eglantine_br (eglantine_br) wrote,

In the Morning

Title In the Morning

Word Count 847

Kit Marlowe

Rating: R-ish

In The Morning

The light had gone hours ago. Subsumed in rain, the sun had crept below the horizon and Kit had not seen it go. It was the most important day of his life, and he had spent much of it with his eyes shut.

They were shut now, shut tight. The sheets were white, he knew, and the bed curtains velvet red, and the bedstead carved and golden, but Kit was not looking now. He had looked long, at everything; at Thomas most of all. Kit had glutted on sight, and passed it by for sound. Sound was the rustle of bedding and the tiny voice of candle flame. He had passed it for scent, of skin, of Thomas, and of the cold rainy air beyond the shutters. He had passed it for feel best and most; skin and need and the coiling deep inside him. His eyes screwed tight shut now, and now and now, as as he gasped and whimpered.

“Does this please thee Kit?”

Thomas did not lift his mouth, it lay against the taut skin of Kit's abdomen. It was left of Kit's naval, left and slightly below. The mouth had had rested there some time, in a sort of stationary kiss, dampening Kit's skin with the mist of quick breath. But it was moving now.

One hand was clenched against the clench of Kit's clasp, almost hard enough to bruise. The other-- the other hand was--

“Oh, Christ--” Kit said.

“I thought it would,” Thomas said.

It was some time before either of them spoke to any purpose. Kit had imagined what it would be like, but he realized now that he had had it all somewhat wrong. He had not imagined the slide of warm skin, the breath, nor anything like the hesitant sweetness before the rubbing brought spark to the tinder. His own lonely rubbing had been merely efficient.

Finally Kit had breath enough for words, and he found he had no words after all.

He let his eyes open, lazy and slow, and saw Thomas smile. Thomas reached out a finger to trace Kit's eyebrow, smoothing the little hairs there down. He laughed when Kit reached out to do the same.

“Sleep here tonight?”

“Oh yes.”

He wanted to lie awake, to not miss an instant of the joy of it, but he was yawning, and the bed was soft and at school he would have been asleep hours ago already. Beside him he heard Thomas yawn and sigh, And Kit dropped away into sleep.

He dreamed of shoes, and the smell of leather, and the sound of voices beyond the door. Dream Kit was very small and his bed was narrow and cold, and he pulled the sheets to his chin. he listened closely, but the words were low and indistinct. He needed to know-- it was important to listen because nobody would tell him. But he was afraid to move. Because he was small, small and cold and something was going to be done, and he could not prevent—only by holding still would he be safe from the dark beyond the bed.

And he held very very still as the weight of the dream world pressed him down in the cold narrow child's bed. He could not move, he could not breathe. If he could move a little the spell would be broken, but he could not so much as twitch a finger. He could not draw breath to call out. He would be here forever and nobody would know--

“Kit. Shh, Kit. Wake up.”

“Oh--” His eyes opened to bright light, and Thomas's face, kind and worried, kissing close.

“There now. All done. A bad dream, yes?”

“Yes.” Kit took a deep shuddering breath. It was day, he had slept all night in Thomas Walsingham's bed. And it was Thomas who smiled down at him now, as if waking up in the morning was a piece of genius invented by Kit alone.

Listening Kit could tell that he had slept long. The small household sounds were all around him, made strange by the size of the place, but still known. He could hear a light step in the passage outside, low voices. And the sun was shining, and the world smelled of bacon, and butter and toast.

Thomas drew him close, and it was warm, and he had drawn another smaller breath, ready to say something when far away a door slammed.

“The day begins--” Thomas said, “like it or not.”

“No, but I will speak with him!” This voice was faint and far away, but it brimmed with outrage. It went with the slammed door, Kit was sure of that. Thomas smiled. “Tom Watson. Have you met him?”

Kit shook his head. In the light of day he was to be 'you' again. But he could not regret it. Thomas was naked, his skin hot against Kit's, and Thomas was kissing his neck.

Tags: fiction, kit marlowe

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