This, thank god, was not that nightmare. This was a relatively good day. Spencer’s father wasn’t on the estate, he was in town, which meant there was no chance of the day turning bad. It was always worse those days—always worse when it was in daylight than the cover of darkness, when Spencer caught him leaving his study and slipping out the back door, or heading toward Ryan’s cottage from the garden, sweaty and foul from helping [Idk, I don’t have a name, staff] with something, or worst of all, when Spencer was there, when he was right there with Ryan, and they both heard him coming, and Spencer had to leave, had to leave Ryan alone and escape out the back without a word, without screaming, or crying, or coming back with a weapon. Those were the worst days, worse than the nights, though the days when it was both were no question the worst of all.
But today, today he wasn’t here, today he was hours away. Today, Ryan was safe, for a while. It was sunny but not too hot, the last week of summer, the heavy light of mid-afternoon in the mountains a little too bright through the window, bright enough that Spencer was glad it was hitting the other wall and not them, curled under the sill. It was sunny, and comfortably warm, and Spencer and Ryan were pressed together, hands held close, kissing in the shadow under the window.
Kissing was not, and might well never be, Spencer was quite aware, what it was for other people. Spencer was, when he could keep his thoughts sufficiently in order, terrified, and Ryan was a different person day to day, though always experimental. Most of the time, for both of them, it was more trying to get through without a disaster than what anyone would generally refer to as making out. There were times, though—brief times—when the line blurred, sometimes significantly. There were times when this could almost be another place, when Ryan seemed almost happy, really happy, and the feeling that, the seeing that and hearing that and feeling it soft and sweet on Ryan’s lips pressed to his own was enough to make Spencer forget to think. This afternoon—this particular moment of this afternoon—was one of those times.
***
And there will be more :P I swear. The pron begins, like, next sentence, lol. I just kind of forgot what I'd written in my head :S so I am working it from the start again :S But soon! :D Sorry :(
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This, thank god, was not that nightmare. This was a relatively good day. Spencer’s father wasn’t on the estate, he was in town, which meant there was no chance of the day turning bad. It was always worse those days—always worse when it was in daylight than the cover of darkness, when Spencer caught him leaving his study and slipping out the back door, or heading toward Ryan’s cottage from the garden, sweaty and foul from helping [Idk, I don’t have a name, staff] with something, or worst of all, when Spencer was there, when he was right there with Ryan, and they both heard him coming, and Spencer had to leave, had to leave Ryan alone and escape out the back without a word, without screaming, or crying, or coming back with a weapon. Those were the worst days, worse than the nights, though the days when it was both were no question the worst of all.
But today, today he wasn’t here, today he was hours away. Today, Ryan was safe, for a while. It was sunny but not too hot, the last week of summer, the heavy light of mid-afternoon in the mountains a little too bright through the window, bright enough that Spencer was glad it was hitting the other wall and not them, curled under the sill. It was sunny, and comfortably warm, and Spencer and Ryan were pressed together, hands held close, kissing in the shadow under the window.
Kissing was not, and might well never be, Spencer was quite aware, what it was for other people. Spencer was, when he could keep his thoughts sufficiently in order, terrified, and Ryan was a different person day to day, though always experimental. Most of the time, for both of them, it was more trying to get through without a disaster than what anyone would generally refer to as making out. There were times, though—brief times—when the line blurred, sometimes significantly. There were times when this could almost be another place, when Ryan seemed almost happy, really happy, and the feeling that, the seeing that and hearing that and feeling it soft and sweet on Ryan’s lips pressed to his own was enough to make Spencer forget to think. This afternoon—this particular moment of this afternoon—was one of those times.
***
And there will be more :P I swear. The pron begins, like, next sentence, lol. I just kind of forgot what I'd written in my head :S so I am working it from the start again :S But soon! :D Sorry :(