Here’s a short one shot associated to my Wintercaulay headcanon (the one with migraine Henry mistaking Charles for Camilla and kissing him), a brilliant suggestion from the wonderful @papencaulay
Just for the warning, it’s the first « fanfic » I write so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.
When Charles pushed the old wooden door, a terrible screech that didn’t fail to make him flinch welcomed him and he was soon wrapped into a blanket of shadows. The room bathed in obscurity, the outside world’s sounds drowned as if he had entered a bubble away from time and reality. There was no sound, no movement and Charles couldn’t help but feel a twinge of relief as he realised : “Henry must be asleep, I’ll just drop the medicine Camilla gave me by his side and leave before he notices me.”
As if in a dream, he took a few hesitant steps inside, blinded at first by the burning obscurity. He was immediately welcomed by a foul humid atmosphere, its hot pearly breath clinging to his skin to sparkle it in pearls of sweat. Clenching more tightly the precious remedy in his hands, he blinked a few times as he tried to make sense of the room, his eyes slowly getting use to the darkness around him. He soon spotted with a certain relief the large towering shadow of Henry’s bed and hurried his way to it, wishing to get out of there as quickly as possible; but his haste was cut short as his hurry only rewarded him with sharp pain as he stumbled across a chair, his foot trembling at the impact as a loud noise filled the room.
“Damn it !” he cursed under his breath, halting and fixing his eyes once more to Henry’s bed. He could now distinguish the large form of Henry melted between his multiple pillows and couldn’t help but feel alert, studying each and every breath coming from the sleeping figure.
“Surely such a sound must have woke him up” he though with a grunt. Yet Henry remained motionless, his chest simply rising and falling back in a precise, metronomic motion. One, two, three steady breaths… Charles didn’t move until he was certain the beast was still asleep before tip toeing his way to Henry’s bedside, keeping a close eye on the sleeping giant.
He was slowly bending down to press the little package in his hands to the golden wood of Henry’s bedside when he suddenly felt a strong grip at his collar that tugged him forward. The last thing he saw were two glows of deep sapphire blue before he felt a wet warmness crash into his lips. Charles froze at the sudden impact, yet didn’t move, neither pulling away nor leaning in as he felt a thrill storming through his veins at the intensity of the lips moving against his. A sudden dizziness swept across him as he heard his clothes ruffle against the silken sheets and a coarse broad hand tugged through his curls, bringing him closer with an odd unprecedented familiarity.
The gestures were so feverish yet gentle, an aching tenderness lingering in every touch and Charles felt himself melt in this unknown love, a warm cloud taking hold of his mind. But as he was starting to let himself bask in this glowing love, in that so passionate yet sweet kiss he received to his heart as a “thank you”, he suddenly felt nothing but the choking air. The lips were gone as quickly as they had arrived and Charles stumbled lightly a few steps away.
He was so overwhelmed by the unexpected encounter he nearly missed Henry’s head falling back into his pillows with a soft thud, but the light grunt of pain that escaped the tall man at the movement brought him back to reality.
“Henry”, he thought,”I just kissed- no was kissed by Henry Winter”. And just as they had warmed up under the loving touches, his lips felt now cold yet burning, their wetness dripping on his chin in a manner that made him nauseous. He had kissed Henry Winter… he had kissed Henry Winter and had enjoyed it.
He could still feel on his lips the light caress of his breath, the feverish twitch of his pink flesh, the soft scraps of his teeth against his own skin. The memory seemed everlasting, his lips aching. He wished nothing more at that moment than to bathe his skin until it was freed from Henry’s ghostly breath. And yet, he would never forget the cologne heavy sent that bewitched his mind, the coarseness of the fingers roaming their way through his curls, tugging them, owning them, freeing him from any thought other than that love, that oh so sweet love he craved since childhood, yet had never received freely until then. How could he forget the taste of tenderness, of an affection not chased, not fought for, but an affection so sweetly offered as if it was the easiest gift, the most natural thing to do ?
And yet… it had been taken from him. His breath, his love, his morals, his now slipping sanity, Henry Winter had taken them all in one touch, in one kiss, in another stolen kiss. It wasn’t the first time that happened, Francis was always trying to reap one from his lips but, for the first time, he hadn’t been seen as an object, a relief to a frustrated soul. He had been loved, briefly perhaps, but loved still, even if it was just for a moment. He had been adored, his skin worshipped, his soul touched, seen, caressed, and all of these not as a forced token from Camilla nor the voluptuous rapt of a one night lover, but given by a dying man, by a nearly unconscious Henry Winter, his classmate, his friend, a man he both envied and was fascinated by, but worse than anything to him, by a man.
Suffocating with creeping guilt, Charles swiftly made his way out of the room, fleeing that wrecked room. Each of his movements was automatic, thoughtless, delaying the questions that were sure to flood his mind, why’s, how’s. And yet, as he was cautiously closing the squealing door, he couldn’t help but steal one last glance at a blissfully unaware Henry Winter.
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