Chapter Text
Stephen Fletcher was beautiful in a mesmerizing kind of way, where once you looked at him, it seemed ridiculous that you would ever want to look at anything else. His physical appearance was striking: Stephen was tall and fit, with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and high cheekbones. His eyes were a very deep blue and glinted when he smiled, which was often, and his blond hair was light in the sun and gold in the shadow. He moved with an effortless grace and gestured smoothly with his large hands, in a way that could easily fascinate a person. His personality was equally appealing: always amiable and full of cheer. And for some incomprehensible reason, Stephen had picked out Walter Amesbury, who was shy and quiet and plain as gray wool, as a friend.
They’d met two months ago. Walter had just moved to town, and Stephen was a cousin of someone who knew a cousin of Walter’s or some such thing. Whatever the reason, they’d been invited to the same party, and though Walter detested parties as a forced intimacy with people he’d rather not even meet, he’d been dragged along by his cousin. He’d ducked into the library of the sprawling house as soon as he was able, and planned to spend the party holed up in there with a volume of Italian poetry he’d discovered, and a small glass of port. He had not been prepared for his refuge to be invaded by the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen, who was holding a half-eaten pear.
“Oh, hello!” the man said. “You’ve discovered my short cut.” He had a radiant smile on his face, and Walter could not believe that somehow he’d merited such a look from such a man. “There’s a private door at the back, into the garden,” the man explained, “but it’s also my hiding place if I tire of the party.” Of course, the man’s appearance immediately betrayed him as the gregarious playboy he was, and Walter doubted he’d ever tired of a party in his life. The man extended the hand that wasn’t holding the pear. “Stephen Fletcher. This is my cousin’s place. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Walter took the man’s hand, not surprised that it was warm, and his grip strong. “Walter Amesbury. I’m— not sure why I’m here.”
Stephen laughed at his gaffe, and Walter was startled to find it was not derisive, but delighted. “Why are any of us truly here?” Stephen asked grandly, dropping gracefully into a chair opposite Walter. “Any answer in your book there? Wait, is that in Italian?”
“Yes.”
“Quite so, you look like a man who’s accomplished at languages. How many do you speak?”
Walter knew he appeared studious, with the glasses he wore, and besides that, he was average height and thin, with dark hair that never quite lay right, the curls always dropping over his forehead rather than staying where they ought to. But oddly enough, Stephen didn’t seem to have intended the remark as an insult. “Just— just the four,” Walter said. “I read others, but I haven’t fully mastered the spoken part yet.”
Stephen looked impressed, which left Walter in turn impressed with his acting skills. “And what’s it about?” Stephen asked. “Your book.”
“Oh, it’s poetry.”
“On some lofty subject, I imagine.”
“Yes, um— on love.” Walter's voice had fallen soft, but Stephen was watching him very closely, and didn’t miss it.
“Some would say that is the answer,” Stephen said, with a sage air. “Perhaps we’re all simply here to find love.”
Walter, who was pale as paper most of the time, felt the heat in his cheeks that said he’d blushed bright red. When he glanced up, mortified, he found that Stephen wasn’t looking at him, but Walter couldn't be sure he wasn’t hiding a smile in a bite of pear.
Walter learned that first evening that Stephen Fletcher was an effortless conversationalist who could manage to make even Walter feel listened to and at the center of attention, and also that it was ridiculously difficult to refuse the man anything. Rather than hiding, Walter found himself on a tour of the garden, including the pear tree, having a wide-ranging discussion of poetry, art, and music, with a touch of social gossip and even tentative forays into politics and religion. Through it all, Stephen focused very narrowly on Walter, seeming to find his opinions and stories fascinating. Walter had left his port behind in the library, but he’d fallen under a far more intoxicating spell than alcohol could ever cast.
From time to time, people came looking for Stephen, as he was the kind to be missed by everyone, and Walter could see they all adored him as much as Walter already did. Stephen greeted them as friends and exchanged happy conversation, and yet somehow at the end of the evening, Stephen was still with Walter, perched on a garden bench with his long legs gathered beneath him and bent at odd angles, somehow still looking utterly elegant.
Stephen’s smiles had become fonder as the night went on, and his manner more intimate. He would occasionally rest a hand on Walter’s arm, and once brushed an errant lock of hair away from his eyes when Walter got animated during a discussion. Walter couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an animated discussion, and he’d forgotten to keep a close rein on his hair.
Walter did know, of course, that Stephen had to be like this with everyone. He was obviously kind and welcoming by nature, sociable and sympathetic. He’d seen Walter hiding away and wanted to draw him out, let him enjoy the party. This attention and care would only last for this night, and Walter was already dreading the moment he would have to go home and not see Stephen’s blue eyes any longer, his beautiful face or exuberant smiles. Despite how ill-matched they would be as friends, Walter honestly felt as if a kinship was forming between them already. An illusion, surely, but it was a tempting one.
When Walter’s cousin finally came to collect him for the trip home, Stephen even managed to look disappointed, and when Walter extended the courtesy invitation for a visit to his home, Stephen promised to take him up on it.
When Stephen actually called at Walter’s family home a few days later, Walter was at a complete loss as to why. But it was just as easy to fall into conversation with Stephen then as it had been the night they’d met, just as impossible to refuse his request for a walk in the orchard, and far more difficult for Walter to try to protect his heart from its inevitable break when Stephen found himself a new shy young man to focus his sympathies on.
oOo
Two months later
Stephen was telling a story. Walter, who was sitting beside him on a sofa, had long since stopped paying attention to it, largely because it had to do with athletics, and he honestly had no idea how to follow along. Instead he simply listened to Stephen’s voice, marking its rise and fall, the measured pauses where he stopped to breathe, the grand theatrical delivery that came so easily to him. The illusion was broken when Walter failed to laugh at something Stephen clearly thought was funny, and Walter felt a hand on his arm.
“You’re not listening,” Stephen accused gently, looking fond and indulgent rather than irritated. Walter had never once seen Stephen slip from his constant good humor.
“Of course I am,” Walter lied.
“Then am I discussing baseball or boxing?”
“I— haven’t the foggiest idea. But I’m glad you enjoyed it so much.”
Stephen laughed and squeezed Walter’s arm gently before letting go. “Well then, you must tell me, Walter, whatever am I to do to get your attention?”
It was that kind of sentence that still had the power to destabilize Walter. Stephen Fletcher had a naturally flirtatious manner, and despite how ridiculous it would be to have a man like him— not that there were any other men who could hold a candle to him— display romantic feelings for a man like Walter, Walter’s heart still longed to hear such a thing as if it were in earnest. As if Stephen wished Walter to admit that all it ever took to get his attention was for Stephen to simply walk into a room. Perhaps even to say that if Stephen wanted the rest of the world to fade away permanently, he would only have to remove his jacket and tie and unbutton the top of his shirt. Walter had spent far too much time alone imagining what Stephen would look like with his shirt unfastened.
“So long as you don’t start up your limericks,” Walter said.
Stephen leaned back on the sofa, adopting a careless pose, with his hands folded behind his head. It only emphasized the broadness of his chest and the length of his muscular arms. “Now, I must protest that. When have I ever engaged in such base entertainment as limericks?”
“A month ago at that picnic your uncle hosted.” Walter hadn’t wanted to go to the picnic, but he’d been dragged along again. He’d told himself that it would be worth it to see Stephen, yet when he got there, he still hung back, feeling worried and out of place. But when Stephen had realized Walter was there, he’d gotten the most beautiful smile on his face.
Stephen had the same smile now. “Oh, yes. Dreadful affair. If I recall, the only redeeming quality of the whole afternoon was my limericks making you blush so becomingly.”
“Of course, how entertaining to have me be completely mortified.”
“I didn’t want you mortified, I wanted you to blush. It’s very pretty.”
“I’m sure I looked sunburned.”
Stephen was still looking at him fondly, and put out a hand to steady a curl that was beginning to misbehave. “Walter,” he said in an oddly light voice, “have you ever kissed anyone?”
Walter nearly choked on a breath of air. “What?” He felt his cheeks flame. “Oh. You’re trying to get me to blush.”
"Yes,” Stephen admitted, looking entirely unashamed of himself. “But I’m also serious.”
It was an impossible question to answer. Walter hadn’t, of course, because who would ever want to kiss him? But he hesitated to say so in front of a man who was well known to have had a series of ardent, though brief, affairs with men and women in his social circle, people nearly as beautiful as himself. Even without the gossip, you could tell Stephen was experienced with the art of love just by the air he had— comfortable in his attractions, confident in his flirtations. Of course, no one had managed to capture his heart yet. Walter assumed that Stephen, fun-loving playboy that he was, was probably uninterested in any lasting romance.
It seemed Walter’s silence was answer enough. “Have you ever wanted to?” Stephen asked. “Or is it not something you're interested in?”
“I’m…” Walter’s voice came out with a bit of a squeak. He turned away, addressing one of his bookshelves. “I’m not uninterested. I just—”
“Would you be interested in it with me?”
Walter could feel himself blushing so hard that his eyes watered. “That’s not funny.”
Stephen placed a gentle hand beneath Walter’s chin and turned him back around. His expression was searching and sad. “I’m not being funny. Honestly, Walter, I’ve told you how much I love to spend time with you, and I don’t think you believe me.”
“I believe you see me as a friend,” Walter said hastily. “A good friend. And I see you the same way. But you’re just— you’re very—” Stephen had his eyebrows raised, looking as if he were terribly interested in the end of that sentence. “Kind,” Walter finished quietly. “I know you’re being kind to me. You think I should have a friend. But you’d never really want to— with me.”
“Now, why on earth would you say that?”
“Because— I know I'm hardly anything to look at.”
It was the plain truth, but Stephen didn’t seem to like it. “I don’t know who’s told you that, my darling, but I wouldn’t trust them to report if the sky was blue."
“But you are so—”
“Do you find me attractive?” Stephen asked, looking like he honestly didn’t know the answer.
“Everyone finds you attractive.”
Stephen hummed a little, dismissively. “That’s very generous. Right now I'm only concerned with you.”
Walter looked at the man sitting beside him, golden hair and bright blue eyes, today in a warm brown suit jacket and a pink shirt, with high waisted trousers and fitted vest that showed his toned physique. Stephen was so effortlessly beautiful. God, what would he look like with that shirt unbuttoned? “Of course I do,” Walter breathed.
Stephen seemed to relax a bit then. “They say everyone deserves to be properly kissed at least once in their life. It’s a pleasure everyone should know, if they’d like to. My dearest Walter, I’d very much like to be the one who kisses you.”
“Why?”
Stephen’s voice fell low. “Why don’t you let me show you why?”
Obviously, there was no way Walter was ever going to be able to reject this. If Stephen really wanted to kiss him, for whatever inconceivable reason, Walter would give in. No matter what a terrible idea it was, or how quickly a thing like this was going to break his heart. “Okay,” he said faintly.
Stephen’s hand moved to cup Walter’s cheek. Stephen was smiling softly at him, looking reassuring and tender as he leaned in and pressed his mouth against Walter’s. Walter could feel Stephen’s breath on his lips, and the gentle pressure of his mouth made his whole body shiver. Walter’s hands would not stay still, one of them grasping at Stephen’s jacket and the other nearly reaching his waist before Walter got it under control.
Stephen released him, and sat back. His gaze flicked from Walter’s mouth to his eyes, studying. “Was that all right?” he asked.
Walter was still coming to terms with the fact that Stephen Fletcher had kissed him, him, that the world had shifted from a place where he’d never known physical love to one where he’d been kissed by the most gorgeous, charming man he’d ever met, and that it was now over. And likely would never come again. He managed to nod.
Stephen smiled gently at him. “Then open your mouth for me, my darling.”
Walter gasped, and Stephen caught him at the back of the neck to hold him steady as he took advantage of it. His tongue swept into Walter’s mouth, slow and sweet, as if he wanted to taste Walter. As if Walter was something he actually wanted.
Walter was overwhelmed almost immediately by the feel of it, by the knowledge that for one more undeserved moment, he was the focus of Stephen’s Fletcher’s romantic attention. This time he couldn’t stop himself from grasping at Stephen’s clothes with both hands, trying to pull him closer. Stephen groaned softly and Walter heard it but also felt it against his mouth, which made him shiver again.
Stephen brought up his hands to cup Walter’s face and turned his head a little, sliding his tongue in deeper now as they fit together better. It felt impossible, unthinkable for Walter not to join in the most beautiful thing he’d ever felt, and so he found himself kissing Stephen back, tangling their tongues, clumsy and inept, but ardent.
Stephen’s grasp tightened, his fingers sliding into Walter’s hair, catching in his curls. He showed no sign of minding Walter’s inexperience, continuing to kiss him with an intense focus, as if he might honestly be enjoying it.
Walter, meanwhile, felt as if the world had become a firework exploded in slow motion, with color everywhere, and a feeling of being weightless and falling. He knew experienced men did not become aroused from mere kissing, but he couldn’t help it, he was harder now than he’d ever been in his life. If Stephen lowered his hand to Walter’s trousers, Walter would probably climax right here on the sofa with just the touch of those graceful fingers. He didn’t even have the energy to feel ashamed of it, with his whole body and mind mesmerized by this kiss.
Eventually things slowed, and Walter realized Stephen was bringing them to a stop. Still Stephen took the time to give him a series of shallower kisses, a last taste of the inside of Walter’s lip, a last slow slide of tongues together.
When it was over, Stephen kept one hand cradling Walter’s cheek, and his expression was as fond as ever. “That’s why,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath and looking extremely pleased. “There’s so much passion in you. You’re gorgeous when you let it out.”
Walter could hardly speak. “I’m not—”
“Oh, really?” Stephen laughed. “Because that was a hell of a first kiss.” Stephen pressed his lips lightly against Walter’s forehead. “It drives me mad how you usually hide that fire inside you, and all the while I know it’s there. I saw it the night we met, in your dark, sparkling eyes. I wanted to kiss you then, but I wasn’t sure you’d let me.”
Walter had never in his life been called passionate, or ever considered the idea that someone might want to kiss him. “You think I would ever refuse you?” he asked, quite before thinking it through, and his face immediately blazed red.
“And there are those blushes,” Stephen whispered, and kissed him on the cheek. “Walter, you are a delight.” A look of gentle remorse crossed his face. “And now you’re quite overwhelmed. Come here, darling, rest against me and tell me all about whatever book you’ve been reading lately.”
Stephen drew Walter close, until his head was cushioned on Stephen’s chest, stretching an arm around him and letting his fingers run through Walter’s curls.
Walter at that moment had absolutely no idea what books he’d read lately, but Stephen didn’t seem to mind the silence.