The Dark Is Rising. Will Stanton/Bran Davies. #13, Questions.
TITLE: In The Dark
AUTHOR: Nikki (twilightsrain/edenbound)
FANDOM: The Dark Is Rising
PAIRING: Will Stanton/Bran Davies
GENRE: Slash
PROMPT: #13, Questions
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 636
SUMMARY: Bran has to resign himself to the fact that Will can't explain some things.
DISCLAIMER: Susan Cooper owns the characters, I wilfully borrow them, age them up and put them into situations like this one. :)
Will is still a shortish, stockyish figure, in jeans and a t-shirt, and sometimes, looking at him, Bran gets the feeling that nothing really changes. Even now, nothing has really changed from when they were children playing on a mountainside. Even though they slept in the same bed last night and had sex twenty minutes ago, even though Will's hair is damp not from rain but from the long, hot shower they shared afterwards. There's something about Will that's timeless and strange, and Bran's not sure he'll ever understand it, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how he tries.
"Breakfast?" he asks, to distract himself from that ever-present question, and Will looks up. He smiles just a bit and shakes his head.
"Just tea."
Bran nods and pours milk over his cereal. He anticipated Will's request, naturally, and the kettle is still boiling, the teapot ready. His lover is still typically English from head to toe, no matter how far they've both travelled, no matter how long he's spent away in other countries -- specifically America, where he constantly drank coffee and lamented for the loss of what he considered decent tea.
"I have to go again, soon," Will says, as if he knows what Bran was just thinking. Bran tries to eat his cereal slowly and deliberately, but all of a sudden he feels like it's choking him. After a moment, he deliberately upends his bowl, tipping sodden cereal and milk into the sink. Will winces. "Bran -- "
"Again? And I can't come with you? And you expect me to wait at home for you, a good little housewife?"
"You know I don't think of you that way."
"No, you don't." Bran crosses his arms in front of him, flicking his hair back from his face with an impatient movement of his head. "Sometimes, I get a feeling you don't even think of me at all."
"Bran -- "
Bran's mouth presses tight closed for a moment, and then he speaks softly, and every word trembles with indignation. "Yes, I know. Whatever it is, it's so terribly important that if I tell you I'll leave you if you go, you'll go anyway."
"Bran," Will says, gently, getting up from his seat and going over to Bran -- cupping his face in both hands and looking into his eyes with an expression so sweetly-serious that right now, he can't be angry at him, just can't be. "I have to go. I haven't made any arrangements yet, so if you really want to come with me, you can. But I can't explain anything further, and I might not be with you all the time while we're there. This is important, but I don't want to lose you. If I lost you, I'd never..."
He suddenly feels ashamed for the shadows falling over Will's face, even if he understands exactly none of it. He nods, just slightly. "I want to come."
"Not worried that I'll be in some girl's bed when I'm not with you?"
Bran snorts softly. "You're too gay for that, boyo."
And with that, the tension between them breaks, dissolves as if it was never there. Will grins, and Bran reaches out and draws him close, holding onto him tightly and pressing his face against his damp hair while Will's cheek nestles against his rough sweater.
"I really do love you, Davies," Will mumbles, as if even after his serious declaration that he can't lose Bran, he can't say it properly. Bran's fingers slide through his hair and for a moment he's clutching him close, holding him so tight neither of them can breathe, and then he lets go.
"I don't pretend to understand you, Stanton," he says, "but I love you too."
And then he turns to pour them both some tea.
AUTHOR: Nikki (twilightsrain/edenbound)
FANDOM: The Dark Is Rising
PAIRING: Will Stanton/Bran Davies
GENRE: Slash
PROMPT: #13, Questions
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 636
SUMMARY: Bran has to resign himself to the fact that Will can't explain some things.
DISCLAIMER: Susan Cooper owns the characters, I wilfully borrow them, age them up and put them into situations like this one. :)
Will is still a shortish, stockyish figure, in jeans and a t-shirt, and sometimes, looking at him, Bran gets the feeling that nothing really changes. Even now, nothing has really changed from when they were children playing on a mountainside. Even though they slept in the same bed last night and had sex twenty minutes ago, even though Will's hair is damp not from rain but from the long, hot shower they shared afterwards. There's something about Will that's timeless and strange, and Bran's not sure he'll ever understand it, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how he tries.
"Breakfast?" he asks, to distract himself from that ever-present question, and Will looks up. He smiles just a bit and shakes his head.
"Just tea."
Bran nods and pours milk over his cereal. He anticipated Will's request, naturally, and the kettle is still boiling, the teapot ready. His lover is still typically English from head to toe, no matter how far they've both travelled, no matter how long he's spent away in other countries -- specifically America, where he constantly drank coffee and lamented for the loss of what he considered decent tea.
"I have to go again, soon," Will says, as if he knows what Bran was just thinking. Bran tries to eat his cereal slowly and deliberately, but all of a sudden he feels like it's choking him. After a moment, he deliberately upends his bowl, tipping sodden cereal and milk into the sink. Will winces. "Bran -- "
"Again? And I can't come with you? And you expect me to wait at home for you, a good little housewife?"
"You know I don't think of you that way."
"No, you don't." Bran crosses his arms in front of him, flicking his hair back from his face with an impatient movement of his head. "Sometimes, I get a feeling you don't even think of me at all."
"Bran -- "
Bran's mouth presses tight closed for a moment, and then he speaks softly, and every word trembles with indignation. "Yes, I know. Whatever it is, it's so terribly important that if I tell you I'll leave you if you go, you'll go anyway."
"Bran," Will says, gently, getting up from his seat and going over to Bran -- cupping his face in both hands and looking into his eyes with an expression so sweetly-serious that right now, he can't be angry at him, just can't be. "I have to go. I haven't made any arrangements yet, so if you really want to come with me, you can. But I can't explain anything further, and I might not be with you all the time while we're there. This is important, but I don't want to lose you. If I lost you, I'd never..."
He suddenly feels ashamed for the shadows falling over Will's face, even if he understands exactly none of it. He nods, just slightly. "I want to come."
"Not worried that I'll be in some girl's bed when I'm not with you?"
Bran snorts softly. "You're too gay for that, boyo."
And with that, the tension between them breaks, dissolves as if it was never there. Will grins, and Bran reaches out and draws him close, holding onto him tightly and pressing his face against his damp hair while Will's cheek nestles against his rough sweater.
"I really do love you, Davies," Will mumbles, as if even after his serious declaration that he can't lose Bran, he can't say it properly. Bran's fingers slide through his hair and for a moment he's clutching him close, holding him so tight neither of them can breathe, and then he lets go.
"I don't pretend to understand you, Stanton," he says, "but I love you too."
And then he turns to pour them both some tea.