One day, far away, I'll be able to love you freely
Summary: "He mumbled senselessly under his breath. That was such a waste of time. He could have been writing a dozen more poems.
A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts from behind him, "Sir?"
"Franklin!" He exclaimed in glee."There you are. I was searching for you."
OR: Franklin comforts Percy after a long day.
Read on Ao3!
Author's note: I give the birds what they want and they want perklin, i wrote this in one day. don't expect the best :D
Percy waved goodbye to his high-class guests politely, straining a smile.
In reality, he was absolutely exhausted by the mess he'd made.
Someone at the manor suggested he should work with a marketing team to spread the word of his books. It didn't seem like a terrible idea at the time. His poems were his livelihood after all. So, he scheduled a meeting that day, consisting of about four upper-class men.
Little did he know, the group would not get along one bit. He accidentally made the worst team of the nineteenth century. No one agreed on anything. Or acted civil. Papers and insults were thrown across the room. By the third hour, Percy stopped trying to negotiate—instead sitting by the side, watching it devolve into madness.
At that point, Franklin, his dearly beloved, came to check up on the screaming. The man smiled through the chaos and brought him his tea. The butler might not say it often, but the hurt in his eyes was clear at times like these. He wanted nothing more than to smother his darling with love at his lowest. That meeting was quite the low.
Percy shut the door as soon as the guests were out of sight. He sighed heavily as he turned on his heels, walking back into the manor. He mumbled senselessly under his breath. That was such a waste of time. He could have been writing a dozen more poems.
A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts from behind him, "Sir?"
"Franklin!" He exclaimed in glee."There you are. I was searching for you."
Franklin looked around the area. "Me?"
"Of course you, who else?"
"The maids, the gardener—" he started to list off.
"I would only search for you, my sweet love."
Franklin hummed, his eyes down on the ground. "Are you alright, sir? Do you have a headache? That meeting sounded very disruptive?" He said, ending the word disruptive in a way that implied it was a question.
Percy chuckled. Franklin had always used bigger words to catch his attention, even though Percy enjoyed his unique lexicon and made an effort to say this. He was perfectly fine the way he was. He still slipped up from time to time. "It certainly was disruptive! I have a terrible headache."
"Would you like to have some tea with that? To sharpen the mind?"
"Perhaps when we get to bed. I want to rest for the night. Care to join me?" There was no real reason to ask by this point. The answer was always going to be a definitive yes.
Franklin nodded, planting a kiss on his temple.
Percy opened the double doors to their chambers, extravagantly decorated. He had changed quite a few things since Franklin had moved in. He gave him his own desk right next to his, so they could share their brilliant ideas together. There was a wooden drawer tucked to the side, practically invisible from view. It housed all of the butler's clothes. Some of which Percy ordered from a special tailor. He wanted to help make his lover feel pretty.
He walked right in, taking his coat off and setting it aside on a nearby chair.
His eyes wandered to the unfinished poems on his desk. He felt a sense of responsibility wash over him—then dread. He had to get them done. He bit his lip. Right now wasn't the time, especially when he couldn't even think straight (nor was he ever straight to begin with.)
Meanwhile, Franklin prepared tea by their bedside, humming a melody to himself. Two sugars like always in Percy's cup. Percy encouraged him to try his own tea for once since dating. He found he quite liked it, especially with a splash of milk and a sugar cube—which sparked a debate on if one sugar cube or two was better. It never was a serious argument. More like a silly "inside joke" (a word Franklin coined).
After lamenting at his desk for a long while, Percy turned around to see his lover—done with his tea making—laying down on their bed, his scarf and coat long forgotten on the floor. His arms were open, inviting him in. Oh how could he resist such a sight?
He crawled into the empty space between his arms. His headache began to subside. Despite this, he could not relax. His body was as stiff as a rock. In fact, he'd gotten more upset. Where was this warmth during those long hours? Franklin was there. He was just out of reach, holding his tray of tea like a normal butler.
He was tired of pretending Franklin was a normal butler. He was his love. His driving force. His muse. His motivation. His darling. He wanted to scream on the rooftops his name for the whole world to hear.
He couldn't though. This love they had was scandalous. It was frowned upon that they were a couple of class difference, but a couple of same sex? They would be banished, jailed—or at worst— executed for their sins. How could a soft love like this be sinful? If only society could understand that this was alright—that it wasn't a crime to be punished.
"What is it?" Franklin's voice cut through his thoughts. He was always so good at catching when something was wrong. "You can tell me."
"I-I wish I could love you—"
"You do."
"I wasn't finished." Percy said, "I wish I could love you in public. To kiss you in front of a crowd. To whisper delightful praises into your ear on stage. To confess my vows in a church. To announce my love for you." He was just getting teary at the thought. How unfair it was that one of them was born a man. He still knew he would not love Franklin the same if he was not a man.
"We already do that," He stated as if it was a known fact.
The blond raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"We do it through poetry. You write about the kisses you want to give me. You write about vows and praises. You write all of these things about me, and you speak them. Out in the London town hall. They know about us." His taller lover explained.
He scoffed. That was the truest thing he'd heard since that woman from his first reading pointed out his frauds. It was utterly ridiculous. "They'll never truly know about us," he emphasised.
"I know."
And with that statement, the atomoshpere went quiet. The owls called from outside. He didn't know how long they stayed cuddled up in silence. He only remembered when Franklin spoke up again.
"I'm sorry that didn't help,"
"Don't apologise. It made me feel better." It truly did. Even though, he was still upset at the situation, there was nothing else they could do. Poetry was all they had to express their love to the outside world.
Franklin pressed his face into the crook of his partner's neck and kissed it softly. "I love you," he whispered.
In return, he planted a kiss on the other's head. "I love you too." Franklin held him tighter.
With that resolved, he finally let his mind wander far as he drifted off to sleep. He imagined a world where this love wasn't regarded as sinful. A world where a butler and a poet were equals. A world he believed only existed in his dreams.
This world would come true—centuries after their deaths. Where homosexuality was just no longer criminalized, but celebrated.