I... maybe have written my first real X-Men - Rogue/Gambit fic. Inspired by an interview X-Men 97 Gambit Voice Actor did. And then, it got posted to Twitter. And then said Gambit Voice Actor reblogged it, READ IT, and commented.
I am so... shellshocked you guys. I cannot believe this happened. I just... I was shaking when I found out today. This is wild and amazing and I'm so flattered and wow. I just can't even believe it.
15 min fic prompt: They were all out of flowers, so you bought ______ instead. It’s the thought that counts.
Modern Day Bridgerton
A) Anthony slides the long, velvet black box across the counter. "They didn't have any flowers," he says, a roguish grin on his lips.
Kate, intrigued, opens it. "Anthony..." she gasps. The box contains a glittering diamond bracelet. She's so taken aback she doesn't know what to say.
"Do you like it?" Anthony's face falters a moment as he searches her. "If not I can get you something else -- emeralds or sapphires or..."
Kate places a reassuring hand against his. "I love this. I love you."
He takes her hand and kisses it. "And I love you."
****
B) Benedict nervously fidgets a little as he hands over a long tube. "They didn't have any flowers," he says.
Sophie, curious, opens the it up, and pulls out a rolled up paper. It's a painting, watercolor by the looks of it. A nature scene, full of warm blues and greens and a couple of familiar faces lazily cuddling against a tree."
"It's you and I," Benedict continues, shuffling from one foot to another. "There's our lake and behind there our cottage. And of course, our tree..."
"You did this?" Sophie asks, always astonished at Benedict's artistic ability.
Benedict settles a little. "Yeah..."
"I love it." Sophie pecks a kiss to his lips. "I love you."
****
C) Colin pushes the envelope towards her, a mischievous look in his eyes. "They didn't have any flowers."
With an eyebrow arched, Penelope opens the envelope. Her jaw drops slightly. "Plane tickets? Plane tickets to...?"
"New Zealand."
"New Zealand? Colin, you are insane."
Colin gives a playful shrug, and snips the tickets from her hand. "I mean, if you don't want to go..."
"Oh, we're going, my love. We're going..." Penelope steals the tickets right back and tugs him down for a kiss.
****
D) Simon plops the carrier in front of Daphne with little preamble. "They didn't have any flowers," he says briskly.
Daphne hears a cute, little bark from inside the carrier. "So the next step was to buy a puppy?"
"Rescue a puppy," Simon corrects. "Two of them. I'm sure the children will be delighted."
"Simon...!" Daphne shakes her head in disbelief, but her heart is swelling. "I do love you."
Simon remains stoic, but a twitch forms on the corner of his mouth. "And I love you."
****
E) "So, they didn't have any flowers," Phillip says, a little awkwardly as he hands over the potted plant.
Eloise tilts her head, perplexed, as she inspects its wackiness. It's a simple plant, with stems that shoot in every direction, curling wildly at the end. It's unlike anything she has ever seen before.
"It's Albuca Spiralis," Phillip explains. Eloise is endeared at how fascinated with the plant he is. "Or, a Frizzle Sizzle."
"Frizzle Sizzle?"
"Colloquially speaking, of course. It reminded me of you, you know. Unique in every way."
Eloise shakes her head. "My god, I love you, you weirdo."
****
F) John stands humbly in the doorway. "They didn't have any flowers," he say simply. He moves aside to reveal that he is not alone, and that there is another with him. "But I did ask Michaela to come for a visit."
Francesca swallows hard as she tries hard not to notice Michaela's lingering stare. "That is sweet of you," Francesca says, and avoids eye contact with the both of them.
John gives her a sweet kiss to the cheek. "Love you, dear."
"Love you," Francesca breathes softly, unsure of what else to say.
Summary: Colin returns home one evening to find Penelope reading his journal. She has some inquires about some undocumented time, and he tells the story of the infamous Contessa...
Notes: I've had this idea forever and just needed to get it out of my system. It's one part slice of domestic life, one part porn without plot, all of it full of love and emotions because how can you not with these two? There's a little pregnancy talk as it takes place in the months between the Butterfly ball and the epilogue.
For anyone wanting to read on Ao3 Here is the Link.
Thanks for reading!!
****
The Contessa
It’s evening when Colin arrives back at the house. He shuffles through the door, flushed a little from the warm, late summer air, a little from the half bottle of brandy he and Benedict had finished off not an hour earlier. It is still somewhat a foreign sensation -- leaving the family he had spent a happy afternoon with and the house he had grown up in to return to a place where the halls he now walks feels new and unfamiliar. But it’s not a bad sensation. In fact, he relishes the fact that he now has a place of his own. A home. A home for his own family.
He grins, and it’s not just the alcohol that makes him a little dizzy.
“Pen!” He calls out. They spend a considerable amount of their time together but on days they’re apart, he’ll usually find her at the desk in the study. Curiously, she’s not there. “Penelope?”
“She’s retired for the evening, sir.” Penelope’s hand maid, Rae, passes him in the hallway. She points back to the bedroom.
Colin furrows his brow. His wife has been fatigued more often than not as of late, and it has had him concerned. “Is she well? Perhaps I should have stayed…”
Rae holds one hand up, and shakes her head with a smile. “She is fine, sir,” she assures him. “And doing well for one in her condition. Besides, her mother was with her most of the day. Nothing to worry about. She only wanted the comfort of her bed for reading.”
“Thank you, Rae,” he says, giving a nod to dismiss her.
He isn’t entirely comforted. Lady Featherington has been a source of contention recently; wanting to be at Penelope’s side more often than not. Never in her life, Penelope has complained to him, has her mother shown her so much attention. Perhaps it has to do with Prudence and Phillipa giving birth to two, sweet little girls that now Lady Featherington’s sights are set on her third daughter to produce the heir she so desperately desires. And it would give Colin a slight sense of satisfaction if he and Penelope were the ones to bring that heir into being. But Penelope’s comfort has always come first, and Lady Featherington’s unusual form of mothering is often too much. He can only hope that she hasn’t pushed Penelope past exasperation.
Colin is indignant as he enters their bedroom. He doesn’t care that it’s evening, or that it might be seen as improper, he’ll head straight to the Featherington estate to give his mother-in-law a piece of his mind if he finds she’s been the source of his wife’s discomfort. His emotions are easily bubbling to the surface but the minute he catches his wife’s reflection in the mirror, they shift from discontent and worry to… something else.
He pauses, watching Penelope in the mirror. After a day of being apart, his chest tightens at the sight of her. She’s sitting, soundly, on her side of the bed, legs curled under her as she reads. She is already in her pale, pink nightgown; her red curls down and resting gently against her bosom. Her skin glows softly in the candlelight. He has wondered that maybe after months of marriage if the deep desire he felt upon looking at her would eventually diminish or change but it has not and instead he has accepted that it will always be a part of him, always simmering in the back of his mind, waiting for an appropriate time to be unleashed.
Penelope is too engrossed in her reading to look up. He notes that it’s his journal that she’s reading so intently, a thought that brings a smirk to his lips, and he can’t help but wonder what part of his journeys has her so captivated. She scratches a note in the margin, then continues reading, the feather of the quill lightly dancing teasingly against her lips. He watches, mesmerized.
“I can feel you staring at me,” she says, suddenly. She doesn’t look up from her reading, taking the moment to jot down another note, but a smile climbs on her lips.
Colin crosses the room, over to her side, bending down to give her a kiss on top of her head. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to stare at one’s wife. Especially, when that wife is as beautiful as you.”
He goes to move away, but she pulls him back, looking up at him with that same mix of wonder and slight disbelief she gets whenever he compliments her. “You are really too much sometimes,” she says, tugging him down for a quick kiss. “I am ghastly. Bloated with child. Sweaty, swollen, and uncomfortable…”
Concern crosses his face. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I think that you have done enough,” she says. It’s a gentle tease. Despite any worries he has, she seems in good spirits, tenderly cupping his face as she draws him in for another, quick kiss. “Mmmm, you’ve spent a considerable amount of time with Benedict tonight.”
It’s the alcohol on his breath. No denying that. “He’s a nuisance, really. Insisting that we celebrate Gregory going off to Eaton with cards and a drink.” He moves away, sliding into the chair near the bed and begins unlacing his boots.
“So he coerced you into it?” Penelope asks, her eyes bright with humor.
“Of course,” he jokes. He’s only half in jest about Benedict. Lately, his usually free spirited, energetic older brother has become listless. Colin is glad, at least, that Anthony is away in India, handing over the household duties, giving Benedict something to do. Otherwise, he worries Benedict would attempt to find his purpose at the bottom of every bottle. He tells Penelope as much, but leaves out the part that before them, before her , he had felt the same way.
“I’m sure Benedict will find his own happiness,” Penelope says, as if she can read his thoughts. “But what of the rest of your family? Is your mother well? How is Eloise? I feel terrible that we haven’t seen each other much in the past few weeks. I do miss her.”
“Mother is good,” he replies. He takes off his jacket, hanging it on the stand next to the dresser. “Hyacinth sends her regards. Eloise is… as Eloise always is. She talked my ear off about some book that she said I must tell you about. Some horrific novel about a scientist who creates the perfect man only for it to be a disaster. She called it a literary masterpiece, and claims that you must pick it up when you have the chance.”
“That sounds thrilling,” Penelope says, delighted. “Will you be able to pick me up a copy? Reading might be the only thing I can do soon, and one can never have too many books.”
“If it is your wish,” Colin replies. “It does sound like an absurd tale. But that might be the way Eloise described it. She’s always had a flair for the dramatic in her commentary.”
“And that is why we adore her,” Penelope says. “I think I’ll try to have tea with her at Bridgerton House. The fresh air would be nice and I would very much like to get out of this house.”
“But your condition…”
“Is fine,” she lets out a laugh. “I am not bedridden yet. There is plenty I can do…”
Her eyes remain fixed on him as he undresses. He enjoys the way her gaze lingers as he casts off his layers, preening a bit as he unbuttons his shirt and discards it onto the chair. Her eyes are wicked with want, and after a four day disruption due to her not feeling well, maybe they could return to their usual nighttime routine.
Pen licks her lips as he approaches the bed, but continues with their conversation. “It’ll have to be Thursday,” she says. “Friday, my mother wants all of us girls and their husbands for a dinner.”
His trousers remain on (for now) and he comes to the bed, flopping down on his back to stare at the ceiling, letting out a protesting groan as he does so. “Are you sure we need to be there?”
“You won’t be forced into conversation with my sisters,” Penelope says, reassuringly. “You can spend time with Mr. Dankworth and Mr. Finch in the drawing room as you always do. I promise to keep my mother busy so to keep the two of you apart.”
He grumbles, turning on his side. In truth, Albion and Harry have grown on him some. They’re two of the biggest dolts he’s ever known, but they’re kind and amusing and seem to have embraced him as their leader in the secret club reserved for men who adore the Featherington sisters. It’s charming, really. And while he much prefers his own brothers, he’s well aware he could do much worse when it comes to brother-in-laws.
“So, you mother…” he broaches the subject carefully. Penelope’s relationship with her mother is fragile but mending, and he treads carefully. “Was she too much for you today?”
“She’s too much any day,” Penelope says, though her demeanor remains light. “She just wants what’s best for me. She did try to force me some horrid, green drink that’s supposed to manifest a boy instead of a girl. I really doubt it, but even Varley was swearing by it.”
“I dare say,” Colin says, “as much as I would revel in you having the heir to the Featherington estate, I would be pleased in having a girl, because it would annoy her so.”
“Colin!” Penelope says, chiding him playfully.
“Well, it would.”
She rolls her eyes at him. “Let’s move on from my mother. You’re right, I have had too much of her today. Besides, there’s something else I wish to discuss with you.” She looks down to his journal, nervously playing with the pages.
His curiosity is piqued, and he scoots closer, trying to see the page she’s on. He can’t quite tell what passage she had been reading, and only sees a few words marked on the page here and there. “What is it?”
“I have been reading all evening,” she says. He takes a beat of pride in how fondly she speaks of it. “Your words are beautiful. The way you talk about the moonlight shimmering on the Mediterranean sea; the bustle of Paris and Madrid and Rome; the shady, mysteriousness of the forests of Eastern Europe… It’s like I’m really there. I can feel it. Only, I’ve never even stepped foot outside of London.”
He takes her hand, laces it with his own. “I promise I will take you, someday. I’ll take you to see the world. Wherever you want to go.” He kisses the top of her hand, as if to seal his promise.
“I would love that,” she says. She smiles but looks down at the journal. There’s more she’s not saying. “There’s something else that I noticed, though. There are some dates that don’t quite add up.”
“Oh?”
She narrows her eyes, as if she’s hesitant about asking. “Here you write about Rome, but then here,” she flips a few pages forward. “You are in Milan over a week later. And yet you don’t speak at all of the journey. Clearly it didn’t take a full week, did it? What happened in that time that you do not wish to speak about?”
He takes the journal, scanning it, wanting to refresh his memory, but there had been so much that had happened in such a short time, he could scarcely remember every detail.
“Is that when you met her ?” Penelope asks. He gives her an odd look, unsure as to who she is talking about. “The Contessa. I have read all of your journals now. Twice. And I haven’t read about her at all.”
Oh . He bites his lip to refrain from laughing. Oh, his dear Penelope. “How do you even know about her?”
“Lady Whistledown hears everything eventually,” Penelope explains, she tickles his nose with the end of her quill. “I have heard stories…”
“Lady Whistledown…” he lets out an exasperated sigh as he takes the quill from her, and places it in the journal. He snaps it shut. “There’s not really anything to tell.”
“You write extensively about your exploits in Paris, in Berlin, in… every city. And you never mention her.” She looks at him, unsure. “Is the reason you don’t write of her… was she your first?”
“No,” he says easily, reaching over her to place the journal on the nightstand. “That experience was bought and paid for. I have told you about that already - Rosalita...” He shudders to think of his first bumbling time. Awkward and inexperienced and very short. But at least she had been kind.
Penelope’s eyes go wide with amusement. “The Spanish woman! The one you said had the delectable bosom.”
He grins, admiring her ability to recall such details, then leans in, giving her a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, while he brings his hand up to cup her breast. “Mmm, you know I can’t resist a delectable bosom.”
“I will not be distracted so easily,” she says, it’s a playful warning. “But how is it that you can boast about this Contessa to the entire male population of the ton and, yet, not tell me a single word about her?”
He grins as he considers. There is a reason he’s never shared this with her… And despite whatever she may have heard as Lady Whistledown, no one knows the actual story. “Okay…”
“Okay?” she stares at him, wonderingly. There’s something special about the way she looks at him, so eager to hear any of his stories abroad, becoming especially attentive the more intimate in nature they are. He once thought he’d never share such private thoughts with anyone, but she makes him want to open up, to share everything. He could never really withhold anything from her. Not even if he tried.
He takes a moment to trace her forehead, her cheek, her chin, wanting to feel close to her. He combs his fingers through her hair as he begins. “She had red hair…”
“Red hair?” she tilts her head in disbelief.
“Orange-ish, really,” he says, with a small laugh, curling the end of her hair around his finger. “Wild and fiery. She was one of our hosts on the long trip from Rome to Milan, which did take nearly a week, now that you’ve got me thinking about it. One of our horses had trouble and she kindly took us in. It was a rainy night, but at least not a chilling one, and her cook made us the best stew I’ve ever had. That evening, we stayed up to talk. She was an impressive conversationalist.”
“Oh, was she?”
“She was,” he continues. “She was a widow. A young one. But she knew things. Had seen a bit of the world herself. And I found her captivating.” He cups her chin and uses his thumb to trace along her bottom lip. He wants to kiss her. Wants to scoop her up and make up for all the days they’ve missed. The desire he’s kept carefully at bay is coming front and center again, but he refrains.
“So you talked?”
“We did - late into the night. The others, they one-by-one went to bed, but the two of us. She said we had a connection and so I stayed. And talked.”
“Just talked?” It sounds like disappointment.
He comes in close, cupping the back of her head carefully, as he whispers into her ear. “There are plenty of things two people can talk about.”
“Tell me.”
He begins to give her feather-light kisses. “The weather.” He kisses against her cheek with a grin. “Embroidery.” Another kiss against her jaw. “The likelihood of winning at a game of cards.” He travels down to her neck, but keeps his touch light.
“Did you kiss her?” She asks.
He pauses, breathing against her skin. “I did.”
“Show me.”
He kisses her lips. It’s gentle and tender and as easy as every fleeting kiss they’ve given each other over the past few months. It’s not enough and he knows it.
“Show me,” she says again, a harder demand.
He kisses her harder this time, firm and strong and lingering. It’s connecting and the heat of his desire begins to grow. But it’s still not enough.
“You’re holding back,” she challenges.
“I am not,” he grins.
“Don’t tease me,” she says, it’s almost a plea.
“I assure you, I am not…”
“Kiss me like you kissed her.”
“I--”
He can’t. As much as this had been almost a game between them, he realizes he can’t follow through with that request. Because kissing her is unlike kissing anyone else. The gentlest brush of skin against skin lights his body aflame in the way that passionate kisses with anyone else does not.
He pulls back to look at her -- really look at her. The remarkable thing that he’s discovered since they’ve been married is that there are two of her. Not her and Lady Whistledown, those are one and the same. But there is the Penelope whom he fell in love with. The one he’s always been in love with on some level. The one who makes him laugh, who grounds him, who always has his best interests at heart. His dearest friend.
And then there is the other Penelope. The woman who looks at him with those darkened eyes; whose lust for him is beyond anything he’s experienced with another partner. She makes him feel raw and exposed and wanted in the most intimate of ways, even without the shedding of all their clothes. And he wonders if he’s ever able to fully satisfy her hunger.
“I cannot kiss you like her,” he says finally. She looks at him confused. “Because kissing you is an experience unlike any other. Nothing feels as good as kissing you.”
She gives him a proud look as she lunges at him, kissing him fervently. And this… this is a kiss. The world melts away, and there’s nothing but her, and her lips against his, her tongue sliding against his own, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, feeling her everywhere.
His own desire is becoming achingly apparent and if he had wanted to, he could end it all in a matter of moments, but he stops himself. And pulls away, giving them a moment to both catch their breath.
“This had to have happened after Spain,” she says, breathing heavily, still able to follow the narrative he had been laying down. “And after France, as you visited Italy after both of them. You’ve gained some experience by then, so I assume you did not stop with just a kiss. Tell me, did she have a delectable bosom as well?” It’s her turn to tease, but she does so with the most sultry look upon her face.
He admires her cleverness. “Of course,” he gives, and tugs down on her nightgown, exposing her breast. “As if I would settle for a woman with anything less.”
He wastes no time latching onto her nipple. She rakes a hand through his hair, encouraging him to kiss and suck and lick. He reaches into her nightgown, to grasp at her other breast, squeezing it, causing her to moan and shiver under his touch.
“I need more,” she manages to cry.
He keeps his mouth firmly on her, sucking hard, as his hand travels underneath her nightgown. Her legs fall apart, and he finds her wet and ready for him. He’s soft at first, teasing where she would like him to be most, then pushes in with two fingers, while his thumb circles her most sensitive of spots. She lets out a guttural groan that completely undoes him. He never thought he’d be able to deliver such pleasure to someone else, but she closes her eyes and bucks her hips and lets him take control.
He begins to kiss up her body as he works her, loving the fact that she has become so familiar to him that he knows exactly the right place to touch, the right pace to move, the right crook of a finger to push her over into release. She is close, so close and all she needs is a little extra push. “Let go, Pen,” he whispers into her ear. “Let go, for me.”
She screams his name as her release rips through her. He kisses her through it, wanting to feel her everywhere.
He then pulls away, giving her a minute to come down, and he takes a moment to drink her beauty in. Her hair is dark red across the white pillow, her breasts out and pink and raw where he’s kissed them. Her nightgown is a knotted mess that he’ll have to untangle her from. She has never looked more desirable.
It doesn’t take long for her to sit up, intense and determined. She pushes him back, giving herself a moment to free herself from her nightgown.
“Did she touch you like you touched her?” she asks.
He scoots back against the headboard, allowing her to undo his trousers. “...Yes.” He lifts up, allowing her to pull them down and with a few kicks, he manages to cast them off.
“Like this?” She wastes no time grabbing him. It’s rough and the angle is awkward but he needs her touch.
“Yes…” he gasps.
“What about this?”
“Penelope, you don’t have to…oh…”
Her mouth is over him, sucking him down with a sense of determination he’s never seen from her before. It’s almost too much.
“Pen…” he says, almost losing himself over to the pleasure of it all. “Pen, I need you to stop if…”
She pulls off, then straddles his lap. “Did you lie with her like this?”
“You really are still comparing any experience with…”
“Did you lie with her like this?” she repeats.
“No, but to be fair, we are sitting, not lying down.” It gets her to crack a smile. “Are you sure you want to continue? Your condition...” he rubs a hand over her stomach. “I don’t want you to push yourself more than you need to.”
“Please do not speak to me as the mother of your child,” she says, staring at him deeply. “Talk to me as your wife. Your wife who needs you.”
He nods. “Okay…”
They reposition some so he’s sitting on his legs. She still straddles his lap, reaches between them to grab him, then lowers herself on him inch by delicious inch. It is ecstasy feeling her around him, warm and tight. She begins to roll her hips, torturously slow. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her as close as possible, wanting to feel connected in every sense of the word. She brings her arms around his neck, drawing in for a deep kiss as they rock together.
They pull apart, and he watches her, lets her lose herself in her own pleasure, lets her use his body for her own needs. His body aches for its own release, but there’s something beautiful, something satisfying about watching her come undone over him.
He senses when she begins to tire, when her legs begin to give out and lifts her up to lie her down on the bed.
“Are you still okay?” he checks in.
She nods. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel it. I want to feel you .”
He doesn’t.
He begins to piston his hips, pushing into her frantically. She moans into his mouth as they kiss and touch and get lost in each other. There’s nothing in this world that feels as good as her, as feeling deep in her, as if she’s fully encapsulated him and they are one and the same. There is nothing outside this room, this moment. Nothing but her. His thrusts speed up, become more erratic, and it’s not long before he’s pushed over the edge, spilling deeply inside of her.
“Colin!” she screams. His name on her lips, needy and desperate makes him dizzy and he crashes their lips together for another long kiss.
Coming down, he pumps his hips shallowly a few more times before pulling out. He reaches between them to feel her, to touch her, to let her have her second release that evening. Her body spasms around his hand, wildly and unyielding. She calls out his name again, as she clings to him, letting wave after wave of pleasure wash over her.
He remains over her as they both settle, catching their breath. She reaches up, cups his face, runs her hands over his arms, his chest, his back. Neither quite ready to be done. He kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips, sweet and gentle, just wanting one more taste before he rolls to his side, collapsing beside her.
“Your time with the Contessa,” she says, “was like that?” She giggles as she says it.
“Penelope…” he laughs, taking her hand, lacing their fingers together. He doesn’t have to say it. She knows.
She shifts, curling up into his arms, cuddling against his chest.
“Thank you,” she says. Her voice is soft and sweet and the first Pen has taken over again. “I needed that.”
“I could tell,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He remains quiet for a moment, holding her tight, enjoying the press of her body into his, the sweet smell of her scent she has after they’ve been intimate, the feeling of deep emotional connection that remains even after the physical connection has ended.
“I think I’ve figured it out,” she says, a bit unexpectedly. She looks up at him, her eyes bright and engaging.
“Figured what out, love?”
“The Contessa,” she gives him a grin. “I know your secret.”
“Oh?”
“She does not exist,” she says plainly. “You’ve made her up.”
He gives her a smirk. “Have I?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Penelope says, as if it’s the most obvious answer. “There’s no real woman with fiery red hair who happens to be a great conversationalist and has a delectable bosom and can satisfy you so thoroughly. Not one in Italy, anyway.”
He chuckles into her hair. “Oh, I assure you, she is very real.”
“Real in your imagination.”
“Real in my bed.” He leans down to kiss her.
“What did happen in that missing week then?” she asks.
“I did tell you,” he says, with a grin. “We had to get a new horse. And then stayed for days in the most boring lodge waiting for a storm to pass. There was nothing to do but stare at the wall…”
“And create a fake Contessa?” she teases.
They share a laugh together.
“Oh, how I love you, Pen.”
“And I love you .”
After all of his travels, after all the adventures, he’s glad he’s there now with Penelope; his love, his best friend, his home. He snuggles her close as his eyes flutter shut, and lets sleep take over.
Chapters: 13/15
Fandom: Glee, Glee (TV 2009)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson/Original Character(s), Kurt Hummel/Original Character(s), Sam Evans/Mercedes Jones
Characters: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Santana Lopez, Sam Evans, Mercedes Jones, Rachel Berry, Elliott "Starchild" Gilbert, Original Characters
Additional Tags: Romance, Angst, Reunion Fic, Infidelity, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Summary:
After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other's orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?
Canon Divergent after Season 5..
***
Chapter 13 now posted!! We’re close to the end now (finally)!
for @emyryld based on this panel, and the idea that Rogue keeps a few of Remy's things, even when she's on the Uncanny Avengers and they're broken up. This takes places around original UA run.
There are days when she misses him. When it's late at night and her bed feels lonely and even though she's committed to what she's doing, even though she knows it's better for them to be apart right now, even though some days she doesn't even know what she wants -- she misses him.
She tries hard not to think about it. It's easy when the world needs saving. It's easy in the daylight when she's keeping busy, and the drama of surviving day to day keeps her moving forward. It's easy when there are people to keep her occupied.
But it's the nights that always get her. It's not just the loneliness. He hadn't been just another boyfriend. She isn't sentimental about first times or first kisses. Romance had been a dream once, but that isn't really what she misses now.
It's the way he used to make her laugh. The way he used to aggravate her. The way they used to just stay up and talk for hours about the most mundane things. The way he used to smile and it'd light up her world. The way he used to make her feel so connected and loved and safe...
He hadn't been just her boyfriend. He had been her best friend, too.
And it hurts, a little, to think of that in the past tense.
She gets up from her bed, and starts digging through the back of her closet. She knows it's there, buried in a box that despite how much she's wanted to at times, she's never had the heart to throw away. No matter how many times she's tried, she's never really been able to say good bye.
She finds it near the bottom, a box full of memories of better days. Old ticket stubs and photobooth candids and an ancient recipe for boysenberry pie. She laughs as she digs through.
And of course, at the bottom, something he didn't even know she had taken. She pulls it out, knocking half the contents to the floor as it's big and bulky. One of his old trench coats.
She puts it on and wraps herself up in it, and it feels like a hug in a way that makes her feel nostalgic for the past. She breathes it and she can still smell him on it - the old cigarettes and the fancy cologne and that very smell that had been unique to him.
It makes her heart ache.
She should call. She could. The phone is right there on the nightstand. But it's not time. She's not ready. There are more things to sort through. More of her self she needs to straighten out. And that's a journey she still needs to do on her own.
Still, she hugs herself again, letting herself drown in it. Indulging in the memories of how many times he held her in that coat.
Then something knocks against her thigh. There's something in one of the pockets. She reaches in and takes out a deck of cards. Instinctively, she pulls the deck out, looking it over with a grin.
There's a card with writing on it. The Queen of Hearts. Of course. Of course he would.
'You're a good thief, Chere, but I knew you'd grab it. Was always your favorite one. Go on and keep it. It'll be a nice reminder of how I can keep you warm and safe even when I'm not there. Even when we're far a part, a little bit of me will always be with you.' -Remy
She holds the card close to her heart. Love you, too, sugar... love you, too...
Kurt and Blaine are both nominated for a major theater award. They attend the show, while trying to navigate when and how to reveal a major secret.
Rated T: for mild language, small amount of drinking, and mild sexy times.
A/N:
for Klaine Secret Santa Gift Exchange 2024 - for @jayne89 <3
Thanks for to @snarkyhag for the beta!
Ao3 Link Found Here
Hope you guys like it! Thanks for reading!!
*****
Kurt Hummel exits the backseat of his car and takes his first step onto the red carpet. The scene is pure pandemonium. The red carpet is lined with reporters and cameras, actors and celebrities, and ropes that hold off thousands of screaming fans. Every time he steps foot into one of these hooplas, he has half a mind to get back into the car and sneak in the back way. Unlike most of his colleagues in the theater world, he’s never been a huge fan of these events. Sure, he’ll discuss the gossip and the fashion until the cows come home, but having to live it is always a different story.
He nervously plays with his phone as he makes his first few steps down the carpet. He shouldn’t have it with him, he knows, but it’s a strange source of comfort. It’s something to do with his hands, which might otherwise be stuffed into the pockets of his very expensive suit.
He hears sudden clicks, and he knows already that there are cameras pointed in his direction. He should be used to it. In some ways he is used to it. But it never fails to surprise him that there are people who actually want photos of him. He’s gone for a simpler look this year -- a gorgeous teal jacket and pants, paired with a royal purple shirt, with a silver pin for an accent. The whole thing is textured, and the cut is flattering and appealing, and much more toned down than the eccentric design he wore the previous year.
He takes a deep breath and moves forward. He hears his name being called from multiple directions. Some are the event guides, ushering him to go. Some are the photographers, dying to get that first shot of him arriving. But a majority of the screaming is coming from the fans. He doesn’t love the crowds. He doesn’t. But he does try his best -- for them.
He gives a smile, and a wave, and inches closer to the ropes where they’re all standing. They’ve come all this way, and have probably stood outside for mere glimpses of the celebrities for hours. It’s insane - but there was a time when he may have done the same, just for a brief interaction with someone he admired.
Before going to the fans, however, he takes a quick moment to scan the carpet ahead of him. There are plenty of people he recognizes, plenty of people he’s worked with before, a few big names that make him seem like a small fish in a big pond, and a few faces he doesn’t recognize at all. But one in particular stands out. Standing in his bright, mustard yellow suit is Blaine Anderson.
Kurt takes a moment to watch Blaine as he easily moves along the crowd; chatting, signing autographs, laughing and whatever the fans are telling him. He positively glows in the energy. He always has. Kurt shakes his head, fondly. He loves his job, but feels more at peace when an audience is quietly sitting and watching him on stage. When he has the ability to turn it all off, and connect with the character and the story and come alive as a different person. Being him has always been difficult. But Blaine has no such difficulty. It’s admirable, really. And he adores Blaine for it.
He then sneaks a quick second to check out Blaine’s ass, nice and round and on display whenever Blaine reaches his arms out to sign another autograph. Kurt bites his bottom lip, thinking about earlier that morning, when he had seen that ass up close and person. He grins, thinking about it; thinking about how despite their growing celebrity status, some things remain just between the two of them.
For a quick second, Blaine turns his head behind him and, as if a magnet were drawn between them, notices Kurt. He beams, wiggles his eyebrows for a second, and then goes back to the fans. Tonight is not about him and Blaine. Tonight is about the show. They both know that. Which is why they keep what they have together on the down low. But it doesn’t stop them from stealing a moment or two.
Kurt turns back to his side of the carpet, ready to address the legions of people waiting on the other side of the rope. As he approaches, their yells become deafening, and most of what they’re screaming is incomprehensible. The only thing he really can make out is his name.
He smiles brighter, trying his best to appear as kind as possible, as he takes a marker and begins to scribble his name on a Playbill. Most of the fans are respectful. And while overwhelmed, shower him with compliments -- everything ranging from ‘I loved your performance, it moved me so much’ to ‘can I have your babies?’. He always has to chuckle at the range he finds.
There’s always at least one person, however, who gives him pause. “Hey, did you and Blaine Anderson break up?” It's a young woman with a nose ring attempting to take a photo of him with her phone -- who seems less interested in him than whatever gossip she’s going to share online. “Cause, like, y’all haven’t spoken to each other in weeks. Online, I mean. Like, y’all are done, aren’t you?”
He lets out a sigh, tries his best not to look back at Blaine. He knows that with celebrity comes lack of privacy. He’s been bracing for it. But what he has with Blaine is special, and he’ll protect that the best he can. Kurt moves on to answer another fan, who has a question about a wig he wore in a previous production, ignoring the girl with the nose ring.
***
The interviewer is a tall, platinum blonde woman with a too dark tan and a bright, shimmering gold dress that clashes with her skin. Kurt has talked with her before - as she works for one of those websites that streams all its content on YouTube or some specialized streaming service. He can’t remember which one, and the ‘M’ on her microphone doesn’t help any, but since he’s being shuffled to every journalist out here, he just goes with the flow.
“Kuuuuuurt,” her high-pitched voice cries. “Kurt Hummel everyone.” She says it to her audience in the camera, wherever that might be. Kurt gives a friendly smile and waves to the people watching on the other side of the screen. He may not like this part of the job, but he tries to always give his best to the fans. “How excited are you to be here?” The woman, whose name if he remembers correctly is Karlee, asks.
“It’s a pleasure. And surreal. Always surreal,” he replies, truthfully.
“Before we get too much further, we have to get your bestie over here,” she says, unexpectedly.
Kurt isn’t quite sure what she’s talking about until she waves a hand (one that’s holding a cue card in it) over to someone behind him. “Blaine Anderson, get on over here.”
Oh. Oh .
Blaine comes up right next to him, all friendly smiles and charm and doesn’t give Kurt one ounce of attention. He does, however, slightly push his elbow into Kurt’s arm. Kurt pushes back. He almost gives a laugh, but retrains.
“Karlee, what a delight, honey, you look wonderful,” Blaine coos, taking her hand, and giving her cheek a kiss.
Fucking Blaine, always being so suave. Kurt bites his bottom lip, amused at how easily Blaine does it. Blaine is definitely playing it up with the playful banter, but he also is well aware that it keeps the attention off of Kurt. Just as Kurt likes it. They do make a great team.
“Look at the two of you, matching tonight.”
Kurt and Blaine turn towards each other, both pretending to be shocked.
I told you they’d notice -- Kurt says with his eyes and a grin, thinking about the hours-long conversation they had about what to wear.
Blaine gives a casual shrug, but Kurt can read him like a book. Who cares? We’re hot and they love it.
We’re supposed to be low profile, Blaine.
We’re theater actors, Kurt, nothing about us is low profile.
They probably shouldn’t be doing their secret exchange, not when they’re supposed to be paying attention to Kaylee, not while everyone is watching, but Blaine has such beautiful honey-gold eyes… the shield Kurt always has up, especially in public, is dented just a little when those eyes shine so brightly on him.
After a few moments of fashion talk, Kaylee hits them with something completely different. “So, the two of you met a decade ago now on the stage during the original run of Show Choir! -- which ended up being such a surprising hit and thrust you both into the limelight. I hear now there are talks of a movie version -- any chance you’ll be involved.”
“No,” Kurt says, maybe too quickly and too sharply. He owes that show everything. And yet he never wants to relive any of it ever again. Blaine eyes him and knows…
As always, Blaine manages to be much more diplomatic in response. “I think I can speak for Kurt when I say -- we will always cherish what that show was for us. It got us both on our feet. It taught us everything we know now. But it’s time to let a new generation take the reins. And, I mean, we’re both pushing thirty now. No one wants to see thirty-year-olds playing high school students. Even on stage.”
“Of course, we’ll cheer on whatever new cast takes it on,” Kurt adds, hopeful that it sounds encouraging enough for the soundbite it’ll inevitably become.
Kaylee throws her head back in laughter as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Well, it’ll be exciting to watch for sure. So, the two of you are both nominated tonight for your phenomenal roles in such different productions. Kurt, you’re nominated for your devastating turn where you play an American Civil War soldier figuring out his sexuality. While Blaine, you have a haunting turn as a ghost in what everyone has been calling an epic space opera on stage. Your roles are so different and yet have hit audiences so hard. How do you feel about that?”
“It’s cliche, I know, but as everyone says, it is an honor to be nominated,” Kurt says. “And I think that everyone nominated tonight deserves to be here. I think it speaks to the writing and production and power of the stage that we are allowed to have such characters to play. And I think it speaks to the power of storytelling that you can have such a variety of characters and yet be so moved by them. I think we both feel really, really lucky that there are so many good shows being produced right now.”
“I think Kurt’s said it beautifully,” Blaine adds. “I can’t possibly top that.”
“One last question -- any fun plans to celebrate tonight?”
Kurt gives her an odd look, then for a split second, gives Blaine a panicked look.
She knows?
She’s talking about celebrating winning an award, Kurt…
Well, I did win this morning…
They share knowing looks.
“I’m sure there’s plenty of trouble we can get ourselves into,” Blaine says with a sly grin.
****
Kurt throws back his second shot and slams the glass on the bar. Nothing like having something in you to calm the nerves. He knows his limits, and when the bartender asks if he’d like another, he shakes his head and nudges the glass away. Normally, he settles for a nice cocktail at these things, but his anxiety has been climbing all evening. It’s not that he thinks he’s going to win - he’s aware of all the betting pools and the articles, his chances are very slim considering who he’s up against. It’s the fact that the spotlight is so firmly on him. It’s the fact that there are much better places he’d rather be.
He should go mingle; should go say hi to the dozens of people he knows, and attempt to make a connection with those he doesn’t. But he’s not as cut out for this one might think. The first time he went to one of these things it had been awe-inspiring. Surreal. Kind of amazing. Now that he’s been to them enough times, the shine has somewhat worn off, and it feels like another part he has to perform.
“Drink too many of those, and you’ll be slurring your way through your presenting duties.” Blaine comes to his side, leaning against the bar with a charming grin on his face.
“Is it over yet?” Kurt laments.
“This is the fun part, Kurt.”
“You are having fun, I am surviving,” Kurt says. He contemplates another glass, and looks over to the bartender, signaling him over. Blaine puts a hand over his, and shakes the bartender off, knowing better. Kurt lets out a heavy sigh. “Do you think we should have come together?”
Blaine gives him an odd look. “It was your idea not to.”
“I know.”
“You wish we had?”
Kurt contemplates. It’s such a loaded question. One that they’ve both mulled over countless number of times. Weighed pros and cons. Sought outside help. There are no easy answers to such questions. “You’re the one thing I don’t want to share with the rest of the world,” Kurt says. He doesn’t meet Blaine’s eye, but keeps it firmly on the bar. “And yet, I’m bursting on the inside to do just that.”
Blaine’s face softens, and he squeezes Kurt’s hand. “That’s sweet, Kurt. You already know how I feel about it.”
“I do…” He does. Kurt looks over to Blaine to see his shining eyes looking adoringly at him. There are hundreds of people in the room and yet it’s just the two of them, an allowed moment of privacy among the crowd. “You know, the fans think we broke up.”
Blaine tilts his head at him, shaking it. “Since when have you ever cared what they think?”
“I don’t,” a smirk crosses Kurt’s face. “I just thought it was funny.”
“Social media detectives will be the death of us all.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to like some of my cat videos and Liza Minnelli memes,” Kurt jokes.
“We should get Tina to work with you on your social media presence,” Blaine says, as if they hadn’t argued about this a thousand times.
“And she should really lay off yours,” Kurt counters. “I mean, the noodle incident…”
Blaine rolls his eyes and ignores him. “Maybe it is time to talk about being more public. As a couple.”
Kurt winces. “We are not letting Tina…”
“That’s not what I mean,” Blaine says. He’s serious, very serious. “Maybe it’s finally time, all things considered.”
“Or… we could release an official statement and let it be?” Kurt says. They’ve managed to be just the two of them for so long. He doesn’t want that to change. “I don’t want to be featured on the cover of People magazine.”
“Being featured on the cover of People magazine isn’t so bad you know,” Blaine says. His charm returns as they both think of the framed cover in Blaine’s bathroom.
Kurt lets out a playful, annoyed groan. “Any chance you have to bring up how officially sexy you are…”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to indulge me every once in a while.”
“I already suck your dick, Blaine, you don’t need me to kiss your ass, too.”
Blaine lets out a hearty laugh. “I have it on good authority that you are actually very good at kissing my ass.”
Kurt gives him a sharp glance. “Fuck you.”
Blaine gives him a dark look, as if challenging him to do just that. Kurt wishes he could lean over and kiss him. Fuck all the people and the cameras and the undoubted mess it would create. He wants to kiss Blaine so badly, and has enough alcohol in him that it might be worth it.
Blaine’s sober enough for the both of them. “C’mon, we have a ceremony to attend.”
****
Kurt bounces on the balls of his feet. He and Blaine are waiting backstage, just the two of them, as the ceremony rolls on beyond the curtain. He can hear the presenters for the award for musical score doing their bit. There’s audience laughter, and some applause, and someone said something that struck a chord. He suddenly doesn’t feel all that well.
Blaine looks at him, concerned. “Are you nervous?”
“No.”
“You’re nervous.” A sweet grin climbs on Blaine’s face, as he judges his shoulder against Kurt’s.
Kurt holds himself tightly. “Do you know how many people will be out there watching us?”
“We’re delivering an award, Kurt. It’s not like we’re performing,” Blaine says. He almost sounds disappointed about it. “It’s not like anyone is going to be paying any attention to us. All we have to do is make sure we get the name right.”
“We have to do witty banter,” Kurt argues. “They’ll all be paying attention. What if they really don’t like what we’re wearing? What if they miss that we have amazing on stage chemistry? My god, what if they don’t find us funny?”
Blaine shakes his head dismissively. “I’ve never known you to not be funny.”
Kurt holds up one finger. “I have a sophisticated, dry wit that not everyone gets.”
“You do remember that this witty banter was pre-written and all we have to do is say the lines, right?” Blaine says. “I can’t believe you’re nervous. You’ve performed on stage naked before.”
“Yeah, for like five people,” Kurt hisses. “There are at least five million people watching this.”
Blaine narrows his eyes, looking troubled. “You’re really having an issue with this.”
Kurt bites his bottom lip. He is, and he doesn’t like it. It’s not really because of the sheer amount of people. He doesn’t mind performing in front of them. It’s not like he’s never been in front of large crowds before. It’s the fact that it’s he and Blaine. Together. With everyone having their eyes on them. Everyone watching every interaction they’ll make, and how it’ll be scrutinized and torn apart and he wishes that not every public interaction they have needs to be put under a microscope. He wishes they didn’t have to endure that type of pressure.
He breathes heavily. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have done all those shots.” Blaine actually gets him to laugh.
He looks at Blaine in wonder, always wondering how he lets it all roll off his back. “How is it nothing phases you?”
“Things phase me.”
“Really?”
Blaine tilts his head at him. “You have seen me at my worst, Kurt, you know that. They just aren’t the same things as you. It evens us out. It’s why we work.” Blaine comes in close, rubbing Kurt’s arms. “Going on stage with out an audience - that’s something that phases me. Jesse St. James’s dog, which might actually be a demon in a dog costume, phases me. And seeing you like this. I don’t like seeing you like this.”
A warmth spreads through Kurt’s chest. Suddenly, his fears begin to melt away. He loves this man. He loves him so deeply. Kurt has tried so hard never to care what other people think of him, he isn’t sure why it bothers him so much now. Only that Blaine means the world to him, and he wants nothing more to protect that. Wants to protect the person who makes him feel grounded and loved and safe.
“I’ll be okay,” Kurt says, though he turns his head away.
Blaine knows him better than that. He says nothing, but watches him carefully.
A production assistant rounds the corner, shouting that they have two minutes to get into place.
Kurt stands up, straightens, puts his more professional face on. He can do this. They can do this.
“You ready to see who’s going to win best costuming?” Blaine asks. He sneaks a hand down to Kurt’s giving it a squeeze before they start heading out.
“I really hope it’s April Rhodes.”
“Kurt, she’s not nominated in this category.”
“I know, but did you see what she was wearing? It’s this insane fuchsia, ‘80s inspired dress, which I think you could totally pull off something like that if you wanted to go outside your comfort zone and try.”
The color drains from Blaine’s face. “Oh god no, Kurt. No.”
****
Their category is close to the end of the night. The hosting portion of the evening flew by in a blur, and Kurt hardly remembers being on stage nearly an hour before. He’s been sitting, bouncing a knee anxiously, during the rest of the ceremony.
He had been asked if he wanted to bring a plus one. He had turned it down, not sure who he should ask. His dad and stepmom would have come, but Carole’s sister is in the hospital and they just wouldn’t be able to make it out to New York. All the rest of his friends and colleagues seemed to have found dates or family members that would attend.
Blaine had asked if they wanted to go together. Kurt had said no.
They hadn’t talked it through enough. Hadn’t consulted their teams. Hadn’t worked it out with Tina -- god, Tina would have a fucking field day showing off their relationship. It had seemed like too much of a hassle. And at the time, Kurt hadn’t felt ready.
And then this morning happened. It still feels like a hazy dream -- wrapped up in bed together, not even awake enough to get the coffee. The way Blaine held him so comfortably in his arms. Every morning should be like this one. Every morning should be absolutely perfect.
He can see Blaine’s eyes - so perfectly bright and loving.
Marry me.
What?
Be my husband, Kurt.
He had always expected it at some point. Kurt knew almost the day they met that their lives would be intertwined. But he had always expected Blaine had bigger plans. He’s not sure what he had expected. It’s not like Blaine was going to hire every large ensemble in New York to sing on the stage where they met as rose petals fluttered down from the sky. That’s just insane.
But off the cuff? Unplanned? They hadn’t even had sex that morning (yet). They hadn’t even had coffee.
And Blaine just asks him. Takes his breath away without even trying.
How could he possibly have said no?
He could be sitting next to his fiance right now. Instead, he’s sitting next to an elderly woman, the mother of a nominated set designer. The other side is the aisle. Up a few rows and over a few seats is Blaine, smiling happily as the actress on stage reads through the list of names.
He’s not nervous for himself. All the articles he read (more than he should have) listed him near the bottom of possibilities. And that is fine. As Blaine often says, they’re both still young, and have plenty of time to do more amazing things in their careers. Kurt did not write up a list of people to thank, nor tried to memorize any speeches. He didn’t let himself get too caught up in the idea of winning.
But Blaine has a real chance. He’s been a buzz in the community. Everyone wants to work with him. He’s had more job offers than he can even handle lately. And he looks so adoringly hopeful as they wait for the actress to open the envelope.
“And the winner is…” she says. Kurt holds his breath. “Jonathan Bailey as Oscar Pennington in Penny For Your Thoughts .”
Kurt lets out a sigh that feels like relief. He smiles kindly and claps, unsurprised that the frontrunner of the race actually won. He looks over to Blaine and despite the grin plastered on his face, Kurt knows him enough to see disappointment there as well.
After a moment, when Blaine knows there aren’t any cameras on him, he throws a look back to Kurt. Kurt gives a kind shrug.
Hey, at least we have each other.
A genuine grin crosses Blaine’s face. We do.
*****
The rest of the ceremony passes by without much incident. During one of the performances, the mics cut out but the entire cast belted out their song anyway and the winner of best writing for a show thanked their writing partner but not their famous wife which will be slightly scandalous in the morning but other than that, there aren’t any upsets or unpredictabilities, which makes for a rather boring time.
Just as it’s ending, Kurt gets a text from Blaine : Wait for me .
It’s like herding cattle to get out, but eventually Kurt is able to, and waits off in a corridor for Blaine. Blaine, of course, is the social butterfly, and has to talk with everyone as he makes his way out. Kurt could join him. Maybe he should join him. But he stands on the sidelines and waits. Waits until Blaine finally catches his eye, and there’s a certain type of thrill that comes when Blaine’s entire face lights up. It’s a face that’s saved solely for Kurt, and there’s always a tiny pang of relief when it’s there.
“So, get this,” Blaine says as he walks over. There’s a giddiness all over his face. “So, I managed to run into Jonathan Bailey, as one does. We chatted for a little bit and he said we should come to his afterparty. I mean, he said to me, but told me to bring whoever I liked. You are never going to believe who’s else is going to show up, I--”
“I promised Rachel and Jesse we’d attend their party,” Kurt replies quickly. There’s something about a major party, with lots of famous people, lots of people in general, that gives Kurt pause.
Blaine gives him a bewildered look. “Kurt, they throw the same, boring party every year. They didn’t even come tonight.”
“Well, to be fair, Rachel asked me, but she never mentioned you, so technically, you’re free to do as you like.” It comes off a little more dismissive than he intends it. They never did talk about after the show, but the plan had always been Rachel and Jesse’s.
Blaine gives him a somewhat confused stare.
“What?” Kurt asks.
Blaine takes him a little further down the corridor, so they aren’t seen as people continue to file out of the theater. “Why are you being like this?”
“Being like what?”
“You don’t care about Rachel and Jesse’s party - nor would they notice if you’re even there.”
“Oh, Rachel will notice…”
Blaine clenches his jaw but holds back on whatever he’s thinking. “Okay, why don’t we stop by Rach and Jesse’s for a second, then head over to the other party. Kurt, it might be a good opportunity to make some good new connections.”
Kurt considers, but he doesn’t love the idea. “Maybe…”
“Would you rather just go home?”
He is tired. It has been a long day, and his bed does feel enticing. Besides, there’s all the rest of it to consider. Does he have the energy for it? “You should go. I don’t want to ruin your night.”
“Kurt, you never ruin my night,” Blaine says. He reaches for Kurt’s hand, and gives it a squeeze, only to drop it quickly, as a couple of men in tuxes turn down the corridor and walk past. “What is this about? Are you upset about how the night went? Hit your limit with people? Or… is it me?”
The look of devastation on Blaine’s face breaks his heart. It’s not Blaine. It’s never been Blaine. “No, of course not. I don’t know, Blaine, I just don’t want to argue with you.”
“We can’t argue if you won’t talk to me.”
Kurt takes a moment as Blaine waits for some kind of explanation. “When I’m with you - I don’t want to think about being with you. I just want to be with you.”
Blaine narrows his eyes, confused. “I don’t know that I follow.”
“I just want us, together , and if we go to that party…”
“Everyone will know that we’re together?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Kurt, we’re getting married,” Blaine says. He looks as tired as Kurt feels. “We have to figure this out at some point unless… this isn’t something you really want.”
“You are always what I want,” Kurt responds quickly, to assuage Blaine’s fears.
Blaine lets out a little sigh and crosses his arms. “Kurt… I really doubt this one celebrity party is going to be an issue. Even if someone does see us. Or notices. Or we let ourselves be ourselves. Who cares, Kurt? When have you ever let anyone else dictate how you live your life?”
Blaine is right. When has he ever let anyone tell him what to do? But it’s about more than just him. It’s about them . “I can’t lose you,” Kurt says quietly.
“What?” It’s not what Blaine expects to hear.
“I can’t lose you.” Kurt looks up and into Blaine’s eyes. “You are etched into my very soul and I don’t know if I can function anymore without you in it. And the idea that some outside factor might come along and take you from me…”
Blaine softens. “I’m not going anywhere, you know that. And when things get fucked up, as they always seem to get fucked up, I’ll be right there with you - saying ‘fuck you’ to the world. We’re a team, remember? But, if you just want to go to Rach’s or just go home, that’s what we’ll do, okay?”
“No,” Kurt says. Just the idea of this party makes him nervous, but Blaine doesn’t. He’s right. It’s about time they start taking the world by storm. “No, you’re right. I think we should go to this party. Rachel’s going to want to play tacky karaoke games anyway.”
Blaine lets out a laugh, then reaches out for Kurt’s hands and takes them. “Are you sure?”
Kurt does something then that surprises even himself. He leans in and gives Blaine a hard kiss. Because he can. Because Blaine is going to be his husband. Because he wants to spend the rest of his life kissing his husband. And maybe it doesn’t matter who sees it anymore. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Blaine’s eyes twinkle. “...okay.”
“So, who is it that’s going to be at this party? Is it one of the Bridgerton cast? Please tell me it’s one of the Bridgrton cast…”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
***
When Kurt finds Blaine, he’s seated on a lounge chair at the back of the club, scrolling through his phone. Kurt gives a smirk, and takes another sip from his champagne glass as he walks over. Blaine doesn’t look up. Kurt slides onto his lap anyway. Blaine smirks as he finishes reading whatever is on his phone, then opens his arms to cradle Kurt. Kurt lays head on Blaine’s shoulder, and giggles into his champagne.
The club is hopping, there are a ton of famous people everywhere. Some people he knows personally. Most people he doesn’t. Kurt doesn’t really care. There’s so much going on that he and Blaine can be in their own secluded little bubble, and no one will really notice.
“Hey you,” Blaine says, leaning his head against Kurt’s.
“Hey.”
“Did you get a chance to talk to-”
“...Yeah.”
“Yeah? Good?”
“So good,” Kurt coos. He snuggles closer into Blaine. “I can’t wait to tell Rach. She’s been blowing up my phone, by the way. I’m ignoring her for now, but you know she’s going to be a beast when she sees us next. And I know what you’re thinking - you’re right, we should have stopped by and we didn’t stop by and god this means we’re going to have to attend one of her murder mystery dinners and good lord there isn’t enough alcohol to get me through one of those things…” he stops short when he notices Blaine’s a bit dazed and not really listening. “You’re being quiet.”
Blaine waits a beat and tries to shake it off. “Just thinking.”
Kurt brushes a stray hair off Blaine’s forehead. “About what? Are you feeling it -- that you, that we lost?”
“Maybe a little,” Blaine says. He looks tired more than disappointed though. “It’s fine, though. Next time, and I know there will be a next time, it’ll happen. And then next time, I’ll be able to thank my husband.” He gives Kurt’s nose a little bop. “You.”
“Mmm, I like that,” Kurt hums. He brushes his nose against Blaine’s. “I get to marry you.”
“You do.”
“And move in with you.”
This gets a smile out of Blaine. “Kurt, we practically live together now. Your apartment is more like a storage space.”
“Oohh, we should keep it,” Kurt says. “It’ll be like a secret hideaway.”
Blaine adoringly shakes his head at him. Yes, he’s had maybe too much to drink, but it’s still endearing to Blaine. “Or, a giant closet to keep all of your clothes.”
“That is a smart idea,” Kurt says. “A very smart idea. It’s a good thing I’m keeping you.”
Blaine looks down at their hands. He takes the champagne glass from Kurt, finishes it, then places it on the table next to him. Then takes Kurt’s hand and laces his fingers with Kurt’s. “You know, Kurt, I think you may be right. There’s a part of me that’s not ready to give this up. Or share it.”
“See…” Kurt snuggles, again, against Blaine’s shoulder. Feeling slightly vindicated. But then a heaviness falls between them. “Do you think things are going to be different tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
The happy little bubble they were in begins to evaporate. “We should probably call Tina then.”
“Well, if we’re going to do this, might as well do it right,” Blaine agrees.
Kurt gives him a little, suggestive smirk. “Yeah… do it right.”
Kurt looks deeply into his eyes. It’s scary how much he feels for this man. It’s everything.
Blaine leans forward and kisses him. It’s hard and sure and reaffirming. It doesn’t matter that they’re in public, in a place where everyone has a cellphone out. It doesn’t matter that there are always repercussions to their actions. He just wants to be with Blaine and Blaine wants to be with him. For always.
“Hey, Blaine?” Kurt says, dazed as they break apart.
“Yeah?”
“I wanna go home now.”
***
Back home, they’re making out on the bed. They’re both half undressed, clothes haphazardly thrown around the room. Kurt’s on his back as Blaine hovers over him. The kisses are slow and measured and easy. Normally kissing has a means to an end. But Kurt’s happy to be in the moment, to just enjoy Blaine’s touch. He’s in no hurry to chase other, more driving feelings.
“Mmmm, Blaine?”
Blaine gives him an extra long kiss before responding. “Yes?”
Kurt grins. “I think I may have had too much to drink.”
Blaine stops, then rolls off him and onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”
Kurt stays on his back, staring at the ceiling. “I dunno if we can fool around tonight.”
“That’s fine,” Blaine says gently. “We have tomorrow completely open to fool around.”
Kurt lets out an amused laugh and turns his head towards Blaine, singing a little. “Mmm, I love that idea.”
Blaine is about to say something else when his phone lets out a little ping. He reaches behind him and grabs it to investigate. “Oh, it’s Tina answering our message. She said she’s happy to meet us tomorrow, just to let her know what time.”
“Make it Tuesday,” Kurt says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I am very booked tomorrow.”
Blaine lets out an easy laugh, and texts back Tina. There’s another ping. “Tina is fine with that.” He’s about to set his phone back down when another notification comes through. “Oh, and she sent us a notice. We made a best dressed list.”
Kurt whips the phone out of Blaine’s hand. “Hell yeah, we did.” He scrolls through the article. He’s a bit too tired to read what they’re saying, but there’s a photo of them on the red carpet, doing the interview, looking very classy and best dressed indeed. He starts to scroll through, looking at the other celebrities.
“Ooooh, it’s April Rhodes. See, I told you what she was wearing is to die for. You could totally--”
“No,” Blaine says firmly, knowing exactly what Kurt’s thinking.
“Yes,” Kurt whines a little. “What if I promise to give you a blowjob underneath it…”
“Tempting, but still a hard no, Kurt.”
There’s another ping from the phone. Kurt gets irrationally annoyed by it. “What does Tina want now? If she doesn’t stop, I’m going to make her watch our sex tape.”
Blaine gives him a look. There isn’t a sex tape (yet) but he’d still punish Tina with it if there was. Blaine takes his phone back. “You know, she’d probably enjoy that.”
Kurt grumbles. “True.”
“No, hey, it’s Rachel,” Blaine sits up a little. “Oh no. There’s some buzz online. Some people saw us getting into the car together.”
“Well, that’s annoying.” Kurt takes the phone again and reads through the website Rachel sent. It’s nothing more than speculation and gossip, but the invasion of it feels more personal than it should. He isn’t about to let it ruin his good evening. “You know what? I have an idea. We control our own narrative.” He opens the camera app. “Okay, kiss me.”
Blaine looks at him in shock. “What?”
“Kiss me. Anywhere. We’re taking a photo.”
Blaine’s eyes open wide. He understands exactly what Kurt’s doing. It’s insane. It’s crazy. It’s a bit ridiculous. And he thinks in that moment, Blaine loves him just a little bit more. Blaine scooches closer, and kisses Kurt’s cheek. Kurt makes a cute face and snaps the photo.
It’s not really the best photo they’ve ever taken, but it’s cute. It’s candid. It’s very them.
“Are you okay if I do this?” Kurt asks.
He probably should be more sober before doing this. But he knows he won’t regret it in the morning. Blaine, a very sober Blaine, gives him a nod. Kurt feels a swell of pride as he opens up Blaine’s Instagram app. He uploads the photo and adds a simple caption : still won tonight.
He looks at Blaine and takes a deep breath before he hits upload. A shiver runs through him. He can’t believe he just did that. But my god did it feel good.
“You are amazing, Kurt Hummel,” Blaine says. He comes in close, giving Kurt a real kiss this time. “You always continue to surprise me.”
“Well, I just have to show you that you aren’t the only impulsive one in this relationship,” Kurt says, throwing the phone to the end of the bed. He turns completely, giving Blaine a harder kiss. God, does he love this man. He will always love this man, no matter what happens.
“The internet is going to roar tonight,” Blaine says. He caresses Kurt’s cheek, cups his chin and draws in for another kiss. “You know that, right?”
Kurt looks deeply into Blaine’s eyes, and sees forever. They are a team. They’re in this together. And no matter what tough road lies before them, at the end of the day, they’ve got each other. Kurt pulls Blaine close, and lovingly looks at the man who takes his breath away.
A/N : Hey, started a new series where all the Bridgerton siblings become friends and for a secret club of their own.
I hope this finds a little audience. Each chapter is dedicated to a spouse of one of the Bridgerton siblings. It's more based on the show than the books, and is mostly canon compliant (though I take a little liberty with the timeline). I just wanted to explore friendship among all the Bridgerton spouses. Hope you enjoy - and thank you for reading! :)
Link on Ao3
****
The Duke of Hastings : Simon Basset
Whistledown Club 1 : The Duke of Hastings Simon Basset
Once he settled into it, married life became much easier for Simon Basset than he ever expected. Once he allowed himself to let Daphne in, his life became a dream. Daphne was his world -- in his bright, shining, star to guide him straight. His everything. And every day with her was a day a day fulfilled. His life, as he never had truly known it, was content.
Daphne, his dearest wife, he opened his heart to; cherished with every fiber of his being, and likewise, she opened up herself to him. Fully. Completely. Unwaverably. Two were like one. And Simon had never felt in sync with anyone as he did with her.
Her family, however, was another matter.
It was mid-afternoon, the day was bright, and the Bridgerton drawing room was full of life. Simon, being a solitary man before his marriage, had not been used to the sheer amount of chaos going on around him. He truly felt out of depth as sitting there, quietly, next to his wife, as her family were, well, The Bridgertons. He felt truly perplexed.
Simon sat stiffly on one of the couches, his hands calmly placed on his knees as he scanned the room. Daphne sat next to him, bouncing their fussing baby, Augie, on her leg. Daphne’s mother, Violet, was on her other side, playing with the baby’s hand and cooing at him in an attempt to calm the little one down. Augie was having none of it, though, and started squealing, which when combined with the music coming from Francesca playing the pianoforte and little Hyacinth and Gregory running about, playing some sort of giggling game of tag made the room feel fully loud.
Anthony Bridgerton, slouched low in one of the chairs opposite them, peered over the newspaper he had been reading to scowl at the child. Simon couldn’t help but keep a smirk on his lips. Not many would throw disdain at a baby, but Simon’s old friend Anthony would. Long ago, he might have as well -- but he couldn’t imagine his life without Augie, no matter how fussy the child became.
Anthony sat there, festering, until it finally stumbled out. “Good god, Daphne, does that thing ever stop crying?”
“That thing is my child and your nephew,” Daphne said, aghast. “And he is a baby whose teeth are coming in.”
“Poor baby,” Violet cooed, offering her finger to the baby to nibble on.
Anthony rolled his eyes.
“Just wait until you have one of your own.” Benedict Bridgerton raised his eyebrows playfully as he sniped at Anthony. Benedict sat in a chair on Simon’s right, a pad of paper in his lap as he mindlessly sketched what looked like a picture of an apple or possibly an orange.
“Doubtful,” Anthony scoffed.
“Gah, and leave the responsibility of having an heir to me?” Benedict shot back. “Perposterous.”
“Ewww, can you imagine a child of Benedict’s being an heir?” Eloise Bridgerton lay sprawled out on the floor in between the two couches, her book firmly open in front of her, not bothering to look up as she chided Benedict.
“No one asked for your opinion,” Benedict retorted.
“Well, they should because I have good opinions,” Eloise shot back.
“Your opinions are rubbish,” Benedict said.
“You’re rubbish.” Eloise stuck out her tongue.
The only Bridgerton not currently in attendance was Colin, who was currently on tour in Greece. Taking his place, however, was little Penelope Featherington, who apparently, as far as Simon could tell, was glued to the hip of Eloise. She, too, was sprawled out next to Eloise, the same copy of Eloise’s book open in front of her. She kept quiet, but delighted in the light banter of Benedict and Eloise, giggling often into Eloise’s arm. And seeming much more at home in the drawing room than Simon did.
Anthony cleared his throat, loudly, in an attempt to get them to stop, and brought the conversation back to offspring. “Even if some day I was forced to have children…”
“No one is going to force you to have children,” Eloise cut in again.
“Mother might,” Anthony said under his breath. Violet glared at him.
“It wouldn’t be you having to deal with the child,” Eloise continued, eliciting another giggle from Penelope. “It’d be your poor wife who’d have to endure your spawn.”
Anthony ignored her entirely. “If I have children, they would be well behaved.” Augie let out another shriek, causing another dark glare from Anthony. “And quiet.”
Daphne threw her head back with a laugh. “You expect a child of six months to be quiet?”
“Oh, Anthony,” Violet waved a dismissive hand at him. “Do you not remember your own siblings at six months?”
“They weren’t well behaved,” Anthony snarked. As if on cue, Hyacinth let out a scream. “Still aren’t.”
“Mother!” Hyacinth ran to her mother’s side, eyes wide and angry. “Gregory pulled my hair.”
“I did not,” Gregory said, as he ran up next to them.
“Did too!”
“I was trying to go for the ribbon in your hair!”
“Gregory!” Violet gave him an exasperated look. “Why?”
“She pinched me!”
“He took the last biscuit!”
“She ate all the jellies!”
“Children, please!” Violet exclaimed.
Anthony shot his sister and mother a smug look. “My point stands.”
They were interrupted by Mrs. Wilson, who brought a platter of envelopes for Violet. “Oh, good, the mail has arrived. Oh, what’s this? The Cowpers have sent us an invitation to their ball.”
“How lucky for us,” Eloise said, sarcastically.
“Ah, and a letter from Colin.” Violet said. “Should I read it aloud?”
There was a collective groan from the group. Violet looked at them aghast.
“No, please spare us,” Benedict pleaded.
“All he ever does is prattle on about old statues and crumbling ruins,” Eloise added.
“I think his travels are interesting,” Penelope said softly.
Eloise rolled her eyes. “You are clearly the only one. His letters are positively boring and rambling…”
Her words were drowned out by a particularly dramatic sequence of chords coming from the pianoforte.
“Francesca!” Anthony bellowed.
In response, Francesca began to play louder.
“Francesca, please!” Anthony snapped.
With a heated final pound on the keys, Francesca ceased playing, the music still reverberating through the air.
“Finally.” Anthony rubbed at his temple. “Why do you insist on playing such dreadful music?”
“You dare call Beethoven dreadful?” The usually closed off Francesca looked all but insulted.
“It’s depressing,” Anthony gave.
“Well, then what would you prefer?”
“Silence,” Anthony said, sharply. “But that’s impossible around here.”
He shot Simon a glance, if waiting for him to agree, but as much as he once would have, he no longer could. These Bridgertons, with their bustling nature and their energetic attitudes may have felt foreign to him but he was becoming rather fond of them.
Simon gave only a simple smile and nod.
***
“You were awfully quiet at Bridgerton house today,” Daphne commented later that evening when they were alone in their bedroom together. She pulled down the covers to their bed, slipping in. “Was something the matter?”
He stopped to consider. “I am… sometimes simply overwhelmed by your family.”
“Overwhelmed?” She arched an amused eyebrow. “How could you possibly be…? I suppose I just find it normal.”
Simon made his way over to the bed. “I’m sure it feels normal to anyone named Bridgerton. But to anyone with another name it can feel like… an outsider looking in.”
Daphne tilted her head to consider. “I suppose that makes sense right now. You are the only spouse of us unruly lot. But that won’t always be the case. Some day, as hard as it is to fathom now, they’ll possibly be just as many of you as us.”
Daphne held out her hand to him, and he took it, climbing into the bed with her, curling himself around her. “What an interesting thought,” he said, giving her shoulder a kiss. “I wonder what they’ll be like…”
He brought his lips to Daphne’s and all thoughts of Bridgerton siblings and their potential spouses left his mind.
A/N : Hey, started a new series where all the Bridgerton siblings become friends and for a secret club of their own.
I hope this finds a little audience. Each chapter is dedicated to a spouse of one of the Bridgerton siblings. It’s more based on the show than the books, and is mostly canon compliant (though I take a little liberty with the timeline). I just wanted to explore friendship among all the Bridgerton spouses. Hope you enjoy - and thank you for reading! :)
Link on Ao3
****
The Earl of Kilmartin (John Stirling)
John sat at the round, dark wood table holding his cards close to his chest. He took a moment, as he awaited his opponents’ turns to give a glance around the room. The drawing room of the small town house was simple, of course adorned in the Bridgerton blues he had been growing accustomed to, but warm and lovely. The fireplace was lit, omitting a warm orange glow. The walls were decorated in a lively nautical theme; seashells and old maps and a standing globe of the world in the corner. And of course, plenty of bookshelves overflowing with books.
He had, of course, been to the Featherington estate dozens of times at this point. Francesca was close to all of her family, and oftentimes they would drop by for afternoon tea with her older brother Colin and his wife Penelope. But there was something stiff about the Featherington estate. It lacked character. John could see why they still kept their small townhouse -- a place they could escape to. He recognized bits and pieces of Colin and Penelope’s personality all over the room, and he couldn’t help but smile when he thought about his own home, about how Francesca was doing her best to make it little bits of them.
John tapped his cards lightly, attempting to downplay the slight nervousness he felt. He may have been a man with a title, but it wasn’t often that a duke, a viscountess, and the Lady Whistledown requested his presence. He often turned down social obligations, and only attended social functions when he deemed it necessary, preferring the quiet life outside of the Ton’s persistent chatter. Out of respect to Francesca, he had begun spending more time with her brothers and had developed a fondness for them. Their boys’ club evening drinks were usually relaxing and calm and full of warm laughter.
This new invitation was something different. Something he hadn’t expected but felt honored to be a part of. He hadn’t known what to expect the first time they asked him for a gathering one evening. What would they possibly have in common other than being married into the same family? Surely, it is not a requirement to have any kind of relationship with all of your spouse’s relations. But after one evening of a quiet card game, a good hardy drink, and some thoughtful conversation, this particular duke, viscountess, and lady were surely winning him over.
They didn’t ask him to give any more than he was willing to offer, and yet they accepted him easily with all of his quirks. There was a comfort knowing that while he did have his own family he could rely on, he was gaining a second family that might be just as trustworthy. This might have only been their third outing together, but he was appreciative of the continued invite. They had accepted him as one of their own just as easily as the Bridgertons had accepted him as a new brother. A warm thought indeed.
John closed his eyes, hoping the pain in his headache would subside. He wished not to burden anyone with his ills, and he was enjoying the spiritedness of the card game. But he may have to retire once they wrapped up the game if it got any worse.
The viscountess, Kate as she insists John call her, sat to John’s left. She was relaxed into her seat, one leg over the other, watching the game play out carefully. She was at ease with the group, and yet she still retained the sense of regalness she always held every time John was in her company. She managed to command a room without even trying and didn’t seem to hold others’ opinions in her regard. It was an admirable trait.
“...and when Edmund threw the block in his face, Anthony snapped,” Kate said, a twist of humor on her lips as she recounted the tale. It was her turn and she was careful in her play, but laid her cards down with confidence. “It was just but a little bark. Anthony is always more bark than bite, and truthfully, though I’d be loath to admit it in other company, our gentle sparring has become a staple of our marriage.” She spoke wistfully at first, but then her brow furrowed as continued. “But his shout at Edmund deeply worried him. He began reflecting about how he treated his siblings, and worried that the same angered, young man would become an intolerant father. I reminded him that his siblings still love him. That Edmund, undoubtedly would present complications to both of us from time to time as all children do. And that he carries less of the weight he used to now that he has someone to help him with it. He seemed to be soothed by that fact.”
Kate had a sense of pride in her voice when she spoke of Anthony. He was a good man. Though John had only spoken to him a handful of times, he knew through stories by those who knew him this fact to be true. But Kate - there was more than just pride. There was love and admiration and amusement. And John couldn’t help but feel connected to her. Connected in the fact that when you find a good match you accept the good and the bad and all that comes with it.
“Mmmm, so Anthony has finally managed to temper his temper,” the duke said. Simon. Simon, who sat across from John, tall and strong and seemingly uncaring at first as he tossed his cards into the pile. (It may seem as though he wasn’t paying attention but he was more attentive to the game then he let on.)
When John first met Simon, he thought the duke was all seriousness and polish, and had been fascinated upon learning there was a more carefree gentleman underneath all the layered persona he had clearly built over the years.
“Daphne has a touch of that Bridgerton temper,” Simon continued, a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. “But I’d say it’s more stubbornness than temper. She is very strong-willed and digs her heels in on every point as often as she has a point to be made. The paradoxical thing is that she manages to second guess herself and double back, which can be hard to witness. Especially when, admittedly, I know that she is right more often than not. She has such a passion for life. For others’ lives. She is such a bright light to all those who have her in her life. And yet self doubt is as much of a plague on her as the stubbornness.”
Simon softened with a look of utter devotion at just the thought of his wife. He sat back in his chair, thinking on his words, and smiling to himself over some unknown thought. John didn’t need him to say what it was, but he felt it. For he knew it, too, what it was to love someone with such complexity. There was always a duality when it came to others, even those closest to you. And one learns to love for better or for worse and often both at the same time.
Penelope, who sat on John’s right, clicked her tongue as she thought the conversation over. Penelope, who was warm and bubbly and clearly enjoying her company, was still shrewd and clever when it came to the game, and gave a long pause before she laid her cards down. John was sure she had been calculating at least a dozen different outcomes in her head before she settled on her move.
“Stubbornness runs in the family, of course,” Penelope stated, assuredly. For if anyone had been around the Bridgertons long enough, it was Penelope. “Eloise is stubborn for sure. But Colin…” she drifts off into a dreamy look as she thinks of her husband. “In many ways he isn’t. He’ll easily give in not wanting to put up the fight. But I can tell you in one way that others may not realize he’s similar to his siblings. He’s stubborn in his love.” She closes her eyes, giving a moment of privacy for herself at the thought. “Stubborn in that he always is pushing me to be my best and never wanting to eclipse my light. But sometimes I worry there is still insecurity that lingers there. His writing is so moving and yet he’s hardly worked on it since publishing his journal. He has novel ideas of his own, but he claims he holds back so that I would be allowed to succeed first. It’s such a silly thing, as if either of our success wouldn’t be a joint one. But I want nothing more than the world to know that his light shines as brightly as my own.”
A smirk climbed on her lips as she spoke. It was often he bore witness to Colin praising his wife so highly. And Penelope spoke of him in the same vein, with the same amount of tenderness and adoration in her voice. There was something to be said to be in the company of others who loved as deeply as he did.
John tapped his cards, knowing that it was his turn. He only had two left in his hand, but he seemed to understand how the game was played.
He hadn’t spoken much that evening (and in fact, he was always one to only speak when he felt the words were worth being said) but being in this company made him feel safe to speak freely. If anyone was to understand him, it was them.
“Though she has never spoken of it, I believe Francesca fears that she doesn’t love me the same way that I love her,” John said.
There was a moment of silence as the other three looked towards him, as if shocked not only by what he said, but that he had spoken at all.
“I’m sure that cannot be the case!” Penelope was the quickest with her response, placing a reassuring hand over his own. “I know for a fact that Francesca loves you very dearly. She has often told me as such. And the way she looks at you, it’s nothing but the purest of loves.”
Kate contemplated a moment before she spoke. “It is true that we all love in different ways. There is no one correct way to love someone. I think the important thing is that the love is there, and maybe it best to remind her of that.”
Simon looked him squarely in the eye as he spoke, as if understanding there was a deeper meaning to his words, even if he didn’t understand the exact sentiment. “And remind yourself that loving her, if nothing else, can be enough.”
John smiled to himself, grateful for their words. He knows their love is different. He knows that what he and Francesca share is unique and special. He knows there is a real love shared between them. But he also knows that something is askew. Some unknown factor agitated between them. But his love didn’t waver. His love would never waver. He was grounded, if by nothing else, than by that thought.
John carefully laid his last two cards on the table - the Ace and Queen of Spades respectively - and grinned at the group. He had taken the game, much to their surprise. “I do love Francesca,” he said, firm in his conviction of it. “And whether she has doubts or not, whatever her love for me may be, I will take it. And accept it. Because I do care for her so deeply. And I know that I will love her until my dying day.”
***
That evening, when John returned home, he found that Francesca had already gotten ready for bed, and indeed fallen asleep with a book open on her chest. John smiled, taking the book, carefully marking the page, and placed it on the night stand. He then took a moment to gaze at his wife, her warm beauty radiating in the candle light. Even in sleep, she was full of life and grace and wonder and joy. He hoped that for whatever dreams she was having that they would be happy ones.
He leaned down to kiss her gently on the forehead, not wishing to stir her, and left her side, hoping to find some remedy to help his aching head.
