10001 Nightmares Party

[Fic] but oh, how the river does so run (The Attic - A. M. Burrage)

Summary:

“Do you think Stanley likes me?” Derek asked.

Notes:

I'm sorry I ruined your first gift. Hope this helps <3

Work Text:

“Do you think Stanley likes me?” Derek asked his sister, Gladys, as he watched from the doorway Stanley and Raymond speak at the dinner table, lit candles in between them as they laughed in the evening light. Derek was watching from around the corner, a dark hallway behind him, and he’d already been spotted no less than three times but as nobody had yet to shoo him off, he simply remained, gazing at the subject of his pining.

“I think of no such things,” Gladys remarked beside him. She adjusted the pile of books she carried, and further added, “And if you wish to know yourself I rather suggest you simply ask him.”

Pouting, Derek rolled his eyes and sighed. She simply did not understand; Raymond had courted her quite fiercely; she had never born the agony of deciding if one's feelings were worth it to act upon, if they were great enough—or light enough, he supposed, that that seemed to rather defeat the purpose to his mind—that one could risk the existing friendship if one’s plan that did not pan out. Derek had been in this agony for weeks now, mulling over it even in his sleep. It had led to a great many sleepless nights, and a great many naps during the day to make up for it; not to mention the constant commentary he was offering to his entire family about his feelings.

For he found it quite easy, indeed, to regale all and sundry but Stanley about his feelings, including to his nieces and nephews and Raymond. They had perhaps even ceased to take him very seriously, he thought, for he truly regaled them of Stanley a great deal.

Though, in his defense, he rather failed to see how they could not.

"I just like him so much," Derek murmured, leaning his head against the doorway and sighing in despair. 

Gladys stared at him for a moment—hers was a gaze he could easily recognize—and then she, too, sighed. "You shall never have an answer at this rate," she profoundly stated, and left him to his lonely fate.

Derek shut his eyes.

It was not, so to say, that Derek was afraid. It was not even necessarily that he feared Stanley's reaction. It was only—what if Stanley had never even considered it? Somehow, that would be worse than if Stanley had thought of it and rejected it. Would be worse than if Stanley had carefully calculated the possible outcomes, and decided it was not something he wanted.

Somehow, that was a thought he could not stand, one that had held him tight in its grip for quite a while, and something he did not know how to defeat.

Derek sighed.

"May I ask what ails you so?" Stanley asked.

Started, Derek opened his eyes, pushing himself off the doorframe and shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He smiled—he seemed to always smile when he was speaking to Stanley, he had noticed—and said, "I'm quite fine, indeed."

Stanley raised an elegant eyebrow. He was exceptionally handsome this eve; indeed, he was exceptionally handsome all eves, and mornings, and middays. He was the kind of man that looked good in any light, that invoked comparisons to men of legend, and though Derek was not one for poetry that was increasingly what he found himself doing of late. To look at Stanley was something he could do for hours, and had to his great embarrassment and Gladys' great amusement done, and his grin now felt so soft upon his face that surely all his thought must be on display. "I find I don't quite agree, young chap."

Derek hummed, a great warmth coursing through him. He gazed at Stanley through his eyelashes, for the length of a breath unable to stand staring directly at him, without any disguise pulling him quite together. "It is only that it has been quite a long day, you see. You need not worry." A pause, and then he grinned. "Old chap."

Stanley nodded, eyes glittering in amusement. "Quite so, indeed," he agreed, then remarked, "Though you have been standing here for so long I had been getting worried, you see. I do not wish—I never wish—to cause you any trouble with your family. If I am in the way—"

"Oh no," Derek breathed, shaking his head. "You're never in the way."

Stanley smiled. It was an exceptionally beautiful smile that lit up his whole face, and Derek's breath caught in his throat, entirely abandoning him like the airless thing it was, and he pressed a hand to his chest, for his heart was beating quite fast indeed, and he was not entirely sure the thing would not simply fall right out. And suddenly, Derek could see no reason to hesitate; was Stanley not a great man? Did Stanley not always strive to comfort him, to be there for him, to give him things he did not need to be given? Did Stanely not go with him to the theater and opera—even though, truthfully, Derek was not a particular enjoyer of the latter—and did Stanley not accompany him on picnics, and on family outings and—Derek tilted his head.

"I might be a fool," Derek stated.

Stanley's eyebrows drew sharply together. "I shall think not," he protested, tilting his head and looking Derek over.

Derek shook his head. "No, old chap, I might be quite foolish, indeed." He looked at Stanley, in turn, and his stomach swooped. Biting his lower lip, he inhaled sharply at the notice that Stanley watched that; stared at that. "I must be so very foolish," Derek murmured, and before his newfound courage abandoned him, he grabbed a hold of Stanley's hand and stared into the older man's eyes. The light glittered in them; it was evening, and most of the wall lamps had been turned on, ornate things that reflected Derek's reflection in Stanley's eyes. He bit his lip again, breathless from naught but his own thoughts, and when Stanley did not pull his hand back, did not avoid his touch or step back from his closeness, Derek took a step closer.

He felt his chest expand, and he said, "I have the most glorious thought, I hope you know."

And then he kissed Stanley.

For a moment, Derek could not breathe. He could, in fact, scarcely believe his own actions. Was it not only moments ago he'd been peeking from afar because his courage could not be found?

Then, Stanley gripped his neck. Pulled him closer. Shifted them so that their kiss was easier, not quite so much bumping of noses, and Derek carefully exhaled through his nose, eyelashes fluttering, stomach swooping so badly he could barely remain standing, stumbling backward right into the wall, and Stanley effortlessly went with him. He gripped Stanley's shoulder, then tossed his arm fully around Stanley's neck so he could press ever closer, their chests flush against each other. The kiss was warm, Stanley's lips soft, and Derek could think of nothing at all but this.

"Quite foolish, indeed," Derek murmured when they at last parted, what must surely be hours later. Stanley huffed a laugh, pulled him close for another—this one was quite chaste, but all the sweeter for it—kiss, and then rested their foreheads together, Derek's eyes caught in the web of Stanley's scorching gaze.

"I am much the same, I fear," Stanley said into the air between them, and Derek smiled. Grinned, in fact, his heart a fluttering useless thing that appeared to have no intention of ever settling down.

And, to be quite truthful, he rather wished it never would.

Comment on AO3 or via email.

#Fandom: The Attic #Post Type: Fic #Rating: Teen #Status: Complete #Tag: Post-Canon #WC: 1000-5000