10001 Nightmares Party

[Fic] if the current gets us (then it gets us both) (The Attic - A. M. Burrage)

Summary:

Nobody had ever accused Derek of being shy, and so after he'd spend a whole evening on his bed hugging Stanley's latest letter to his chest, he got back up and started planning.

Notes:

Work Text:

For Derek, the wait was well worth it.

That was not to say that this was something he had always planned; Derek was, in truth, little capable of planning much of anything those first few months after that accursed days in the the Telford's manor---spent far too many nights tossing and turning, unable to eat half as much as usual, shivering at ordinary shadows and flinching at strange noises. He worried his sister quite a great deal; she hovered, in a manner he had thought they'd grown out of, and she doted upon him like when he was child. It was not unappreciated, of course, but Derek did not wish to be a burden, and he feared that where it was headed would he do nothing.

Sending that first letter to Forbes---Stanley, as he was later told to call him---was the product of another sleepless night, of curling up on an armchair at closing in on five in the morning, the night heavy and something outside, and the simple ache of loneliness deep inside. For though Gladys cared deeply, and did all she could, it did not change the fact that she had not believed him.

It was perhaps a bit spiteful of him, truthfully. But when Derek poured his heart out into that first letter to Stanley, he did so under the assumption he would receive no response; indeed, part of him thought Stanley would not even read it: for though Stanley had been kind (so relentlessly kind) during those few days, in the end he was an adult with a life of his own and no real relationship with Derek.

But Stanley replied.

The plan did not begin then, either.

Derek went to university, got his first job, and wrote a letter to Stanley every month. It was usually filled with naught but simple complaints and stories of his days---complaining about his teachers, reminiscing about the days before university when his head didn't feel like it was an aching box of cotton before every exam, retelling an entire conversation he'd had with a friend, telling jokes and commentary about the lectures, bemoaning the state of his poor budget, delighting in the ducks that frequented the local park---but Derek still felt a great sense of relief after finishing every one. He delighted in doodling in the margins, adding in ferocious animals and star charts, and every Stanley praised his skill at art Derek felt a small flush rise up through his chest and his hands tingled.

Nobody had ever accused Derek of being shy, and so after he'd spend a whole evening on his bed hugging Stanley's latest letter to his chest, he got back up and started planning.

Gladys said, "I see you're in a fine mood," that breakfast, for Derek was visiting again. His work was fairly close to the Telford's home, and he enjoyed the chance to visit every other weekend or so. It was ont anything special, to be quite honest; Gladys was busy running after four small children and even with the servants she always seemed just slightly frazzled. Derek tried to help out when he could, but he suspected the children didn't much see him as an authority figure, because they had a tendency to run away the second he turned his back. After the fifth time he'd lost a child in the park, Gladys flatly refused to let him leave the house alone with them anymore.

Which was, in his opinion, not that strange a reaction. And though in his defense he'd found each and every child he'd lost and successfully gotten them home, despite the escape attempts, he could entirely see how Gladys should not entirely appreciate his retelling of the harrowing journeys home.

"I am," he agreed, smiling. He added, for Gladys rose an eyebrow knowing full well he was just about bursting with emotion, "I am visiting a friend."

"Ah," Gladys said, and went back to putting jam on her bread. "And would that happen to be a Mr. Forbes, this friend of yours?"

"You know we talk," Derek murmured, avoiding her gaze. It was rather an old habit of his, and he fiddled a little with the handkerchief. 

"Hm," Gladys hummed. "I do like him. He has been of great support to you, I know."

"Gladys," Derek said, holding a hand to his face, feeling his blush spreading. She said not another word about it but Derek spent the entire rest of the meal on needles, a strange heat spreading through him. He was quite used to Gladys' forthrightness and naturally he did not think he'd managed to hide his intentions from her; she could read him better than he could himself. Still, there was a certain amount of awkwardness in the knowledge that his older sister was aware of his scheme.

Stanley's latest letter included an invitation to stay for a week. Stanley had recently finished renovating the kitchen and the letter included a remark about how he'd taken Derek's advice on color-scheme, and while that alone made his belly flutter, it was rather indeed the fact that Stanley then went on a bit of a ramble about the things they could do when Derek arrived that had his mouth drying.

In truth, Derek had never been to visit Stanley's home. They had, in actuality, only seen each other twice since that dreadful summer, and Derek found himself missing Stanley with a ferocity he'd never known before. It was not the kind of missing that he felt for his parents, for they were dead and one did not miss the living in the same way, but it was an ache all the same, and one he no longer thought there was any reason to fight. He was, now, an adult, and he had a job and home of his own.

Hence, the plan.

The plan was rather simple, and all the more brilliant for it, in his own considerably humble opinion, of course. For though Derek was a virgin, he had witnessed some degree of seduction during his years---in particular those times when Gladys and Raymond began their nightly rituals of gazing upon each other quite wondrously---and so he felt that that he was quite prepared, all in all, and truthfully he did not see much point in waiting; he should indeed be skilled enough from his many fantasies and daydreams, he rather thought, to use his wiles to secure himself a paramour---perhaps even a husband, if all went well, and to be truthful, he surely hoped so, for in the many letters they'd exchanged, Derek had only ever fallen more and more.

Stanley waited for him at the train station. Derek spotted him from behind, and for a moment he froze, and did not move at all. Then, he drew himself up tall, adjusted his hat and tie, and gripped his bag with whitened knuckles. Stanley did not magically sense his approach, as Derek might have envisioned in dreams, but still, the smile upon Stanley's face when Derek cleared his throat and Stanley turned was---a thing of great beauty, and Derek thought of the poetry he'd written about Stanley and realized at once that it did not nearly begin to capture the radiance the man possessed, his kind face handsome in the fading sunlight and partly shaded by the hat's rim.

Derek found, now, that he had no words at all.

"Derek," Stanley said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. It was warm even through the many layers of clothing, and Derek was convinced his blush must be visible to all and sundry, but Stanley did not comment upon it. Merely smiled at him, eyes glittering, and said, "I have missed you," and Derek ached somewhere deep inside, and bit his lips lest he say something he could not take back. Like proclaim his eternal love.

Despite the years that had passed, Stanley was still a bit taller than Derek, but it was not so great a difference that Derek minded, though in actuality he probably would not have minded whether he was taller or shorter or anything, for it was a particular experience, solely being in Stanley's presence again and knowing he was to stay for a week at Stanley's home. The ride to Stanley's home was one that he could scarcely remember, for he was peeking at Stanley so often he failed to understand how he had not been caught. 

Stanley's home was a stately home, well-tended to with a beautiful garden that made Derek wish dearly he could do more than just doodle, and the urge only grew bigger the more of the house that he saw. They did not begin in the kitchen; Stanley showed him seemingly every nook and cranny before he took him there, as if solely to punish Derek for his impatience. And while it was not as if the kitchen was a particularly special place, either, Derek had formed a picture based on the descriptions Stanley had given him in lieu of any actual imagery, and he was eager to see how close he was to the reality.

"You are torturing me, I should think," Derek at last declared and crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to move another step.

Stanley stopped, as well, and looked upon him with the kind of patient, kind gaze that was utterly cutting, and a torture all upon itself. When Stanley tilted his head in thought, it dislodged a strand over hair from his carefully coiled hairstyle that thusly fell over his forehead, and Derek had the overwhelming urge to poke it back into place. That he did not was more due to Stanley doing so himself than any indication of Derek's strength of will, if one had to be honest.

"I suppose I am rather nervous," Stanley admitted.

"Why?" Derek shifted which foot was carrying the majority of his weight, and he added upon it, "I should think it would be of great pride for you, the way you have spoken of it in our letters."

Stanley bent his gaze toward the floor, and it was such a pretty image---not to misunderstand; Stanley was very handsome, of great physique and with a good-looking face, a strong jaw and a good nose,  and it was only that Derek was of quite romantic notions---and Derek had to bite his lip to strengthen his resolve. Stanley looked up at last, and his quietly offered, "I do not wish to disappoint you," was rather the kind of words that might break a man in two.

It was possible, entirely possible in fact, that upon seeing Stanley for the first time in so long, Derek's mind had gone blank enough he'd entirely forgotten about his scheme, and his wiles, and his wicked plan. It was possible every time he peeked at Stanley his thoughts fled further still---and he'd been doing quite a bit of peeking---and that every time Stanley looked upon him he was so caught in spirit and body that he knew suddenly not how to behave in a seductive manner.

They went to the kitchen. Modernized, newly cleaned, it was a great deal more beautiful than anything Derek had pictured, and though he was not all that great at cooking---he lived alone, now, and was getting remarkably better, but was still no competition of Gladys'---his fingers itched at once. Glancing at Stanley, Derek started at the soft look Stanley was in turn gazing upon him with, and Derek licked his lips without any conscious thought at all.

Stanley's eyes grew darker, and Derek had no sensible words to offer so what came instead was, "Thank you for the invitation," which he supposed was actually quite sensible, indeed, and so he smiled in satisfaction.

Stanley's eyes grew darker still. "Naturally," he said, and offered no more, and while Derek ached to know every thought going through Stanley's skull, he found too a profound satisfaction in being so clearly the center of Stanley's attention. It was petty of him, maybe; it was selfish, certainly, but he wished dearly for Stanley to never look away.

Smiling, he gazed up at Stanley from below his eyelashes, the way he'd practiced in the mirror. Stanley's next breath was a raspy, glorious mess, and so Derek took a step closer, held out a hand---hesitated, for a beat---and then snagged the edge of Stanley's suit-sleeve. Looked into his eyes on an inhale---it was a mistake, he nearly choked on his own emotions---and had no chance to say anything at all, actually, because Stanley grabbed a hold of his hand, held tight, and said, "I rather think I had better be honest about my intentions."

"Intentions?" Derek very nearly squeaked, eyes wide. 

Nodding, Stanley hummed. They were very close now, Derek noted, and had no idea when that had occurred. But standing in the doorway to the kitchen, he felt naught but a fluttering in his stomach so severe he almost was convinced he was sick, but then of course Stanley smiled softly, gently, kindly at him, and Derek's head thundered with so many noiseless words that any such sensation was buried in the heat of his veins, the raggedness of his breath, the shiver on the tip of his tongue. He wished to not let go, wished for Stanley to hold on, and wished evermore for a convenient invention that might transmit his thoughts in plain words, for he felt he could no longer speak.

"I meant no deceit," Stanley murmured.  Derek nodded, and Stanley's breath of laughter was the gentle kind, the soft kind made his stomach clench, his hands fist with the need to touch and be touched, to have and to hold and be held in turn. Stanley licked his lips, "I understand if this is unwanted but," and Stanley inhaled, then, so hugely that Derek could feel it through their hands, "I intend to woo you."

"Woo?" Derek breathed.

"Indeed, I am," Stanley inhaled again, his hands cradling Derek's gently, and of course what was Derek to do but step closer; "of rather great attachment to you, and I wish," Stanley paused once more. Derek stared into his eyes, and felt himself drawn in ever further. "I wish to have you."

Derek's bottom lip trembled, and he bit down upon to keep it under control. Inhaling sharply through his nose---it did not seem, to him, that he had breathed at all in quite a while---he put his free hand on Stanley's shoulder, felt the muscle there within, and exhaled. "I have my intentions, too, old chap," he remarked, and the tip of his thumb brushed against the bare skin on Stanley's neck, his eyes zeroed in on it. Then, he flicked his gaze up and grinned. "And I'd rather like to have you all to myself, I should think."

Stanley's lips parted, his eyes clouding. Derek pushed his hand into Stanley's hair and brushed his fingertips over his scalp, and he felt the shiver that traveled through Stanley all the way in the pit of his stomach. Tilting his head, Derek gazed at Stanley from below heavy eyelids. Stanley gazed back with so much want and affection that Derek could not see how he'd ever be able to let this go. And too, he saw no reason that he ever should.

"You are a delight, my dear," murmured Stanley. Derek's cheeks hurt from containing his smile lest he scare Stanley off,  and he hummed in agreement while resting his forehead against Stanley's, Stanley letting go of his hand to embrace him fully, pulling him close so they touched from top-to-bottom, and Derek spread out his hands on Stanley, too, holding tight and close, breathing in his warmth and his affection both and giving just as much in return.

"That is doubtlessly true," Derek said, a note of cheekiness that did not disguise the blush upon his cheeks, the unsteadiness in his breaths, the swaying of his limbs. "But I quite think you are not so bad yourself, darling."

Notes:

love confession tag: yes/no?

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