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witticastersensation(al)
The best part about having a boyfriend is being able to touch him, Sebastian decides. The best part about having Aziz for a boyfriend means that he not only gets to touch him, he gets to see him smile and sigh and (occasionally) make entirely satisfied noises in response.
Sebastian's been dreaming of all of this since they met: holding Aziz's hand, hugging him, kissing his mouth and sliding his fingers along his jaw. It's all too perfect, as good as going to the beach when the sun's so bright that it hurts his eyes and the waves aren't too rough.
He has exactly what he wants--nothing more, nothing less--and on good days, he's fairly sure that Aziz feels the same. (On bad days, he wonders if Aziz longs for more than lying next to each other with fingers intertwined and foreheads together. But Aziz says he doesn't, and Sebastian tries his best to believe him.) And when he falls asleep at night, sometimes with Aziz curled up next to him and sometimes without, he dreams of the featherweight touch of Aziz's fingertips as they brush over his cheeks, drawing him close for a kiss.
-
Kay received a letter at breakfast on her third day in Poughkeepsie. Seeing no reason to stand on ceremony when everyone else at the table had been ignoring her since she arrived, she opened it immediately, as discreetly as she could, and held the note in her lap to read.
It seemed safe enough--her fellows this morning were three cousins her mother's age who actually knew her great-aunt and thus were far better-equipped both to mourn the woman's passing and chatter about the area gossip. Kay herself hadn't thought of the fact of her relatives in New York in well over a decade; they'd been far-off shadows of people more than family even then, the vague promise of protection that had convinced her parents to let her leave Indiana. Had her mother not insisted that she go and represent the Schusters of Indianapolis, she'd have been ignorant of Great-Aunt Ada's passing entirely. But here she was, alone at her mother's demand, and quite ready to be done with the entire thing. A letter postmarked from Manhattan was simply too much to resist.
She'd known it was from Julius before she opened it, but unfolding the letter and seeing his handwriting was a confirmation she was quite happy to have, now that the idea of a full week away from home was beginning to seem like an interminable punishment. She smiled down at the familiar penmanship, trying to keep a laugh from escaping her: she wasn't the only lonely one, if the salutation My dearest, most beloved wife, without whom I am lost was anything to go by.
Philippa is doing well in your absence, though she occasionally looks to me and asks for her mummy. Each time, I tell her that Mummy will return soon, and until then, she and Daddy shall have a nice time together. From the look on her face, this is not the comfort I would hope it to be. The letter further detailed Philippa's activities--for I am sure you miss the darling little devil, even if she's a handful for one mere mortal to take on alone--before closing a paragraph with the curious line And I shall devote no more space to her, for I want far more to write of you.
Kay found herself raising an eyebrow at this, knowing exactly what was coming and yet not quite able to draw her attention from Julius' words. She could hear them in his voice, as close as if he'd just whispered in her ear, and it was so much a comfort that she was hard-pressed to look away from them and excuse herself like she ought to.
I miss hearing the typewriter even when I'm not sitting before it and the fact that your cooking is actually worth a damn in Hell, but I miss far more the curve of your breasts beneath your nightgown, waiting for me to disrobe you and pay them the attention they quite deserve. The noises you make when I kiss your collarbone, the way you tense in anticipation when my hands slide down your sides and to your hips, the hitch of your breath when my fingers first find your--
"Kathryn?" The sound of one of the other women at the table was just enough to draw Kay forcibly from her letter. It was Cousin Minnie who spoke, she was fairly sure, though all three were looking at her. "What in Heaven's name are you staring at?"
"A letter," she made herself say, quite glad her cheeks weren't betraying her with a blush. Glancing down at her half-eaten breakfast, she decided it wasn't worth it to try and swallow any more of it and stood. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to write a reply."
They nodded, but not without a disapproving cluck of the tongue from Cousin Pearl. Recalling, on her way out of the kitchen, that Pearl had been the one to collect the mail, Kay wondered if she had guessed who the letter was from--and therefore, what it might contain. She couldn't have, though, surely, she told herself; the alternative was too horrible to imagine.
Holding letter and envelope tightly in her hand, she climbed the stairs back to her room, intent on savouring Julius' letter as it deserved in private.
--
With Philippa put to bed, Julius trusted himself to go through the day's mail with a modicum of dignity. A bill, another bill, and best of luck, two letters happened to show up for him on the same day. The one from his father, he could well have torn into hours ago, when it arrived, but the other--well, it was postmarked Poughkeepsie, and if Kay had written a reply at all comparable to his foolish, late-night letter, it wouldn't at all be fit to read in his daughter's presence. He'd ultimately chosen to save both of them and spend the rest of the afternoon working up pieces of stories to work on when Kay came home, and the rest of the evening, playing with Philippa.
If he was honest with himself, it still rankled that Kay's mother had specifically directed Kay to attend her great-aunt's funeral alone, as though she had neither husband nor daughter to speak of. Julius wasn't one much for honesty on that point, however, and instead retired to their bedroom with two envelopes and a copy of the latest Wonder Stories to ease his loneliness.
The letter from his father was chatty, as ever, filled with more gossip about his father's acquaintance and Julius' old school chums than anything else. We send our love, it concluded, and, at the risk of sounding like a doting grandfather, would be delighted to see you, Kay, and young Philippa sometime this year or next. Julius leaned his head back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when best to head back across the pond again. He did miss England--fine as Manhattan was, it would never quite suit him as his home did--and the vague dream of seeing them all settled in a fine little flat in London never quite left him, however rarely he attended to that fancy. Actually picking up and moving would mean establishing themselves all over again, however, and would put Kay in the position he was now, her family an ocean away. He did not think he could ask that sacrifice of her, however tempting his in-laws made it--and so a castle in the air it would have to remain.
Setting aside his father's letter, he resolved to answer it the next day and reached over to the bedside table for the other envelope. The moment he slitted it open, he caught a whiff of Kay's perfume, drawing forth so clear a memory of her that he could nearly imagine her lying next to him in bed, the last vestiges of the powdery scent clinging to her skin beneath her cotton nightgown. She'd dotted her notepaper with a bit of her perfume, the minx, and he realized then how sound a choice he'd made when he'd decided to save her letter until he could read it privately.
It began far more simply than his, with only a Dear Julius as a salutation, and for a moment, his stomach twisted; perhaps he had been a bit excessive, foolishly so. But he couldn't deny the strange, quiet longing he felt every morning that he woke and found himself alone in bed, and surely it was better to make one's wife feel as wanted as she was. Surely--but he might as well let her response be the judge of that, rather than worry over it in his mind.
I'll have you know, she wrote, that I might've blushed bright red, reading your letter at the breakfast table. Did you start writing it the moment I left? He could imagine her arched brow without trouble, and after the next line, her smile: Receiving it got me out of a morning's worth of togetherness. I don't know how to thank you...well, scratch that, I can think of a few ways.
Julius exhaled slowly, smiling at the page. And you can have your choice of them when I come home.
The best part about having a boyfriend is being able to touch him, Sebastian decides. The best part about having Aziz for a boyfriend means that he not only gets to touch him, he gets to see him smile and sigh and (occasionally) make entirely satisfied noises in response.
Sebastian's been dreaming of all of this since they met: holding Aziz's hand, hugging him, kissing his mouth and sliding his fingers along his jaw. It's all too perfect, as good as going to the beach when the sun's so bright that it hurts his eyes and the waves aren't too rough.
He has exactly what he wants--nothing more, nothing less--and on good days, he's fairly sure that Aziz feels the same. (On bad days, he wonders if Aziz longs for more than lying next to each other with fingers intertwined and foreheads together. But Aziz says he doesn't, and Sebastian tries his best to believe him.) And when he falls asleep at night, sometimes with Aziz curled up next to him and sometimes without, he dreams of the featherweight touch of Aziz's fingertips as they brush over his cheeks, drawing him close for a kiss.
-
Kay received a letter at breakfast on her third day in Poughkeepsie. Seeing no reason to stand on ceremony when everyone else at the table had been ignoring her since she arrived, she opened it immediately, as discreetly as she could, and held the note in her lap to read.
It seemed safe enough--her fellows this morning were three cousins her mother's age who actually knew her great-aunt and thus were far better-equipped both to mourn the woman's passing and chatter about the area gossip. Kay herself hadn't thought of the fact of her relatives in New York in well over a decade; they'd been far-off shadows of people more than family even then, the vague promise of protection that had convinced her parents to let her leave Indiana. Had her mother not insisted that she go and represent the Schusters of Indianapolis, she'd have been ignorant of Great-Aunt Ada's passing entirely. But here she was, alone at her mother's demand, and quite ready to be done with the entire thing. A letter postmarked from Manhattan was simply too much to resist.
She'd known it was from Julius before she opened it, but unfolding the letter and seeing his handwriting was a confirmation she was quite happy to have, now that the idea of a full week away from home was beginning to seem like an interminable punishment. She smiled down at the familiar penmanship, trying to keep a laugh from escaping her: she wasn't the only lonely one, if the salutation My dearest, most beloved wife, without whom I am lost was anything to go by.
Philippa is doing well in your absence, though she occasionally looks to me and asks for her mummy. Each time, I tell her that Mummy will return soon, and until then, she and Daddy shall have a nice time together. From the look on her face, this is not the comfort I would hope it to be. The letter further detailed Philippa's activities--for I am sure you miss the darling little devil, even if she's a handful for one mere mortal to take on alone--before closing a paragraph with the curious line And I shall devote no more space to her, for I want far more to write of you.
Kay found herself raising an eyebrow at this, knowing exactly what was coming and yet not quite able to draw her attention from Julius' words. She could hear them in his voice, as close as if he'd just whispered in her ear, and it was so much a comfort that she was hard-pressed to look away from them and excuse herself like she ought to.
I miss hearing the typewriter even when I'm not sitting before it and the fact that your cooking is actually worth a damn in Hell, but I miss far more the curve of your breasts beneath your nightgown, waiting for me to disrobe you and pay them the attention they quite deserve. The noises you make when I kiss your collarbone, the way you tense in anticipation when my hands slide down your sides and to your hips, the hitch of your breath when my fingers first find your--
"Kathryn?" The sound of one of the other women at the table was just enough to draw Kay forcibly from her letter. It was Cousin Minnie who spoke, she was fairly sure, though all three were looking at her. "What in Heaven's name are you staring at?"
"A letter," she made herself say, quite glad her cheeks weren't betraying her with a blush. Glancing down at her half-eaten breakfast, she decided it wasn't worth it to try and swallow any more of it and stood. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to write a reply."
They nodded, but not without a disapproving cluck of the tongue from Cousin Pearl. Recalling, on her way out of the kitchen, that Pearl had been the one to collect the mail, Kay wondered if she had guessed who the letter was from--and therefore, what it might contain. She couldn't have, though, surely, she told herself; the alternative was too horrible to imagine.
Holding letter and envelope tightly in her hand, she climbed the stairs back to her room, intent on savouring Julius' letter as it deserved in private.
--
With Philippa put to bed, Julius trusted himself to go through the day's mail with a modicum of dignity. A bill, another bill, and best of luck, two letters happened to show up for him on the same day. The one from his father, he could well have torn into hours ago, when it arrived, but the other--well, it was postmarked Poughkeepsie, and if Kay had written a reply at all comparable to his foolish, late-night letter, it wouldn't at all be fit to read in his daughter's presence. He'd ultimately chosen to save both of them and spend the rest of the afternoon working up pieces of stories to work on when Kay came home, and the rest of the evening, playing with Philippa.
If he was honest with himself, it still rankled that Kay's mother had specifically directed Kay to attend her great-aunt's funeral alone, as though she had neither husband nor daughter to speak of. Julius wasn't one much for honesty on that point, however, and instead retired to their bedroom with two envelopes and a copy of the latest Wonder Stories to ease his loneliness.
The letter from his father was chatty, as ever, filled with more gossip about his father's acquaintance and Julius' old school chums than anything else. We send our love, it concluded, and, at the risk of sounding like a doting grandfather, would be delighted to see you, Kay, and young Philippa sometime this year or next. Julius leaned his head back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when best to head back across the pond again. He did miss England--fine as Manhattan was, it would never quite suit him as his home did--and the vague dream of seeing them all settled in a fine little flat in London never quite left him, however rarely he attended to that fancy. Actually picking up and moving would mean establishing themselves all over again, however, and would put Kay in the position he was now, her family an ocean away. He did not think he could ask that sacrifice of her, however tempting his in-laws made it--and so a castle in the air it would have to remain.
Setting aside his father's letter, he resolved to answer it the next day and reached over to the bedside table for the other envelope. The moment he slitted it open, he caught a whiff of Kay's perfume, drawing forth so clear a memory of her that he could nearly imagine her lying next to him in bed, the last vestiges of the powdery scent clinging to her skin beneath her cotton nightgown. She'd dotted her notepaper with a bit of her perfume, the minx, and he realized then how sound a choice he'd made when he'd decided to save her letter until he could read it privately.
It began far more simply than his, with only a Dear Julius as a salutation, and for a moment, his stomach twisted; perhaps he had been a bit excessive, foolishly so. But he couldn't deny the strange, quiet longing he felt every morning that he woke and found himself alone in bed, and surely it was better to make one's wife feel as wanted as she was. Surely--but he might as well let her response be the judge of that, rather than worry over it in his mind.
I'll have you know, she wrote, that I might've blushed bright red, reading your letter at the breakfast table. Did you start writing it the moment I left? He could imagine her arched brow without trouble, and after the next line, her smile: Receiving it got me out of a morning's worth of togetherness. I don't know how to thank you...well, scratch that, I can think of a few ways.
Julius exhaled slowly, smiling at the page. And you can have your choice of them when I come home.