Who: Gabriel Allen and Bertram Eden What: A weekend in the country When: 30th December, 1888, morning Where: Gabriel's country estate
There were times, Gabriel figured, when a shoulder and sandwiches wouldn’t be quite sufficient.
From experience, he knew Bertie tended to wallow in his heartbreak, and coming as it did on the heels of Mal’s rejection, he knew his friend would be doubly likely to be stinging from it.
He was in the mood for indulgence, besides, and there was something to be said for getting away from the hustle and bustle of it all for a little while -- while he enjoyed the holiday parties, found them no end of entertaining, he was a creature who needed more than a heady rush of flirting and dancing for his sustenance.
A trip to the country seemed just the thing.
His country house was mostly for appearances -- a gentleman did need something of the sort -- but he did find it held some appeal for smaller parties. That, and he enjoyed the fresh, clean air. Besides, he was thinking about bringing a party down later in January, so he might as well open the house sooner rather than later.
He’d arrived the evening previous -- it’d been long enough since he’d been there last that he wanted to supervise the airing-out of the house -- and was currently engaging in his second favorite morning past-time -- tea and the paper.
Bertie was smiling shyly already when he was shown in, going to greet Gabriel and holding out his hands to clasp. It was an unremarkable enough greeting between friends if they were seen by any of the staff, with the added benefit of skin contact to exchange their scents. Just because Bertie couldn't smell it didn't mean that he didn't take comfort in it, and Gabriel's was a scent he wanted to carry on his skin.
"You do very well for yourself," Bertie complimented, teasing but genuine in his praise. "It's beautiful here. Thank you for your invitation. I don't have many friends - hardly any at all, really - with property outside of London, and it's a rare escape. It seems peaceful here, though. I hope you won't be too offended--I'd thought I might write some, while we were here, whenever other business demands your attention."
He searched Gabriel's face, looking for worry-lines, haunted eyes, signs of healing. "How are you? Well, I hope?" Bertie glanced around the room belatedly, realizing he should have thought to ask, and should certainly do so before it became awkward. "Is Miss Allen in residence, as well?"
“She’s still in town,” Gabriel replied, clapping Bertie on the back. “I think she’s rather enjoying stretching her legs, of late, and has some business to attend to. I’ll be sure to tell her you pass along your well-wishes.”
“And I am, quite,” he added, his hand shifting to Bertie’s shoulder. “I’d ask the same of you,” he added. “I hope the holidays haven’t been too taxing.”
Bertie’s careening had taken on a slightly more worrisome turn these last few months, with his run-ins with Biddie, and he knew that his friend faced some significant personal upheavals and uncertainty as well.
His grin was warm as he started to lead Bertie on a tour of the house. “Regardless, I’ve had my fill of parties, and cannot imagine a better way to spend my time, nor a better person to spend it with.”
"I could use some quiet time," Bertie admitted, leaning slightly into the hand on his shoulder. "Lord Black said I was welcome to visit Black Park in the new year, and I do intend to, but I thought I'd leave them some time to themselves after the holidays. And that's less of just being myself, and more...trying to be my best self, at all times." Which could itself be exhausting, particularly if the younger members of the pack were set on challenging him to find out where he fit in.
"I did attend their Yule Party, but I've been warned that they'll be testing me as they get to know me, which doesn't sound all that relaxing, I'm afraid." Bertie gave Gabriel a wan smile. "And anyway, there I wouldn't have your company, which is the most appealing aspect of this trip."
Bertie nearly told Gabriel not to mention him at all to Miss Allen, as Miss Allen would likely appreciate an absence of Bertie as a gift more than a reminder of his existence, but he didn't want to cause any fuss, so he kept it to himself. With any luck, Gabriel would forget.
Bertie also took care not to think at all, in any way, about Miss Allen's legs and what sort of stretching they might be doing. He was very nearly successful.
"Do you have much business here?" Bertie asked, hastily introducing a new subject. "Is there anything I can help with, to free up more of your time for your own enjoyment?"
“I’m planning to be sinfully lazy,” Gabriel replied with a smile as they walked through the drawing-room and into the study, which was pleasantly appointed and lined with books. “Other than catching up on correspondence, I think walking, reading, and a great deal of Nothing at all would be lovely. I might even give myself the luxury of being bored. D’you like horse riding? We could get out of doors for a little while,” he added, not missing the slight pull on the corner of Bertie’s mouth.
“...I hope,” he added, “that regardless, we might spend a great deal of it being ourselves.” His eyes met Berties. “I think I’d rather like that.”
"I would as well." Bertie fought the impulse to kiss Gabriel and reached out to touch his hand instead. Still intimate, but far less damning, were they to be seen. It was impossible not to think of taking this same care and more with Dex, and his heart ached a little, briefly, but he swallowed it down.
"I'd enjoy riding. Or walking. And, I think," Bertie admitted with another small, rueful smile, "I might enjoy not being myself for some time, as well. I suppose it would be fair to accuse me of hiding, while I'm here, but it..." He sighed and looked down for a moment. "It would be pleasant to escape from all of that, for a few days, in your company."
Bertie's eyes were drawn back, as they must be, to the shelves lining the walls. "Then again, I imagine that, you being you, there is a considerable collection of poetry on the shelves here, and I should enjoy reading it. Or hearing you read it," he added more softly. "If we should come upon some of your favourites. It's a good season to spend among friends, and I count many poets, through their words, as old friends."
“I’d hoped you’d like it here,” Gabriel replied, and, having noticed the abortive gesture, linked his hand through Bertie’s and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “The study is quite private,” he said, “and I make a point of paying my servants well. They’ll leave well enough alone in here, and when I only have a few guests, they know to take off after supper, and won’t come back until they light the fires in the morning. Breakfast can be a little late as a result, but I don’t mind.” He smiled a little. “It’s not quite Paris,” he added, “but it can be a bit of an escape. At least that’s the plan. And I should like to read you poetry very much.”
He tugged on Bertie’s fingers, his smile curling. “You aren’t here as a guest, you must know,” he added. “You’re here as a good friend, and what is mine is yours.”
Bertie went gladly at the prompt, pressing his cheek against Gabriel's chest and sliding both arms around his waist, closing his eyes to better breathe in Gabriel's reassuring scent and warmth. He stayed there for a long moment, just breathing, and then turned his face up to nuzzle into Gabriel's throat, finding his pulse point and laying a secret kiss there.
"I know," Bertie murmured when he'd taken his time enough. "I fully intend on raiding and enjoying your library. And you, whenever you're willing," he added with a half-embarrassed, half-fond smile. He drew back reluctantly, but it was surely better to make plans for the day than to lose himself entirely just standing in Gabriel's arms, letting everything else go. "Did you have an idea for where to begin our holiday? I've interrupted your morning routine already."
Gabriel laughed, and reached over to brush Bertie’s cheek affectionately. “Happily. Have you eaten yet? We could take some fresh air while the sun is still good, and then come back to warm up and laze about properly by the fire.”
He shrugged. “I figured it’d be a good opportunity to stretch those legs of yours, roam a bit. After all, wolves do like a ramble, and the city can be so constraining.” He grinned a bit. “That, and there’s something delightfully freeing about walking arm and arm and talking about whatever one pleases out in the open air, without a care as to who might see.”
Bertie's chest had been swelling at how easily Gabriel spoke of him being a wolf, accepting what Bertie wanted to be as well as what he was in truth, so that his last statement came as an unexpected puncture, pushing the air out of his lungs. He looked away to hide the sudden wave of unhappiness, blinking at books and the welcoming daylight outside.
"I didn't think there was anyplace in the world for that," he said quietly, trying to sound light and knowing he'd failed. He had to blink a few more times then, to keep Gabriel from seeing anything more than Bertie wished him to when he was being so kind and generous, and dredged up a wavering smile. "A walk would be...I'd like that, very much," Bertie replied finally. Seizing on the opportunity to distract Gabriel with a new subject and lighten the mood with a joke, he offered, "Perhaps we can teach me how to track, and I'll impress everyone at Black Park with my ability to find rabbits."
There was a brief pause -- Gabriel’s frown of regret was a quick one, and he leaned over to kiss Bertie on the temple.
He managed to hit all sorts of nerves with Bertie, for whatever reason -- although one was that Bertie was one giant nerve to begin with -- but he figured the best possible approach would be to take his friend at face value, and if Bertie wanted to talk of heartache, of Dex, it’d come spilling out in due time.
“A walk, then,” he said, “although I’m afraid I hardly know a thing about tracking rabbits. I’m not much of a hunter. My neighbors around here keep trying to rope me into foxhunts, but I’ve managed to dodge them so far.”
"Are there foxes? Perhaps we'll see one. They've brought enough over, it seems." Bertie's time spent in the country was extremely brief, and he knew very little of the gentleman's lifestyle on estates firsthand, though he'd visited various friends a few times at their family homes. "I'd consider that victory enough. Oh, I left my coat at the door...but I suppose we'll need yours, as well."
They dressed and made their way out into the crisp winter air, crunching through a thin layer of fresh snow. Bertie privately doubted any rabbits wouldn't hear them coming from miles off, but a fox might be braver, and would look very fine against the backdrop of evergreens and snow. He'd thought he would be frozen through in minutes, but his gloves, hat, and scarf kept out the worst of the cold, and even a strolling pace kept his blood warm. It was peaceful out, and Gabriel had been right about the country air.
They walked in companionable silence with their own thoughts before Bertie ventured quietly, "I don't know how you manage it all the time. If you can truly be yourself here, though...if there is such a place, I don't know how you ever leave it." He looked around at the expanse of frosted trees and gentle hills, no one in sight to intrude on their peace, and admitted, "I don't know that I could."
“It’s always a balancing act,” Gabriel replied, honestly enough. “I like the city far too much to stay away for too long -- and while a spot of freedom can be a small corner of Heaven, too much isolation can be its own prison of sorts. There’s a part of me that needs to be surrounded by people, and if wearing a mask to be among them the price I pay…”
He turned to Bertie. “I can see how the countryside would hold its appeal though. I’ve only been to Black Park the once -- tell me about the Yule Ball? How’d it go?”
Some of the tension melted out of Bertie at the memory, and he smiled more genuinely this time. "Well enough, I think. Lord Black said they would test me, and they did, but never cruelly. They only want to know where I fit in--they need to know, I think. We do the same as humans, you know, shifting our status among different groups, tracking social rank and personality beyond that--but with the pack, everyone has a place. So they're finding mine. Or what might be mine, if I'm accepted."
He couldn't remember whether he'd let Gabriel know of his other concern, but he thought Gabriel might have guessed, even if he hadn't. "As well as my joining the pack, there's a question of whether they'd accept me without my turning, which makes everything more complicated. I would--you know I would," Bertie voice softened at the thought, sweet with longing, "but there's Jamie, and everyone else to consider...and with ghosts roaming as they are, and so much unknown...well. Lord Black said there's some value to recognizing an individual's strengths as they're added to the pack, and that mine might be better left as I am. We don't know what would happen, should I turn. With the ghosts."
Bertie turned his face up a little into the sun and exhaled a cloud of warm air. "There was a bonfire," he told Gabriel, remembering, "and country dances, and I was terrible at both, but they let me help with adding some of the wood, and didn't seem to mind my clumsiness in learning the dances. The cook told me she'd set out tarts for me, that she remembered my favourite kind. I didn't expect that."
Bertie's voice was soft and amazed at that last. It was a balm over his sore heart, that he'd been so noticed and accepted already by people who mattered so dearly, even if a final decision hadn't been made, and likely wouldn't be for some time. Bertie could count those who welcomed him, one by one, until he knew he truly belonged with the pack.
"And they touched me," he said quietly, swallowing around a rising lump in his throat. "The way they do each other, or at least some of them. Do you know it? Just above my collar, mostly, so I would smell of them." He looked curiously over to Gabriel. "Can you tell, when others do that? Can you sense it, or smell it yourself? It seems..." Bertie took in a breath and let it out again. "It seems to me that everyone ought to be able to tell, that such a gift was offered."
Gabriel had been more than a little surprised at Lord Black’s about-face in regards to Bertie. He had to admit, from his limited experience with the werewolf, he’d thought him rather stiff and unyielding, and not particularly inclined to banter. For a while, he’d thought it was rather deep denial and fear of seeming improper via association with a creature such as himself -- the man had been a confirmed bachelor until quite recently -- but his quick and seemingly happy marriage to a young pretty thing, and his second, Mr Hill, rather dashed a few different theories.
Regardless, he was gentleman enough to admit when he’d been mistaken about a man’s character, and while Bertie did tend to be overly effusive when talking about him, by recognizing Bertie’s value, he’d gone a small way towards deserving it.
“He strikes me as a very deliberate sort,” Gabriel replied (rather charitably), “and I’m glad to hear he’s given you some thought -- what you would want, and how you are of value as you are. And that cook seems like she’s worth her weight,” he added, stoutly.
“I don’t smell touch given to others, per se,” he continued, “not moreso than you would be able to, I’d warrant, but I can taste energies, and when I’ve been touched by a lover, my skin recalls it for some time after -- the feel of it, like a lingering flavor on the tongue after a particularly good meal.” He looked over at Bertie. “I often think of it as a gift,” he added, tipping his chin. “A moment of shared vulnerability freely given can be such a powerful thing, even if it’s fleeting.”
Bertie let that settle for a moment, and then tugged off his gloves and chafed his hands together briskly before reaching up to slip his fingers briefly beneath Gabriel's scarf. He knew Gabriel could feed somewhat off of touch if there was desire behind it, but this wasn't intended as a lover's touch--it was a pack-touch, offered to a friend, who would carry it on his skin and value the gift as it had been offered.
After he'd reclaimed his hand, Bertie paused before donning his gloves again to dart up and give Gabriel a soft, light kiss. It had much the same sentiment behind it, but with the distinction of being offered to far fewer and dearer friends.
He smiled when he tugged his gloves over his fingers, arming himself against the cold winter air. "I think of it the same way," he replied, and - recalling Gabriel's words earlier - slipped his arm through Gabriel's to continue on their walk.
The rest of the walk was spent in a comfortable sort of quiet punctuated by a few bursts of effusion upon inquiry regarding Lady Black and Mr Hill respectively (whom Gabriel resolved to write a quick letter to, if not to thank the man outright, at least to keep him in mind as a worthwhile correspondent), and Gabriel’s occasional comments on the landscape, and how it looked in Spring, along with a suggestion that the effect would, naturally, best be seen in person to be truly appreciated.
He came to a halt as they approached the last turn before the house would come into view, pulling Bertie’s arm a little, and tipping his head quietly to the side of the path when Bertie began to ask why they’d stopped.
The fox blinked, and froze there for a second, before shooting away into the underbrush in a flash of rusty brown and white, its tail flicking as it disappeared.
“There,” Gabriel said, quietly, pleased.
Bertie stood still in quiet appreciation for a moment more, and then laughed softly. Leaning in toward Gabriel, he murmured, "Should I go and chase it?" smiling as he straightened again. "Thank you," he said more seriously, meaning far more than the fox, and squeezed Gabriel's arm before slipping away to a more discreet distance as they finished their walk up to the house.
Bertie expressed a desire for poetry and something warm to drink once they were inside, and Gabriel settled him in the study again, going personally to visit the kitchen for a tray. Bertie presumed it was to give him further privacy, or the illusion of it - or possibly to charm the cook into adding an abundance of sweets to the tray - and was grateful for the solitude, using the time while he waited to peruse the lengthy shelves of books.
By the time Gabriel returned, nudging the door closed with his shoe, Bertie had curled up on a couch near the fire with a short stack of slim volumes, all of them verse. He had the Rubaiyat open on his lap, a book so well known that there must be thousands of them in English bookshops, and was running his finger down each page before he turned it, skimming more than reading...saying hello to an old friend.
He smiled at Gabriel when he looked up, and nodded down toward the book. "I'd say it's disheartening, to write poetry when there was such magnificence in the world a thousand years ago, but then we wouldn't have it to inspire us." His finger traced another page, turned it without seeing the words. "I'd rather the world be filled with poetry than have mine considered the best someone had ever read. I think it only makes us strive to do better, when there's such beauty in the world. Like reaching for the stars themselves."
Gabriel’s laugh was low and soft, and he set down the tray on a low table by the couch before sinking onto the thick rug in front of the fire with a sigh, facing Bertie. He reached for the other man’s shoe, undoing the laces absently, the coziness of the room demanding a touch less formality. The light of the fire played rather well across Bertie’s features, suffusing them with warmth and glancing off of his cheeks and brow, and he couldn’t help but appreciate it.
“I think that’s why I like humans so very much,” he said, slipping off one shoe and starting on the second. “You have such an endless drive to build, to explore, to create for creation’s sake. To fill the world with poetry.”
“I’ll admit to a certain bias, though,” he added, grinning. “And seeing as I can rightly claim I noted the poet before I knew the man, I think it’s more than fair.”
Bertie's cheeks flushed with pleasure, as they always did when Gabriel praised his work. "As I'm the one benefiting from your bias," he returned, "I'm not going to argue with it."
He lapsed into quiet for a moment, listening to the crackle of the fire and enjoying Gabriel's hands cradling his ankle. "What riches do I have lain here at my feet?" he teased softly after a moment, offering a crooked smile as accompaniment to his answer. "More than I deserve." He glanced at the tea tray, and at the books, and asked, "Would you like anything brought down? Is it more comfortable down there, or are you thinking of leaning back and keeping my legs warm?"
Gabriel’s grin was endlessly fond -- he was reminded of their very first meeting, when he was taking off Bertie’s shoe for an entirely different reason -- and he remembered that first frisson of attraction despite Bertie’s embarrassment and both their hesitancies.
“I was thinking of leaning on you one way or another,” he replied. “It’s a quandary, to be sure, but I rather like the thought of resting my head in your lap while you feed me biscuits, at least for now.” His grin widened. “Which isn’t to say you can’t come down here if you’d rather. Find anything you’d want read aloud?” He asked, bending down to undo his own laces.
It felt like quite an intimate request, in spite of both of them being nearly fully clothed, shoes aside, and nothing outright improper about the proposed act. Although, Bertie realized in the next moment, it was intimate as Gabriel often was with him, in friendship. Intimate as the werewolves were with one another, without salacious intention. Whether it was for Bertie or himself, or for both of them, Gabriel was offering him another taste of pack, and Bertie's chest ached with it.
"I'd like that," he agreed quietly, and turned to arrange himself and the books, making sure that the tray was within reach before Gabriel settled himself. He glanced through the titles on the book spines again, and then through the chapter index of one collection to find a poem half-remembered. He found when he skimmed it that it wasn't exactly as he'd remembered, but there were still some good lines in it, ones he thought Gabriel would appreciate.
"I've one about riches," Bertie informed him as he set the book beside him, leaving room in his lap for Gabriel's head. He'd felt the impulse a moment before to run his hands through Gabriel's hair, and could indulge now, stroking back thick, wavy strands of it and feeling himself soothed by the comforting touch. He looked down at the book beside him, and then found himself reaching unexpectedly for another, one Gabriel knew by heart, but Bertie was still memorizing, though he knew it well enough to find the stanza he wanted, having had it in view since Gabriel had given him a copy as a gift.
"The expression of the face balks account, But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him, The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more, You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side."
Bertie rubbed the short, soft hairs at Gabriel's temples, the tiniest hints of silver hidden amongst the dark. His eyes lingered on the stanza Gabriel had read to him, once, because Bertie was greedy and couldn't help reading it again and again, drinking in every word of it. He resolved to bring a copy of it to Black Park when he went next, because though he didn't think Lord Black would find it appropriate, he believed Matthew might understand it, and appreciate what it meant to Bertie, if nothing else. Matthew had read his poems, had kept them, had passed them on to Lord Black because he'd known what they meant. Bertie ought to bring him more poetry.
He realized he'd fallen silent, and kneaded apologetically at Gabriel's neck. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking, I believe Matthew would love this one, as I do. As you do. Mr Hill," Bertie corrected himself, reaching for a biscuit to offer close to Gabriel's lips. "I ought to bring him more poems, and perhaps, if he'll let me, to read them aloud. I know he reads, but..." Bertie searched for the right words to express his thoughts. "Poetry is meant to be heard, as are plays. Heard and felt, as much as read. I could share them with him, that way, without any shame. And leave them, once he knows them. And that way Ned could hear as well, and anyone else who wishes to."
“See, now,” Gabriel replied, after he’d taken the proffered biscuit, “if all you ever give them is more poems, that will be a worthwhile gift indeed. I think he’d like it,” he added. “He reminds me of Whitman. Plain-spoken and rough-hewn. I don’t think I’d quite understood the appeal Black Park held for you til I’d met him,” he admitted. “Most of the werewolves I know are gentlemen, and that isn’t most werewolves, so it’s a rather unfair sampling. Not to mention I’d imagine they’re different when among their own, instead of in a mixed crowd.”
Bertie twisted short strands of hair in his fingers and contemplated that, rather wistfully. "I wouldn't know," he admitted. "Although...I think they've started to let me closer, somewhat. But that isn't the same as being one of them. I'm still me. I know what you mean, though, about it being different with all of them being together. Lord Black is different, when he's with the pack. Ned -" Bertie began to explain who Ned was, then cut himself off, as it wasn't his to tell "- is different."
He began to speak of Mal, and then decided he didn't need to. He'd moved on from that, they both had, and the point had been made. He dug his thumb into the muscles of Gabriel's neck instead, seeking to work out the knots there.
"They would understand this," Bertie said quietly after a moment, thinking of the way Ned rested his head in Matthew's lap when he was a wolf, and the easy way Lord Black reclined beside them. "Maybe not...the rest of it, not all of them, but they would understand us as we are now, here."
Gabriel hummed a bit in thought, his head bowing at a particularly good twist of Bertie’s knuckles, firm and sure and strong.
“Hn. Perhaps they’re much more aware they are animals at the heart of things, even though society tries its hardest to cover it all up with a veneer of respectability?” He smiled. “I think, at times, those rules of propriety are just begging to be broken, because they cannot possibly be fulfilled. Not in a way that keeps a body sane.” He laughed a little. “It must be so wonderfully freeing, to run around under the full moon and simply be, knowing what one’s place is in the universe, and having it be so much more than how much one makes a year and the cut of one’s jacket, and yet, so much simpler at the same time.”
He reached up to cover one of Bertie’s hands with his, and brush his thumb over the delicate knob of his wrist bone as he worked away.
“You’ve got out my Rimbaud, I see” he added, quietly. “Have you read him yet? He’s so very brilliant, I hardly know what to make of him, and I can’t help but think of the Antique with the fox we saw today, and talk of wildness.”
He sighed, pleased, turning to rub his cheek over Bertie’s hand before reaching for the book, having not quite committed it to memory.
“Gracieux fils de Pan! Autour de ton front couronné de fleurettes et de baies tes yeux, des boules précieuses, remuent. Tachées de lies brunes, tes joues se creusent. Tes crocs luisent. Ta poitrine ressemble à une cithare, des tintements circulent dans tes bras blonds. Ton coeur bat dans ce ventre òu dort le double sexe. Promène-toi la nuit, en mouvant doucement cette cuisse, cette seconde cuisse et cette jambe de gauche.”
His fingers lightly brushed over Bertie’s forehead, cheeks, and chest as he read, and as he ended, they rested lightly on his leg.
“Now that,” he added, quietly, leaning up to give Bertie a light kiss, “is most certainly meant to be read aloud.”
Bertie shivered a little in appreciation. There was something animalistic and erotic about the description of thighs and sex, and he could see a wolf in place of a faun, stalking slow and deliberate, eyes sharp. "I don't think I can read that one to Matthew," Bertie teased, smiling, before amending, "Though he might appreciate it. Thank you for that. I don't know much of Rimbaud, only..." Bertie flushed deeply, not sure why he was embarrassed now when he and Gabriel had shared rather more than a few lines of erotic verse. "We had, ah, a group that met, and read...bawdy verse, at Cambridge. The...the ode to..."
Bertie ducked his head and laughed at himself. "I know the one about the arsehole," he finished at last, certain he was now scarlet-cheeked. "What a terrible excuse for a poet I am, when you've read that other."
That earned him a laugh by way of reply, and a shake of his head as Gabriel got his knees under him and held Bertie’s face gently in his hands, kissing him again, sweetly. “My dearest,” he said, “if someone else can read your work and feels a fraction of what you felt while you wrote it, it’s a roaring success. You share little bits of your soul with the world, and the world is better off for it. I think it’s incredibly brave. And beautiful.” His hands slipped around to the back of Bertie’s neck, running under the collar. “Besides,” he added, “Not everyone is intended for greatness,” he added. “I’d imagine it’s rather exhausting. Rimbaud was utterly miserable before he slunk off to God knows where, after all, and hasn’t written a jot since, more’s the pity. But living well, and getting what happiness you can, that’s always worthwhile.”
“Besides,” he added, sitting back down again, “I could never do what you do. So regardless, you’re a far, far better poet than I could ever be.”
"You have a poetic soul," Bertie replied, soft and fond. He combed through Gabriel's hair again, and considered sliding down to join him on the rug. "I want that happiness for you," he said after a moment, still quiet. "I hope you find it. Your own Black Park, as I believe you told me. You give good advice." He nudged Gabriel a little, gently, and then curled over to wrap his arms loosely around Gabriel's chest, kissing his temple.
"Have you had any more trouble?" Bertie asked, even softer now, close to Gabriel's ear. "With...her?"
Bertie’s wish led to an unexpected ache, and a distant, fleeting sort of hope he couldn’t quite pin down, not entirely, but it was kindly enough meant.
His question was a harder one to answer, and he paused and shook his head before looking up at Bertie. “It’s endlessly complicated,” he said, quietly. “I’ve had no more trouble, but we tread in such small circles, our entanglement is simply a part of the landscape that must be. Leah’s working for Curtis on a project or another,” he added, before reaching up to cover Bertie’s hand with his. “Of her own accord, and I don’t suspect malice on his part. Once I found out, I told her everything, so at the very least, we both know the lay of the land. I suggested we ought to all sit down for a nice, civilized tea now that we’ve had some time to let the dust settle.”
The idea was ridiculous enough to earn a smile, and he leaned over to rest his cheek against Bertie’s. “And you?” He asked. “Anything further? Has she kept her distance?”
Bertie began to speak, then reconsidered and led with another thought. "She sent me a gift. For Christmas. Sugar plums and a jeweled kaleidoscope, which can't be cheap, either of them. Although I suppose with whatever she used me for, she may have made enough money to cover the cost." He didn't like to think of it in those terms, but he suspected that Mrs Linden did so, weighing cost against benefit against risk to make an assessment before she acted. She seemed a shrewd woman of business, used to calculating such ventures. Her company couldn't have done as well, otherwise.
"It's hers, you know," Bertie murmured, pensive. "The airships. One of the ghosts told me. Captain Curtis might be the public face, but it's her company." He couldn't remember if Gabriel already knew, but if he didn't, then Miss Allen ought to be warned.
Bertie closed his eyes, glad of the physical contact and the lack of Gabriel's eyes on him. "If I can help you, or her, I hope you'll tell me. If I'm...useful...to her, she might be willing to bargain somewhat. Although you've done so much already..." He didn't know where to go with that once he'd begun it, pulled in two directions at once, so he simply stopped. "No harm has come to me," he finished, giving Gabriel a small, reassuring squeeze. He looked down at the red string around his wrist, twisting his arm slightly to reveal more of it beneath his cuff. "Miss Bakst's string has done its work, and the only nightmares have been the usual sort. No more hauntings, only...memories and fears."
“Miss Bakst is quite a fearsome champion, isn’t she?” Gabriel replied, his fingers brushing over the red string. “I’m quite glad she’s decided you’re someone she ought to fight for.”
He sighed. “And as for her… I don’t care for the notion of her finding additional use for you, and what that might entail,” he added. “You are not a tool to be tossed about on a whim, and she’s shown too little care for your well-being despite her pretty and expensive apologies. If there’s a rather substantial need, and the terms are very clear…” he frowned. “...Even then,” he added, quietly, “I’d have to admit to some pause. Fearing for the body is one thing, but when it comes to the soul… now that is something I have little to no expertise in, and she’s bargained far too lightly with yours.”
He kissed the inside of Bertie’s wrist, right above the red string. “The bonds of parenthood, she respects. The rest…” he sighed. “The rest is far too precious to me, and not nearly enough to her, I suspect.”
Bertie had quite forgotten about Zipporah's visit until that moment, and thought he should probably provide some warning or mention of it, but first there was another formidable woman to consider.
"Miss Bakst called me a necromancer, I think," Bertie mused, turning his head to lay it on Gabriel's shoulder, still draped over and around him rather like a cape. "Or she said that what I did was necromancy, even if I wasn't actively pursuing an outcome. So my soul might already be endangered--more so than for being buggered by a demon," he added, pressing his nose along with his smile into the side of Gabriel's neck. "But the stain, after the ball...that was new." He shuddered a little. "And I'd prefer to avoid it as well. I just...if you should need me..." he finished, trailing off and giving Gabriel another squeeze.
Bertie looped his arm higher to trace a line on Gabriel's throat, the only skin apart from hands he could touch bared above Gabriel's starched collar. "Do you mean me, being precious to you? Or my mortal soul? Or are there others, as well?"
He could only think of Caspian, who was Gabriel's lover in more ways than the physical pleasure Bertie enjoyed with him, and even than the intimate friendship that brought them to moments such as this. He hoped that Mrs Linden had no reason to find out about Caspian and his theatrical troupe.
Bertie's lips brushed Gabriel's neck briefly before he added on at last: "Miss Bakst came to see me. About you. I think she might have gotten rather the wrong impression...or the right one, but she'd..." Misunderstood wasn't quite the word for it. Bertie made a substitution. "She held some misconceptions," he finished quietly. "She really is a fierce protector. I don't believe...I hadn't known she felt so, about me."
“Ah,” Gabriel replied, shutting his eyes, Dex’s easy dismissal and Zipporah’s fear and disgust all too easy to call to mind. “I don’t blame her for it,” he added, “after all, there are no end of stories to contend with. I am glad she went to you, if only to see for herself that you weren’t in any danger on my account.” He paused. “She’ll keep her peace, I hope?” He added, “if not for my sake, then yours, at least.”
“...Regardless, I care far more about what you think,” he added, quietly. “I don’t think I could bear it if you thought me heartless.” He kept his eyes closed, not quite wanting to see the poem of emotions Bertie would no doubt have written all over his face. “Yes, you are beyond precious, and yes, there are others. You know Cas, and there’s a sweet little mer I adore beyond reason, and another lover I am quite fond of as well. But when it comes to her, you’re the one she’s most drawn to, and God help me, I’m so deeply grateful you have such a fierce firebrand prepared to bring the forces of Heaven down on whoever would touch a hair on your head.”
"Gabriel." Bertie swallowed, feeling wholly inadequate and like he did nothing else but put a foot wrong when he tried to speak to Gabriel of lovers. Eventually he gave up trying and slithered down off the couch onto the rug, wrapping his arms around Gabriel in a tight embrace made only slightly awkward by his jacket, which he really should have removed before this.
"That's not what I meant, and I'm sorry for hurting you by my clumsiness." Bertie sought out Gabriel's hand to clasp, not relinquishing the rest of him but wanting to grasp on more solidly. "I only worried that she knew of them, and you might have reason to fear for them. That's all. I'm not...how can I be jealous?"
It was rather a hopeless situation all around, he thought, in terms of any romantic notions. Gabriel had other lovers, Bertie had...had another lover, and they made better friends than passionate lovers, but every time Bertie tried to express his feelings they came out jumbled up, as all feelings seemed to do.
"I'm here in your study, after a walk in the country, surrounded by books of poetry, and well-fed on tea and sandwiches. I wish you and Caspian, and any other, every happiness, but I could not wish to be happier than to have you as my dear friend. That is enough for me. It is more than enough," Bertie said firmly, seeking Gabriel's eyes to show how he meant it. "And I am glad of Miss Bakst, but I am glad of you as well, for you have done more for me than I'm certain I can repay, and I count you no less my protector."
He was speechmaking, he thought woefully, and caught Gabriel up in an embrace again rather than press on, giving Gabriel some time to let it all sink in before Bertie moved on to other matters. He did feel he needed to address one last thing, but he waited until they breathed together and he could feel Gabriel's heart beat before he broached it.
"You're in no danger from Miss Bakst," Bertie said finally, more quietly. "Nor is Miss Allen, either, I made certain of it. We spoke at length, and I let her examine me to prove there was no danger, no harm done. I fear I'd...given her the wrong impression, quite by accident, on visiting her after seeing...someone else," Bertie apologized, eyes closing briefly at the thought of Dex. Gabriel had guessed the identity of Bertie’s paramour, but as always, it seemed callous to bring up other lovers in Gabriel's presence. And Bertie didn't know that he could speak of Dex without giving away more than he intended.
"She said you were not what she'd expected," Bertie finished, stroking the back of Gabriel's hand with his thumb. "And that I'd given her much to think about. I believe you did, as well. And I believe she'll come around. She only needs time. And now I've gone on about it for quite long enough, but if...if you want to know anything I told her of you, I'll gladly tell you. If it would ease your mind." He leaned in after that last to kiss Gabriel's temple, then pressed his forehead there to stay close.
They sat there, wound around one another for a few breaths, and Gabriel’s grip on Bertie’s jacket tightened before he smoothed it down with a huff, kissing Bertie on the cheek and nestling into his neck.
“I am being a rather poor host,” he said with a rueful smile, “bringing the world in when what you wanted was a bit of a retreat. She trusts you, and I am glad to have your good opinion and stout defense of my character a part of her picture, for I have no doubt of either, and gladder still for your watch over my and my family’s reputation. Thank you for that,” he added, “truly.”
His smile softened into a grin. “If you should like to shower me with compliments, however,” he added, “I’ll hardly complain, but fair warning, I may have to thoroughly debauch you after. Or during, for good measure.”
Bertie smiled into Gabriel's hair and stretched out his neck to tuck Gabriel more securely beneath his chin. He had to close his eyes for a moment to grope after the words, but eventually he found the poem he wanted, and twisted slightly to pull the right book off the pile on the couch.
"The Patron (sir, ye maun forgie me; I winna lie, come what will o’ me), On ev’ry hand it will allow’d be, He’s just—nae better than he should be.
I readily and freely grant, He downa see a poor man want; What’s no his ain, he winna tak it; What ance he says, he winna break it; Ought he can lend he’ll no refus’t, Till aft his guidness is abus’d; And rascals whiles that do him wrang, Ev’n that, he does na mind it lang; As master, landlord, husband, father, He does na fail his part in either."
Bertie nosed into Gabriel's hair a little, finding his temple for another kiss, then his lips. "This is a retreat for both of us," he answered. "You don't need to worry too much about playing host. I'm certain I can find whatever I might want."
There was more Gabriel wasn't saying, he thought, but Bertie didn't want to push him if he didn't wish to talk about it. "Would you like to read more, or listen? Or, if you'd rather, I can read more Burns and stick my hand beneath your shirt both at once. I think I could manage it." His grin softened as he offered, "Or if you want to talk, I'm always here to listen."
Gabriel looked over at him, reaching up to brush an errant lock of hair behind Bertie’s ear. “Likewise, I’ll have you know,” he replied, kissing him on the nose.
His smile grew more than a little wicked, and he plucked the book of Burns from Bertie, flipping to a page, and handed it back. “Counterpoint,” he replied, laughing, as the page showed the verses from “Address to the Devil.”
“...I know it mentions a ‘certain Bardie,’” he purred, grinning.
He knew the poem well enough to tickle rather mercilessly when Bertie came to the bit about the ‘bitter claw,’ and there were enough tongues mentioned in the poem to provide an opportunity for some rather inspired moments. Bertie did his best brogue while Gabriel did his thorough best to distract him, and he quite enjoyed the flush on Bertie’s cheeks and the slight stutter in his reading as he lazily rolled his hips, laughing quietly into the sweet softness of his neck before giving it a very light nip at the conclusion.
Bertie was laughing and gasping throughout by the end, particularly when he reached his near-namesake and was sent to hell for ranting and drinking. When he wasn't breathless from one, he was from the other, and after he’d bared his throat wantonly for Gabriel’s teeth, Bertie had to stop to kiss him quite thoroughly for his teasing. "I thought you'd said you weren't that kind of devil," he said when he surfaced, shaking his head. "I could still go to church and all the rest. Although I haven't, much, so perhaps there's the problem."
They'd read enough now of satyrs and devils to bring another poem to Bertie's mind, one he knew better, for he'd read the poet any number of times, and this one in particular more than a few of late. Closing his eyes, and wrapping himself up in Gabriel and Gabriel in him at once, Bertie returned the favour and murmured familiar words into Gabriel's collar.
The first stanzas were easy, heartfelt, spun with warmth and passion for the verse. It wasn't until the end that Bertie realized the trap he'd fallen into, and the touch of melancholy that crept in as the parallel between Pan, god of the River, and Dex, dragon of the Thames, became too clear to ignore.
"Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan ! Piercing sweet by the river ! Blinding sweet, O great god Pan ! The sun on the hill forgot to die, And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream on the river.
Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man : The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, — For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river. "
They’d been dancing around Dex, whose presence had certainly been felt from time to time -- Bertie’s occasionally strained smile and slightly forced cheerfulness, his skirting over that ‘someone else’ he’d been with to so misdirect Zipporah, but this was the closest he’d gotten to touching on his heartache.
Gabriel didn’t know whether this was a harbinger of the floodgates opening, or would be all he’d wish to say of it for the rest of his visit, and he didn’t care to push -- he knew his friend could get a touch protective of his former dragon lover, and the fact that he and Dex had talked, that he knew of Bertie’s loss, could be a point of awkwardness. So he wrapped his limbs around Bertie’s even closer, and rubbed at his back, and just let him be for a little, their breath mingling together in gentle sighs of warm air as the fire popped and crackled.
“I am beyond happy I know you,” he finally said, “j’adore, mon cher canard.”
Bertie stirred from his quietude to rub his cheek against Gabriel's shoulder, and slid one hand up Gabriel's back to touch the nape of his neck above his collar. "Et moi aussi," Bertie agreed, and shook off thoughts of what had been and what couldn't be in favour of what was, and should be cherished.
"Mon patron," Bertie added, smiling a little. "After all, you do pay me in sandwiches." He nestled in against Gabriel to enjoy the warmth of the fire, settling in for a stretch. The tea had gone cold already, but they could reach the biscuits from here. Bertie followed that thought with action, and offered another to Gabriel’s lips. "And poetry recitation. Let's hear another."