be the only thing that matters, and right now, with Will moving inside him, over him, Will's face buried against him, Will's breaths coming out fast and hot against his neck, right now it is the only thing that matters, the only thing that will ever, ever matter.
Sometimes, afterwards, that feeling stays, and it's the most wonderful thing in the world, even if it's just him and Will Stanton, plain old Will Stanton, English and stoic and stolid when you don't know better, Will Stanton with the mild humour and the ancient eyes, Will Stanton with the hands that shake every time. Just Will Stanton and Bran Davies, freakshow Welsh farmboy. Bran never knows what to do with the feeling except treasure it, lying there with Will, holding Will; he just lies there and knows it, that they're beautiful, perfect, destined. That even if this is too good to be true in some ways, they have it for now.
Sometimes he thinks he'd give anything if they could just stay like that forever.
AUTHOR: Nikki (twilightsrain/edenbound)
FANDOM: The Dark Is Rising
PAIRING: Will Stanton/Bran Davies
GENRE: Slash
PROMPT: #18, Cherish.
RATING: R
WORD COUNT: 450
SUMMARY: It's only when they do this that Bran really believes.
DISCLAIMER: Susan Cooper owns the characters and the world, I'm just playing with them.
Bran holds onto Will tightly, letting him bury his face against his neck, arching up against him. His hands are everywhere, memorising Will's body, because this always feels so good -- like something that they shouldn't really be allowed to have. He's not sure why he feels that way, Will is so damned ordinary and they're not doing anything wrong, not in his beliefs anyway, and everything between them has always been crazily easy, like they've always been too halves of a whole. But he does, and this -- this is what makes him feel like Will is really his.
It's the way Will says his name, maybe, breathless, reverent; the way his eyes shine; the way, like the first time, his hands still shake a little. Bran thinks that maybe Will feels the same way about it all, that maybe this is something they can't have, and he also knows that with their hands and mouths and moans and cries they drive that shadowy thing away, make it perfect and right and destined, throw away all doubt.
It's the way Will looks, if there's enough light to see his face by, if they're facing each other. Pleasure makes him beautiful, his eyes dark and deep and his mouth open and his cheeks just a little flushed, and Bran knows that maybe he's the only one who sees it but he sees it all the same, Will's beautiful sometimes, so damn beautiful. And maybe this is arrogance, but it's not Will on his own -- it's them together, what they make together, that's the beautiful thing, the precious thing.
Bran would like it to be the only thing that matters, and right now, with Will moving inside him, over him, Will's face buried against him, Will's breaths coming out fast and hot against his neck, right now it is the only thing that matters, the only thing that will ever, ever matter.
Sometimes, afterwards, that feeling stays, and it's the most wonderful thing in the world, even if it's just him and Will Stanton, plain old Will Stanton, English and stoic and stolid when you don't know better, Will Stanton with the mild humour and the ancient eyes, Will Stanton with the hands that shake every time. Just Will Stanton and Bran Davies, freakshow Welsh farmboy. Bran never knows what to do with the feeling except treasure it, lying there with Will, holding Will; he just lies there and knows it, that they're beautiful, perfect, destined. That even if this is too good to be true in some ways, they have it for now.
Sometimes he thinks he'd give anything if they could just stay like that forever.