Chapter Text
Richard had been sleeping for twelve hours. After many a sleeping pill and a rough night out with Judy and Cloke, he couldn’t imagine letting himself fall into slumber naturally. He swayed on the spot trying to medicate himself and finally collapsed into his bed. All of his clothes were still on, including his shoes. But Richard was out like a light and would remain that way for the rest of the night, and all the way into the afternoon.
It was four in the afternoon when someone was tapping on his door. Richard, his head still pulsing, told himself it was merely an element of his dream. Never mind it was a dreamless sleep; he was too disorientated to even fathom that someone was outside his room. He ignored them and went back to sleep. However, Francis, who was already halfway through a bottle of gin, sighed heavily outside Richards room.
‘Is he not answering?’ Judy asked, coming, seemingly, out of nowhere.
Francis, who was skittish at the best of times, nearly jumped a foot in the air upon hearing the girls voice. She laughed, and he blushed. Finally, he answered: ‘no he is not.’
‘Went at it pretty hard.’ Judy said. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he was dead.’
This made Francis gulp, his eyes, without being able to stop himself, grew wide. He shuddered out a breath and turned back to Richards door, praying that if he looked hard enough at the wood, he would be able to see through it.
‘I’m just kidding.’ Judy snorted, and then she stopped suddenly, placing a hand to Francis’ arm. Her brows were knitted together in deep, sincere, concern. ‘Gosh, I’m sorry. I forgot. I completely forgot. I shouldn’t have said that. He’s fine. Truly. I’m sorry—I completely forgot about Bunny.’
Francis didn’t say anything and eventually, flushed and embarrassed, Judy walked away mumbling that ‘Richard is fine.’
Richard was in limbo. He was acutely aware that someone was making noise, but he couldn’t work out where it was coming from. He face was mashed against his mattress, one of his legs hanging off the bed. His room was nothing but pitch black. He grumbled, half aware he was making the sound, and was even less aware when Francis knocked on the door again.
Francis hadn’t been drinking that much. He had actually stolen the bottle of gin from Charles. No one had heard from Richard nor had they seen him. Yet, no one seemed particularly worried. But Francis was. He couldn’t stop thinking about Richard. About where he was, or if he was alright. Most likely, he was fine, but Francis couldn’t help his mind from going back to Richard.
Francis was fond of Richard, that much was true. And it was also true that he was more fond than he let on. But whatever, he knocked again and huffed. He looked down at the bottle in his hand.
He was going to ask Richard if he wanted to have a drink, perhaps play a card game. He stood, his posture gradually becoming more poor the longer he stood at the door, and bit his lip.
Richard could hear the knocks now, and was starting to register that they were, indeed, knocks. Someone was knocking on his door, he told himself in a hazy, faraway thought. He didn’t care. He wanted to sleep forever. Not in a ‘I want to die’ way. He just didn’t think he would ever be not tired and aching if he did wake up. But the person outside knocked again and, finally, Jesus, finally, he woke up and lay on his mattress with half opened eyes.
He grumbled, it was somewhat of a whimper, and lifted a heavy arm to wipe at his mouth that was wet with drool.
Francis knocked again. He had been knocking for too long now and felt like he had been stood up on a date. He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. He turned to leave but he heard something fall to the floor inside Richards room. He swivelled back quickly and knocked again.
Richard had dropped a book onto the floor as well as other paraphernalia that he kept on his nightstand. He reached a blind hand out to the small table, not knowing truly what he was searching for. His hand touched a bottle. He picked it up and rattled it.
Francis knocked again.
Richard groaned, wanting whoever it was to stop. He sat up slowly, his bones screaming in agony. He felt like he had been hit by a car. Or several. Maybe he had been. He couldn’t remember a thing of the previous twelve hours or anything that happened before. But the good thing was, he was finally sober.
‘Richard!’ Francis yelled. Richard near enough yelped and quickly swallowed down some Tylenol.
He slowly pushed himself out of bed and walked to the door, stumbling over mess on the way there.
Opening the door, Francis smiled in relief that it was in fact Richard.
‘What?’ Richard mumbled, his head throbbing.
‘What—,’ Francis began, ‘Why do you look green?’
Richard didn’t answer and walked back to bed, leaving the door open for Francis to make his way in. Francis walked in and blinked hard a few times to get used to the darkness. He carefully walked over mess before finding a small lamp to turn on. The room was washed in a faint orange glow. Richard had already curled back up in bed, but his eyes remained on Francis; he was half dreading some bad news.
‘What happened to you?’ Francis asked, finally. He stood in the middle of the room, placing the bottle of gin on the desk.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Judy Poovey said a party was what happened.’
‘Then that’s what happened.’ Richard grumbled.
Francis nodded and looked around the room.
‘Looks like someone’s ravaged through here. Did you bring someone back after the party?’
‘I don’t know.’ Richard said. ‘I can’t remember a thing.’
Francis laughed gently. ‘Must have been good.’
Richard made a sound and Francis couldn’t work out if it was made in agreement or not. He looked around the room more, and without being able to help himself, he begun to pick things up. Dirty clothes he pushed into a laundry sack made of net, he picked up books and placed them in a stack on the desk. He picked up empty Tylenol bottles and threw them in the trash. Scrap pieces of paper. Empty cans of shaving foam. An old newspaper. Pairs of socks. Shoes became neatly aligned and pens were in order. Francis huffed, brushed his hair out of his face and bit his lip. He turned to look at Richard, who he knew had fallen asleep from just from the sound of his even breaths.
He checked the watch on his delicate wrist. It was dinner time, Francis decided he would go and fetch something for Richard to eat and sneak it back to his room. Quickly, he scribbled a note on some scrap paper, telling Richard where he was going just in case he had woken up and was heading to dinner himself, he didn’t want Richard going to all that effort, and placed it on Richards pillow.
Richard had, indeed, woken up and read Francis’ note. He wasn’t particularly hungry but he felt his stomach cramp and knew that he didn’t have a choice. He was thankful that Francis was getting him dinner, otherwise he would probably have to steal something small from someone else. And he wasn’t sure if his body would survive if he done that.
Twenty minutes later, and Francis was back. He knocked lightly, and Richard was quick to open the door. Francis had a small plate of food balancing miraculously in one hand whilst the other held a knife and fork. He grinned upon seeing Richard and ushered himself in. Mash, lamb, peas, gravy, and something that resembled a messy dollop of cranberry sauce. Everything on the plate was relatively still warm, except the mash. Francis looked proud of himself.
‘Get in bed.’ He told Richard.
‘I don’t want to spend another moment in that bed.’ Richard said.
‘Fine, suit yourself.’ Francis placed the plate down carefully on the desk and pulled the chair out. ‘Sit and eat.’
Richard complied. He sat and ate whilst Francis watched.
After a mouthful of peas, Richard turned to Francis.
‘What did you want?’ He asked.
‘Oh. Nothing.’ Francis said. He stood up and removed his long, black jacket. He folded it neatly and draped it at the end of the bed. Now, he remained in only a thin knitted grey cashmere jumper and a pair of black corduroy pants, rolled up at the ends where his bony ankles were on show. His shiny shoes, still looking like new, made his feet look delicate. Richard wondered why that thought flashed across his mind. He scrunched his brows together and turned away from Francis. He also noted, when he had looked at him, that the dim light from the old lamp made his features more sharp. He looked down at his plate and stabbed at some lamb.
‘I was wondering if you wanted a drink.’ Francis said. ‘But it looks like you’re in no condition for that.’
Richard nodded and scooped the last of his dinner into his mouth, chewing mindlessly and staring at his desk. He swallowed: ‘Did you clean up?’
Francis blushed. ‘Maybe a little. I couldn’t move an inch without tripping on something.’
‘Oh,’ Richard placed his fork down and scratched the back of his neck. ‘Thanks.’
‘You know you were out for a long time.’ Francis said and moved backwards on Richards bed, laying on his side with his head propped up by his hand.
‘I gathered.’ Richard said. ‘I just wanted to sleep forever. I’ve never felt so tired in all my life.’
‘Yeah, I got worried for a moment.’ Francis admitted. ‘No one had heard from you. I phoned Henry and the twins. I even phoned Cloke. But he was no help. He said he had seen you, but was unclear of when.’
‘Sorry, no one let me know I had got called.’
‘They probably did.’ Francis chuckled. ‘I mean, they probably knocked on the door, got no answer, and left. I was knocking for at least ten minutes and then Judy found me. She made a joke about you being dead.’
Richard grimaced without realising.
‘Yeah,’ Francis mumbled. ‘Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction. She couldn’t stop apologising.’
‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying most of the time.’ Richard said.
‘Hmm.’ Francis smirked.
Richard looked to the bottle of gin on the table. Now that he had eaten, he felt much better. He grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the top, and took a gulp. He winced, hard, as he swallowed. The warmth travelled down his throat, to where it settled in his stomach. Francis watched him.
‘Are you sure you should be drinking any more?’ Francis asked.
‘I feel better now. I feel better.’ He took another swig. ‘Much better.’
‘But you just took a Tylenol.’
‘I feel fine. I don’t think I can get through the night without it.’
‘Fine.’ Francis sighed; Richard sounded awfully like Charles. ‘Then pass it over.’
‘Here.’ Richard grunted as he passed the bottle over, their fingers brushing briefly together as they made the exchange. Francis took a swig and then another. After passing it back and forth, Richard had found himself sat on the bed, Francis still in the same position next to him, looking down into the empty bottle.
‘We could get more.’ Francis muttered. ‘If you wanted.’
Richards head was already beginning to get foggy. He looked over at Francis, whose eyes weren’t even open. His throat burned, and his stomach felt warm.
‘No.’ Richard said. ‘I think I want to go on a walk.’
Francis slowly sat up. He grumbled something and grabbed his jacket from the end of the bed. Neither of them were drunk. Just a tad tipsy. Richard knew if he went on a walk, his head would clear up a bit. Unfortunately, he didn’t think being drunk could help him anymore.
They both got ready for their walk in silence. Richard wondered why Francis had got so silent all of a sudden. Catching a glimpse of his face, he realised that he was deep in thought, bottom lip between his teeth.
It wasn’t late enough for everyone to be inside yet. Groups still walked across the grass, laughing loudly. Francis and Richard walked in silence for the most part. Occasionally, their arms would brush against one another and they would make the effort to leave a greater space between them as they continued to walk.
And yes, Francis was deep in thought. The relief of seeing Richard all right had faded, and all he was left with was the truth.
He had wanted to see Richard, because he was fond of him. Too fond of him. And after spending the better part of the late afternoon with the twins, where he listened to them bickering over whatnot, he realised, humbled and flushed, that he missed Richard. He hadn’t seen him since Julian’s class, which was a day before Richard disappeared for twelve hours.
He had known it for a long time. Always was too fond of Richard. And he wasn’t the only one who noticed. Henry, of course, Henry knew.
‘You like him.’ Henry had said to Francis one afternoon at lunch, when it was just the pair of them. Francis flushed and then turned painfully white. Henry need not to even say Richards name. Francis carried on drinking some green tea that came free with the lunch and tried to peer out of a window, but found there were none to look out of. ‘Don’t deny it.’ Henry said. ‘Don’t be ashamed of it either.’
‘Not ashamed.’ Francis mumbled into a porcelain cup.
And so Henry never brought it up again. But Francis dwelled on it heavy afterwords.
But Richard didn’t seem in the slightest interested. And Francis knew that he was star-struck by Camilla.
They continued to walk until they found themselves heading back inside, up to Richards room. Richard shrugged off his jacket and slipped his shoes off.
‘I’m going to change.’ Richard mumbled and left the room with a pile of clean clothes in his hands. Francis remained in the room, still with his jacket and shoes on, wondering what in the devil he was doing still in there.
He made to leave, but Judy had just started to enter the room.
‘Oh, shit. Sorry, I thought you were Richard.’ She said in a jumble of words.
‘Oh, sorry.’ Francis said, almost exactly as awkwardly as Judy had sounded.
‘Was he okay then?’ She asked.
‘Yeah. He was fine.’ Francis said, and rubbed his cheek absentmindedly. ‘Just sleeping.’
‘Cool. Cool.’ She nodded. ‘I’ll see you later.’ She slipped out the door and walked away, but then Francis heard her saying something to someone, and then Richard replied. Before Francis knew it, Richard had walked back into the room.
Richard didn’t look shocked that Francis was still there. He had changed into something comfier and shoved his dirty clothes into the laundry sack. Francis remained still on the spot, loitering awkwardly.
‘You okay?’ Richard asked as he sat on his bed and grabbed a book from the nightstand. He looked upwards at Francis, his neck and jaw illuminated perfectly by the dim light.
‘I’m fine.’ Francis said. ‘Can I smoke in here?’
‘Sure. Just open a window.’
Francis shrugged off his jacket and lay it on the chair at the desk and then slipped out of his shoes. He pushed open a window and lit a cigarette. Richard had pulled back the duvet and slipped into bed properly. He was reading a book Francis didn’t know, nor did he care to know. He smoked silently as Richard read silently. It was dark outside now, the sky a dark blue. The clouds were like wisps in the sky. He finished his cigarette and threw it out the window. He closed the window and pulled the curtains back in. Richard watched him do so with curiosity.
‘Are you not staying with anyone tonight?’ Richard asked, meaning Henry or the twins.
‘No.’ Francis asked and sat at the chair belonging to the desk. ‘Why don’t I stay here?’
‘Here?’ Richard asked and tabbed his book before closing it and placing it back on the nightstand. ‘I don’t know where you would sleep.’
Full of humour: ‘Share the bed?’ Francis grinned. ‘Like a couple of kids.’
Richard shrugged. He wasn’t particularly uncomfortable by Francis’ orientation. He had always known deep down. And he never dwelled on it too long. Not too long until, that was, Francis had kissed him. It was quick, and neither of them had mentioned it since. Their minds and lives were too wrapped up with Bunny and the aftermath that it almost felt like a sin to think of anything but that. Oh, how Bunny would roll in his grave at the thought of Francis and Richard kissing.
Richard, in all honesty, had forgotten about the kiss And wasn’t even thinking about anything other than how bad his head was starting to hurt again. He had shrugged at Francis and Francis felt a little deflated at the gesture. He didn’t expect Richard to drag him by the belt into bed, but a part of him wished he had.
‘I could stay here,’ Francis said, casually and without strain, ‘tomorrow we can go to Julian’s together. I don’t have to make an effort. Just roll out of bed and off we go.’
Richard wasn’t really listening. Sleep had overcome him again. He nodded, just agreeing to whatever. Francis hid a smile and slid into Richards bed, both of them laying in opposite directions. Richard threw a pillow to Francis and rolled over, his breaths evening out and becoming soft. It didn’t take long for Francis to drift off.
They both fell asleep before eight in the dimly lit room. Francis had dreamt something horrible about Bunny and woke up, sweating and head pounding. He sat up, Richard was still sleeping. He pulled his cashmere jumper off and was left with a thin white long sleeve shirt. He remained upright for a few moments, gathering himself, when he looked over to a grumbling Richard.
In the dim light, Francis could see Richards furrowed brows, his slightly puckered lips. Francis ran a hand down his face and yawned. He made to lay back down when Richards grumbled something Francis had mistaken for talk.
‘Richard?’ Francis sat up again. ‘What?’
Richard mumbled again. But his eyes were closed.
‘Fran…’ Richard said ever so quietly. ‘France.’
Richard was dreaming, that much was clear. But what Francis didn’t know, was that Richard was dreaming about him.
Within Richards mind, a picture had been painted. A clear, vivid dream so captivating, Richard was so sure it was real: he had walked into a room. A room he did not know. And within the room was Camilla and Francis. Camilla was perched upon a desk and Francis stood between her legs. They mouthed grazed one another’s and Richard watched. His eyes travelled to Camilla’s stretched neck as she tilted upwards to touch Francis’ lips with her own. The angle of her jaw made Richards stomach feel warm. Francis, his jaw sharp as he angled his head to the side, his tongue swiping over Camillas lips. Richard watched, in awe.
He walked into the room further and watched Francis pull away from Camilla and looked at him. Richard wasn’t embarrassed that he was caught being a voyeur. It turned him on further, actually. Francis smirked, his lips a deep red. Camilla smiled, too. She slipped off the desk with the helping hand of Francis and walked over to Richard, she kissed him. Richard groaned into the kiss, placing his hands on her face. Francis watched the both of them.
Camilla pulled away and felt for Richards hand. She lead him over to Francis.
Francis stood with his hands in his pockets, looking gloriously disheveled. Something lurched at the very pit of Richards stomach and he let go off Camillas hand without thinking. Francis pulled his hands out of his pockets and reached for Richards face. His thumb grazed against Richards bottom lip. Richard reached up and grabbed Francis’ wrist. So bony and slender. So easy to wrap a hand around. So delicate. Richard wanted Francis to kiss him.
Francis leaned in slowly and kissed him tenderly. But Richard didn’t want tender. He wanted fury.
He slapped away Francis’ hands that still lay on his face and placed his on Francis. He placed on hand on his lower back, to pull him in further, and the other hand travelled around to the back of Francis’ hair. He tugged and let Francis moan into his mouth. Fire grew between them.
Camilla had vanished and only Francis and Richard remained. They pressed against one another harder. Harder and harder. Richard wanted to inhale Francis. He wanted to grab and scratch at him. God. He fucking wanted him. He kissed him, and was kissed by him. It was forbidden. But, God, fucking Christ! Richard was taking off Francis’ shirt when coldness washed over him. He pulled away from Francis and looked around. He wasn’t where he thought he was. He was in complete darkness. The only thing he could make out was the sound of ragged breathing. And then someone spoke: ‘Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Scum.’ It was Bunny. Before Richard knew it, his eyes shot open and he was met with Francis, looking at him with furrowed brows and red cheeks.
‘Fuck.’ Richard rubbed his face. ‘Fuck. I heard Bunny.’
‘Nightmare?’ Francis asked. Richard ignored him and asked: ‘What time is it?’
Francis shrugged.
Richard felt unbelievably embarrassed as the dream started to rush back to him. His face was bright red, his brows remaining furrowed. Francis scratched his arm awkwardly and cleared his throat. He asked again if it was a nightmare.
‘Yes.’ Richard answered too quick.
‘Pretty wild dream then.’ Francis mumbled. ‘You were making all these noises. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were dreaming about Camilla or something.’
Richard glared over at Francis. He looked guilty.
‘Oh my,’ Francis gasped. ‘You were, weren’t you?’
‘I was what?’
‘Dreaming about Camilla.’
‘Go to sleep.’ Richard said.
‘No wonder you moaned her name.’ Francis joked. Richard flushed redder than ever and wanted to die. He didn’t know if he was more embarrassed at the thought of Francis knowing he had had a wet dream, or the thought that the dream, for the most part, had been about him.
Richard turned over to face Francis who was still sitting. As he moved, he felt the strain in his pants. Fuck. Fuck. Actually, Richard was more embarrassed at the fact that he was still turned on, and was getting more turned on at the memory of the dream. Richard realised in the quick moment of silence that washed over the two, that he had enjoyed the image and feeling of Francis kissing him more than he had enjoyed Camilla kissing him. He lost himself, and thought back to the time where Francis kissed him for real. The strain in his pants twitched.
Francis remained sat, watching Richard.
All the noises Richard had been making in his sleep had turned him on. He wanted to climb on top of Richard and kiss his face off. But Richard looked pissed off and embarrassed.
He sighed and ruffled his hair. Richard watched him do so.
Before he could stop himself: ‘Why did you kiss me?’
‘What?’ Francis asked.
‘Why did you kiss me that one time?’
‘I don’t know. It just happened.’
The hardness in Richards pants was becoming unbearable. He wondered what Francis would do if he reached over and pulled him on top of him. Richard clenched his jaw and sat up, careful to keep the duvet over his bottom half. Francis noticed the action and felt his heart skip a beat.
They remained sat in the dim light. Richard placed a hand on his head and closed his eyes. Francis craned his head downwards and let his hair fall over his face. Richard opened his eyes without Francis knowing and looked at the man sitting in front of him. Fuck it, he thought, and began to reach over to Francis. He stopped himself before he could touch him, but Francis had noticed the movement and bit his lip. He moved his head upwards, his lip still in between his teeth.
Richard noticed how beautiful Francis looked. His eyes glistened and he looked needy.
Richard didn’t stop himself this time. He reached for Francis and pulled him over. Francis moved easily, wanting to be handled by Richard. Their lips grazed each other’s, they were teasing one another. And then Richard kissed him. Hard.
They kissed. Kissed and kissed. Until Richard pulled away. He began to kiss down Francis’ neck. All the way down his neck to his collarbone. Francis pulled at Richards hair.
Richard couldn’t work out if it was himself moaning or not. He didn’t care. God, he couldn’t remember the last time something felt so good. He placed kisses, sloppy, over Francis’ skin. He wasn’t ashamed, he wanted Francis all to himself. In that moment, he didn't ever want to not be kissing him. Oh, the horror! Francis felt his jaw go slack, his mouth opening.
Francis moved so he was straddling Richard and felt Richards warm hands as they made their way under his white top. His soft hands travelled the length of his torso.
Their lips met again, harsher this time. They breathed heavily, their eyes squeezed shut. Francis grabbed a fistful of Richards shirt, grabbed at whatever he could. But his heart was racing too much. He felt like he was going to explode. He pulled away. He pulled away and tried to catch his breath. He couldn’t think right. Couldn’t breathe right.
‘Fuck you.’ Francis mumbled harshly. Richard looked up at the red head, his lips swollen and his hair a mess. His face knitted into confusion.
Francis, in a surge of confidence, grabbed Richards jaw.
‘You were dreaming about me, weren’t you?’ Francis whispered, harsh. ‘Say that you were.’
Richard swallowed. Francis watched the lump in his neck move as he did so. Richard nodded. He nodded as though he was pleading. It was enough for Francis. He pecked Richard on the lips and pulled away from him entirely. Richard watched as Francis slipped on his shoes, pulled his jumper and jacket on.
‘Where are you going?’ Richard asked, his voice soft. Francis didn’t say anything until he pulled the door open.
‘I don’t want you to regret this and then resent me.’ Francis turned his back to Richard. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
The door closed and Richard was too shaky to do anything. He wasn’t particularly sad that Francis had left. He swallowed again and then laid back, placing his head against the soft pillow. Listening to his own breaths, he noticed the smell of Francis lingered behind. Like a ghost. Richard bit his lip and reached, with one hand, beneath the duvet.