Fic: Death stalks SW10 3/3
Apr. 25th, 2008 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mylodonArchie says this part contains some of the most romantic dialogue he’s ever written.
“Significant moments of our lives seem to be to an accompaniment of rain.” Alex Hargreaves listened to what sounded like a monsoon lashing against the window. His grandfather had served in Burma and used to regale him with tales of raindrops the size of old pennies. This may only be London, SW10 but Alex was fairly certain there was something similar going on outside.
“I’d never thought of that.” Vince Worsley flicked through his mental notebook. First meeting – over something as unromantic as a witness statement that needed clarifying – there’d been a steady drizzle outside. First date - first kiss – on one and the same evening and it had been chucking it down then. First time sleeping together – now – and the heavens had opened. “I do hope it’s not a sign of celestial displeasure.”
“If I thought you believed that, I’d be out of here like a shot. I’d have hoped your father had put you straight on that matter.” Alex smiled; he knew that The Right Reverend Worsley, Bishop of Swanmere, had left his son in no doubt about his opinion on the matter. He’d been one of the main contributors to the Gloucester Report, for goodness sake, and had been appalled at it being swept under the carpet.
“I like the rain – always have done. And the thunder. Mother made us go out in storms when we were younger – get our wellies on and splash in the puddles. Away from trees and things of course; she come out and we’d all play and we’d watch the lightning and listen to the thunder. Father was appalled – said we could have been struck but she poo-poohed it. Wanted us not to have any fear of it.” Vince cocked his head. “None tonight, though. Just rain, but that’s nice, too.” He snuggled closer to Alex, tired, sweaty bodies enjoying the sensation of being together and neither of them having to rush off home by tube or taxi.
They’d waited, naturally. Some of their friends would have thought them mad at the restraint they’d shown – more like a pair of shy, nervous teenagers than experienced men in their late twenties. That first night only the weather had turned filthy; the rest had been relatively chaste. And since then they’d ventured further, but slowly, slowly and only with hands. It had been like an old fashioned courtship and they’d both loved the fact.
And it was only when Alex had suggested they set up house together and Vince had pointed out that if they were going to share a house they should perhaps investigate the matter of sharing a bed and if it came to it perhaps sharing a body might be a good idea that they’d decided to risk a night under the covers. And neither was entirely sure what it would bring.
They’d been entirely frank with each other from the start, sharing their views on politics, religion, sport – all the things that really mattered and over which even good friends fell out. Alex could tell you exactly what Vince thought was the best way to raise children to be both polite and interesting company and Vince could give chapter and verse on what Alex felt was the best way forward for English football (which seemed to involve an alarming number of guns, given that the espouser of the viewpoint was a newly made up Inspector at New Scotland Yard.)
But who preferred what and where – which tab and which slot – had not been ventured upon. The closest they’d got was when the matter of living together had been aired and Alex – who could question any suspect without flinching on all matter of sordid things - had begun a rambling speech along the lines of, “I suppose that we should really consider our preferences and all that. I mean to say, it’s just possible that we might not, you know and then it would be rather awkward to…because I wouldn’t want to…”
Vince had dissolved into fits of giggles, suggesting that if that was the best Alex could do to clarify the matter then there was very little chance of any tab going anywhere until it ended up too old and wrinkly to be of use to any slot. And for goodness sake, what does it matter if it’s you and me, Alex? We can play around, see what we like, we’ll make it work. You’re bloody hopeless at romance, aren’t you?
Which had proved the most arousing thing that anyone could possibly have said – although if anyone but Worsley had been doing the speaking the effect would have been lost – and the first consummation had followed as soon as was decent afterwards. Against a background of rain and wind and Vince’s fit of the giggles returning.
“Staying here, tonight. Moving in, when?” Worsley wound his arm around Hargreaves’ shoulder.
“Once we get the bridging loan on the new place sorted and I get the movers into gear. I thought we’d discussed it.”
“We have; I was just hoping you might have decided that you could move some of your stuff here. In the interim, just in case your buyers wanted to move in a bit earlier and…”
“Cheeky bugger. I suppose that I could spend the odd night here – the Yard can get me on my mobile. Perhaps Thursday through to Sunday or something. Won’t be that long until it’s a permanent thing.”
“You’ll need two toothbrushes. And razors.”
“You’re terribly practical; it worries me that when we’re living together you’ll turn out to be a DIY freak or some such ghastly thing.”
“Pillock. Budge over; you’re pushing me out of bed. I need to get my beauty sleep.”
“Really? No chance of…?”
“Not till morning. And not at all if you don’t shut up and let me close my eyes.”
“Geek.”
“Plonker.”
“Nerd.”
“Flatfoot.”
“Dork.”
“I love you too, Alex.”
“Significant moments of our lives seem to be to an accompaniment of rain.” Alex Hargreaves listened to what sounded like a monsoon lashing against the window. His grandfather had served in Burma and used to regale him with tales of raindrops the size of old pennies. This may only be London, SW10 but Alex was fairly certain there was something similar going on outside.
“I’d never thought of that.” Vince Worsley flicked through his mental notebook. First meeting – over something as unromantic as a witness statement that needed clarifying – there’d been a steady drizzle outside. First date - first kiss – on one and the same evening and it had been chucking it down then. First time sleeping together – now – and the heavens had opened. “I do hope it’s not a sign of celestial displeasure.”
“If I thought you believed that, I’d be out of here like a shot. I’d have hoped your father had put you straight on that matter.” Alex smiled; he knew that The Right Reverend Worsley, Bishop of Swanmere, had left his son in no doubt about his opinion on the matter. He’d been one of the main contributors to the Gloucester Report, for goodness sake, and had been appalled at it being swept under the carpet.
“I like the rain – always have done. And the thunder. Mother made us go out in storms when we were younger – get our wellies on and splash in the puddles. Away from trees and things of course; she come out and we’d all play and we’d watch the lightning and listen to the thunder. Father was appalled – said we could have been struck but she poo-poohed it. Wanted us not to have any fear of it.” Vince cocked his head. “None tonight, though. Just rain, but that’s nice, too.” He snuggled closer to Alex, tired, sweaty bodies enjoying the sensation of being together and neither of them having to rush off home by tube or taxi.
They’d waited, naturally. Some of their friends would have thought them mad at the restraint they’d shown – more like a pair of shy, nervous teenagers than experienced men in their late twenties. That first night only the weather had turned filthy; the rest had been relatively chaste. And since then they’d ventured further, but slowly, slowly and only with hands. It had been like an old fashioned courtship and they’d both loved the fact.
And it was only when Alex had suggested they set up house together and Vince had pointed out that if they were going to share a house they should perhaps investigate the matter of sharing a bed and if it came to it perhaps sharing a body might be a good idea that they’d decided to risk a night under the covers. And neither was entirely sure what it would bring.
They’d been entirely frank with each other from the start, sharing their views on politics, religion, sport – all the things that really mattered and over which even good friends fell out. Alex could tell you exactly what Vince thought was the best way to raise children to be both polite and interesting company and Vince could give chapter and verse on what Alex felt was the best way forward for English football (which seemed to involve an alarming number of guns, given that the espouser of the viewpoint was a newly made up Inspector at New Scotland Yard.)
But who preferred what and where – which tab and which slot – had not been ventured upon. The closest they’d got was when the matter of living together had been aired and Alex – who could question any suspect without flinching on all matter of sordid things - had begun a rambling speech along the lines of, “I suppose that we should really consider our preferences and all that. I mean to say, it’s just possible that we might not, you know and then it would be rather awkward to…because I wouldn’t want to…”
Vince had dissolved into fits of giggles, suggesting that if that was the best Alex could do to clarify the matter then there was very little chance of any tab going anywhere until it ended up too old and wrinkly to be of use to any slot. And for goodness sake, what does it matter if it’s you and me, Alex? We can play around, see what we like, we’ll make it work. You’re bloody hopeless at romance, aren’t you?
Which had proved the most arousing thing that anyone could possibly have said – although if anyone but Worsley had been doing the speaking the effect would have been lost – and the first consummation had followed as soon as was decent afterwards. Against a background of rain and wind and Vince’s fit of the giggles returning.
“Staying here, tonight. Moving in, when?” Worsley wound his arm around Hargreaves’ shoulder.
“Once we get the bridging loan on the new place sorted and I get the movers into gear. I thought we’d discussed it.”
“We have; I was just hoping you might have decided that you could move some of your stuff here. In the interim, just in case your buyers wanted to move in a bit earlier and…”
“Cheeky bugger. I suppose that I could spend the odd night here – the Yard can get me on my mobile. Perhaps Thursday through to Sunday or something. Won’t be that long until it’s a permanent thing.”
“You’ll need two toothbrushes. And razors.”
“You’re terribly practical; it worries me that when we’re living together you’ll turn out to be a DIY freak or some such ghastly thing.”
“Pillock. Budge over; you’re pushing me out of bed. I need to get my beauty sleep.”
“Really? No chance of…?”
“Not till morning. And not at all if you don’t shut up and let me close my eyes.”
“Geek.”
“Plonker.”
“Nerd.”
“Flatfoot.”
“Dork.”
“I love you too, Alex.”
