19 September 1892 — Ty's House, Wellingtonshire
They'd been doing this long enough and often enough that undressing Tycho was like coming home. After a long day of work and social bullshit there was relief and gratitude in walking back into one's room and seeing that all one's things were waiting patiently, exactly where one had left them. It was comforting to have something, one thing from the wide free-spinning world, that seemed within control.
Not that Tycho's body was his, but there were little similarities. When Ford pushed Ty's shirt off his eyes swept over the red-brown mark his lips had left there several days ago and he felt that coming home rush. He was careful not to let his eyes stick on it too long, lest Tycho notice and bring it up and ask him to stop leaving marks. He was careful never to put them in places that would be visible when Tycho was clothed, but anyone else undressing him would have noticed. Ford wasn't sure whether Tycho was sleeping with anyone else at the moment or whether his tendencies lay more towards short-lived but intense affairs (evidence from his own experience was perhaps indicating the latter), but Ford got a rush from knowing that anyone else who might have been visiting Tycho's bed would see it. They might visit, but this wasn't home to them. They weren't the ones rearranging the furniture. Their passing through left no signs; nothing to tempt Ford into imagining. Ford wouldn't ask Tycho to stop sleeping with other people, or even verify whether these phantom lovers existed, but this was a small act in defiance of them. I loved him hardest, it proclaimed.
In the beginning it had taken hours to fall asleep, both because they fell into indulgent circular conversations and because even when Tycho at last drifted off, Ford's head was too full of worries to let him sleep. Now the worries didn't keep him up at night. They weren't gone, but the sense of urgency surrounding them was. If his friendship with Tycho was doomed, it was already unsalvageable; he might as well enjoy it while he lasted. When Ty's breathing slowed, Ford reached to lay his hand on Ty's shoulder, imagining the shadow of the mark below his palm. His chest felt full to bursting; it spilled out to his face. Ford smiled against Ty's pillow and fell asleep.
Not that Tycho's body was his, but there were little similarities. When Ford pushed Ty's shirt off his eyes swept over the red-brown mark his lips had left there several days ago and he felt that coming home rush. He was careful not to let his eyes stick on it too long, lest Tycho notice and bring it up and ask him to stop leaving marks. He was careful never to put them in places that would be visible when Tycho was clothed, but anyone else undressing him would have noticed. Ford wasn't sure whether Tycho was sleeping with anyone else at the moment or whether his tendencies lay more towards short-lived but intense affairs (evidence from his own experience was perhaps indicating the latter), but Ford got a rush from knowing that anyone else who might have been visiting Tycho's bed would see it. They might visit, but this wasn't home to them. They weren't the ones rearranging the furniture. Their passing through left no signs; nothing to tempt Ford into imagining. Ford wouldn't ask Tycho to stop sleeping with other people, or even verify whether these phantom lovers existed, but this was a small act in defiance of them. I loved him hardest, it proclaimed.
In the beginning it had taken hours to fall asleep, both because they fell into indulgent circular conversations and because even when Tycho at last drifted off, Ford's head was too full of worries to let him sleep. Now the worries didn't keep him up at night. They weren't gone, but the sense of urgency surrounding them was. If his friendship with Tycho was doomed, it was already unsalvageable; he might as well enjoy it while he lasted. When Ty's breathing slowed, Ford reached to lay his hand on Ty's shoulder, imagining the shadow of the mark below his palm. His chest felt full to bursting; it spilled out to his face. Ford smiled against Ty's pillow and fell asleep.
Set by Lady!