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They’d been unexpectedly tossed from life so abruptly that Rosencrantz was still trying to figure out what it felt like. Perhaps, he’d settled on, like being thrown from a horse going at a full gallop- the horse keeps right on going without you and you’re left sprawled on the ground at a dead stand still.
He and Guildenstern were in a prison cell, in England, which had turned out to be a perfectly real place, with perfectly real orders to execute them, and their death sentence was to be carried out early the next morning. So perhaps just now was the moment when you first realize that you are, inevitably, going to fall off the horse. And that your companion is going to fall with you.
“Guildenstern?” Rosencrantz called hesitantly from the darkness of his own makeshift, straw heap bed.
“Mph.”
“Rosencrantz?” He tried, afraid he’d gotten the names wrong again.
“Guildenstern.” The second prisoner corrected, still unmoving, eyes closed.
“You’re Rosencrantz, then.” Rosencrantz nodded, believing the other to be addressing him.
Guildenstern opened his eyes for the first time since they’d quietly, numbly laid down. “You’re Rosencrantz. You had it right the first time.” Rosencrantz wonders how the other always seems to be able to remember, and if he gets tired of correcting his friend. He won't have to do it much longer. Rosencrantz will remember tonight, and in the morning, it won't matter.
“Guildenstern,” Here he paused slightly, as though waiting to make sure he had the right name, but in actuality trying to find the question that will earn him the reassurance he needs. There wasn't one, and he had to go the honest route. “I’m afraid.”
Guildenstern frowned slightly. “Of the dark?”
“No. That they’ll come execute us in our sleep.”
“Well, they say in your sleep is a good way to go.” Guildenstern responded, a touch of bitterness in his voice. “Being not alive in a box and on a boat and all that.”
“I mean, if they come suddenly and drag us off, just when we are trying to fall asleep.” It seemed they were hardly able to have more than a few moments of silence before something would happen. There was a slight pause before Rosencrantz carried on. “Or if they just take you, real quiet like, and I wake up and you’re gone.”
Guildenstern had been dreading the same thing himself, although he hadn't mentioned it, not wanting to plant the fear in Rosencrantz's head. The worst thing would be to wake up and find his counterpart gone, with no chance for even farewells, much less anything else he might want to say. “I’ll make a real fuss when they take me then. So you’ll know when I’m leaving,” he reassured not overly cheerfully, shifting slightly on the straw.
“I’d have to carry on the whole…” Rosencrantz gestured vaguely about the darkness “whole production on my own.” The thought of being without his companion, for even a scene much less forever, was starting to overwhelm him and terrify him. “You know I’m only good in support, Ro- Guildenstern.”
“You’ll get on alright.”
There was another pause. “Come sleep by me.” Rosencrantz’s voice was desperate, the voice of a man who wanted to cling to what remained of his world- namely, Guildenstern, who he didn't remember when he’d met but whose familiarity was a constant.
“Over there?”
“Yes.”
They’d been through so much, always together, it seemed only right they spend this last night in prison the same way- and Guildenstern wasn't entirely sure it was the first time he'd risen from his own bed and clambered onto Rosencrantz’s. Hadn't they awoken together, just this morning? He crossed the room without further question, and the taller man curled up against him immediately, his dark head resting on Guildenstern’s shoulder.
“This better?” Guildenstern asked consolingly. Rosencrantz nodded in response- nose, lips, and stubbled chin brushing over where Guildenstern’s neck joined his shoulder.
They were going to be killed in the morning, Guildenstern realized again. But at least this way they went to it the way they went to everything- together. Rosencrantz’s hair was dark and unkempt and not overly clean, but Guildenstern tilted his head down and kissed it anyway. In the end, which was where they were now, there was no one else he’d rather be in this situation- or perhaps any situation- with than his ignorant, curious, fearful, rambling, wonderful Rosencrantz. Guildenstern kissed his forehead this time.
“What are you doing?” was the response from a half-flustered, half-sleepy Rosencrantz who hadn’t moved his head from near Guildenstern’s collar bone.
“Should I not be doing it?”
“Isn’t it a bit late?” Although he’d probably meant late in the evening, Rosencrantz was quite right on that bit. Guildenstern was far too late with this- should have done it scenes-nay, acts- ago, before they’d ended up written for death the very next day. In the woods, behind the scenes of the castle, under the deck of that damned boat... he should have done something. Still, he has this night.
“Isn’t it never too late?” he fired back.
“Where do you draw the line of what is late?”
“Shouldn’t that be defined by what’s being done?”
“But what exactly is being done?” Rosencrantz led the conversation back to his original inquiry.
“I’m kissing you good night.”
“Statement” Rosencrantz mumbled, his breath warm on Guildenstern’s neck. “One-love.”
Guildenstern halted, struck dumb, and found himself more than a bit irritated that his friend was playing at this at such a time- and using the word ‘love’ to mean no more than nothing. “Do you mind?”
“What do I mind?”
“Would you drop the game?”
“Do you want me to drop the game?”
“This is not the time.” Guildenstern admonished, a bit frustrated that a game to pass the time was how his last hours were to be spent.
“Statement again.” Rosencrantz concluded, looking up at the redhead. “Two-love.”
“Rosencrantz!” Guildenstern nearly snarled in his frustration, and inched himself downwards to kiss his companion’s innocent, infuriating, tempting mouth. Rosencrantz let out a surprised mmph, but he responded eagerly, exactly as though they'd done this before, tilting his head and parting his lips. Both his arms wrap tightly around Guildenstern’s chest- well, if it was Guildenstern or Rosencrantz that he was holding onto he’d stopped being sure, but he was very sure that it was how it should have been written, at least, if they were ever written to be together. It was deep and meaningful and impatient, and Rosencrantz tasted sweetly human and like the earth and the sea all at once.
“Exclamation.” Rosencrantz mumbled drowsily, smiling gently in the darkness as Guildenstern finally pulled back to breathe. “Point and match.” Winning clearly wasn't pressing, however, as he wasted no time rolling Guildenstern to his back and crawling on top of him as he kissed more insistently this time, mouthing at the underside of the redhead's jaw, one thigh kneeing its way between Guildenstern's legs. They've done this before, they must have- Rosencrantz sat up and teased his tongue against his partner's lips, but pulled away before Guildenstern could get more than a quick touch, suddenly thinking again.
"Tomato." His eyes slid closed for a moment. "Do you ever suppose-"
"No, I don't," Guildenstern pulled him back down by the collar of his shirt, tugging it open a little in his eagerness. Rosencrantz gripped his hand, pushed it away, and pinned it down against the bed, lacing his own fingers with Guildenstern's. It would have been easier with more hands, what with the breeches to undo and all, but neither wanted to let go. This wasn't the first time, perhaps, but it felt reckless and needy, fulfilling and loving, all at the same time. Guildenstern was vaguely aware he was letting out breathy oh's of endearment and pleasure, only because they stood out against the drawn, humming breaths he was coaxing from Rosencrantz with every stroke. Rosencrantz's body on him, holding him, Guildenstern's right hand squeezed tight between his fingers and his left between their legs, Rosencrantz's lips pressed to every bit of his face within reach, Guildenstern's hot breath on his neck-
It was the closest to a happy ending they could have. They rolled to a more comfortable sleeping position but their fingers stayed laced, perhaps for courage, perhaps for love.
As Guildenstern lay there, kissing his now-drowsy companion softly in the hours before their deaths, he could only think that perhaps something Hamlet had said had been correct- here he was, bounded in a prison cell, and counting himself as good as king of infinite space. For what was space if there was no one in it? Just as Rosencrantz had said- what was time if one wasn’t happy? He would go to death remembering this.
And as Rosencrantz lay next to him, his only thought was that maybe... maybe this could be death, nothing left but darkness and holding Guildenstern’s hand, and death didn’t seem too terrifying any more. They eventually fell asleep, nestled together for the first, countless, last time.
In the morning, guards did arrive, bright and early, to take them both away, but they at least went to death together.
The final moment- Rosencrantz gave one last desperate but quiet cry- “All I seek is to keep my friend!”
And as though scripted, Guildenstern added softly, “Give us this day our daily end.”
Lights.