This was originally written for the one-year anniversary for daily_deviant. Happy birthday!
Title: Frame by Frame Author: ceria Characters: Kingsley Shacklebolt / Gideon Prewett Rating: R Word Count: 700 Author's Notes: Repost: originally written for daily_deviant's one-year anniversary celebration on lj.
~ * ~
Clothes from the prior day are strewn across the floor, sheets untucked from another restless night of sleep, and blankets scattered, pushed off the bed by flailing arms and legs. Three pillows are shoved in the corner, standing on end, blocking the view of a small, innocuous nightstand from the agitated man.
Frames cover the wood surface, pictures of two men laughing, arms entwined. Oak, maple and metal mixed amongst one another, each conspicuously clean in the disordered room. All aligned to tell a story, should one choose to read it, through the tiny frames of their brief life together.
~ * ~
He rarely sleeps well; tossing and turning, his hands reach across the bed, searching for his partner (dead, buried). He wakes, mumbling Gideon's name, and sitting up, rubs a hand across his bald head, looking around the room until he sees the nightstand. With hitched breath, Kingsley recalls the reason his bed is empty and sleep disturbed.
Various nights have diverse reactions to the pictures. If he's lucky, he can touch one frame and, clutching a pillow, fretfully fall asleep again. If it is not such a night he slowly, gently strokes each picture, one at a time, and remembers.
~ * ~
The first was a gift from Fabian; Gideon's first day as a professional Chaser, taken three years before Kingsley met him. Gideon looks so carefree with his infectious smile and brand new uniform. Kingsley likes him at this age, it reminds him of their first few encounters when both of them were too arrogant to imagine they could fall in love. It's one of the few pictures that makes Kingsley laugh (even now). Shifting on the bed, Kingsley wraps one hand around his limp cock, fondling himself, quickly getting hard as he thinks about their first encounter in an alley.
~ * ~
Next is Kingsley's first day as an Auror trainee, but he isn't looking at himself. In the background, Fabian's arm is slung around Amelia, her head resting on his shoulder as they talk to Gideon, who isn't paying any attention to their conversation. He is staring smugly at the camera. That expression alone drives Kingsley's need for orgasm.
It was taken five days after Kingsley convinced Gideon to try an exclusive relationship, one day after Gideon said he loved him. Kingsley remembers the spine-tingling awe he felt from those words, and sighs. He misses Gideon's voice, touching his bare skin.
~ * ~
The large picture in the oak frame is his favorite; Gideon sleeps on the sofa, green blanket slipping off narrow hips. Kingsley sets it on the bed next to him, touching the flat paper and pretends it is Gideon's real skin. His hand moves faster, thumb rubbing circles around the tender tip of his cock.
He remembers the reason Gideon sleeps, the long night they had celebrating something pointless that meant a great deal at the time. With so little to celebrate during the war, Gideon was fond of making things up. As if they needed a reason to love.
~ * ~
Hand moving quicker, moaning softly, he reaches for the silver frame tucked furthest in the back. He had been sick that day, feverish one moment, then cold the next. Gideon, just home from practice, had shed his clothes without thought and climbed into bed with him, enfolding arms and legs around Kingsley as he shivered, holding him until they fell asleep.
He doesn't know who took that picture, but Gideon received it as a present. Kingsley loves the intimacy of their naked, entwined bodies, Gideon's hand curled possessively around Kingsley's hip, his face buried in the crook of Gideon's neck.
~ * ~
Kingsley yells Gideon's name as he comes; a choked, awful sound he doesn't recognize as his voice. It's been like this for the past five months - since the Order found the Prewetts' ravaged bodies and he carried Gideon home for burial.
He can't find interest in any man or woman now, preferring his memories, Gideon's vibrant pictures, and his own hand. No one can compare and when Kingsley isn't frightened by the thought, when he isn't mourning the memory of love cut too short, he realizes that it won't always be like that.