I did it again. And I love it. They are adorable.
This will probably turn into a two shot, I need to bring some Belle in :) But then again, only if you're interested?
Gaton's name in our world is Guy Lewis – Guy linking in the french connection and also standing for 'Leader' which coupled with Lewis which means 'Renowned Fighter' I thought suited the whole knight in shining armour/war hero image he's supposed to have going on.
Enjoy and please review – I'd really love to know what people really think!
ARE YOU SURE?
Guy ignored Ruby. He always did. He was irritating in that way, cocky and uninterested. Boring, really, for such a good looking boy. It's a shame, there aren't many people her age and Bobby's disappeared somewhere and Ella's got the baby and frankly she needs some entertainment. August is over at the next table but he makes her feel like she's stupid and Ruby refuses to feel like that, not anymore. So she pours Guy's coffee, smiles and ask him whether he'd like to go out that tonight. And he replies, as he has for four days in a row now, "I'm busy, sorry, maybe some other time…" and turns back to his newspaper.
Well, it was worth a try.
Guy turns the page as Ruby walks away but he registers the bell that chimes, the bitter breeze that blows through the opens door and the smell of rain. He feels the weight of the walking stick that taps its way across to the bar. Throwing whatever change is left in his pockets, Guy shrugs into his duffle and leaves. The blast of the storm catches him by surprise, but he starts running, he's late for work – again.
But when he gets to the poky little office, it's dark and shut and there's no one in sight and he remembers it's Sunday and he doesn't fucking need to be there. Nobody will be there. He thinks maybe he should go to the gym, but he's drenched to the bone and he hasn't got his kit – it's not washed anyway, he was meant to do it yesterday but he got distracted by something, he's sure it was important – and is that even open on Sundays? He doesn't know. Isn't sure. So he just starts walking. Might as well see the new playground the Mayor's built, it's not as far as home and will provide some kind of shelter. Maybe.
The pavement is pretty much a river under his feet and he nearly falls once or twice. His short, dark hair his Mother insisted be cropped into what he knows makes him look like a British schoolboy, plasters to his forehead and drops water into his eyes and down the back of his high collar. His cotton pants stick to his legs and his brogues are beyond repair. He'll get an ear full tonight and with that thought he stops to turn around – going to the playground like a bloody lost puppy, fuck.
He stand stupidly for about a minute and then there's a great hulking black motor pulling up beside him and the window unwinds.
"Mr. Lewis. Do you want to get in lad?" And Mr. Gold reaches across to open the latch. It opens with a snatch and the air is warm and moist and what is getting these leather seats damp going to cost exactly? But they're already pulling away and the wind screen wipers make a funny, wet noise against the glass.
Guy knows that Moe's in trouble with this man. Half the town is – he and his parents seem to have escaped, as far as he knows, but Moe's like an uncle –second father- to him so it counts all the same. He really shouldn't be in this car. They shouldn't be walking side by side up the front porch steps to that odd pink house. He shouldn't reach out to clasp, to help as the older man's cane slips slightly on the steps and he certainly shouldn't like it that he doesn't shrug him off and he's still holding on as the door closes behind him. There's a stupid fucking smile on his face and all.
"Get that jacket off, boy, and put the kettle on. Through there." Mr. Gold points and through a busy room full of old stuff with French names that his Ma would adore. "I'll see if I can find some clothes for you." There something tugging at the man's mouth that looks like a grimace but Guy really wants it to be a smile. It probably isn't.
The whistle blows and he clatters around the kitchen, pulling sugar and teaspoons from all sorts of hideaways and mess. Nothing seems sacred in this house. Apart from this, a tea cup with a chip and Guy pours tea for Mr. Gold into it, knowing he won't mind, knowing he'll quite like it.
Mr. Gold sits on the settee, a hand on his knee, his jacket suit off and Guy is curious to see how, for such a small man, he seems so broad, strong, wiry. Guy feels lanky and clumsy next to him. The tray shakes as he set it down on the coffee table near Gold's feet. Neatly folded clothes lie of the arm of the sofa and Guy doesn't think, just unbuttons his shirts and strips himself of his trousers. The rough fabric stings as he unclogs it from his legs.
There a grey, long sleeved t-shirt, plaid wool bottoms and a blue jumper and it fits his thing frame relatively well. He curls up on the carpet, near the fire which lights the room orange and plays light across the heavy curtains which block out the bleak world. It's so hot and his head nods and tea slips over his cup and onto the back of his thumb. Gold is very quiet when he talks.
"Are you tired, Dearie?"
"Exhausted." Gold is like a bird when he moves.
"You can stay here for a while, warm up. But I do have some business I must attend to-"
"Yes, thank you." And his house smells of roses and dust motes. "Can I help?"
"No need, no need." The Man moves towards the door and the Boy scrambles up. There's a raised eyebrow and a silly smile. Guy leans down and places his mouth to Gold's. It lasts a second, less. But it did happen. And it happens again. Gold's hand has moved to his cheek and he looks very sad so Guy kisses him sweetly on the lips and pulls just a little. He likes really likes it, especially when Gold whispers.
"My boy." He say's and then kisses him back swift and simple – a peck really – and walks away to his study and soon his voice floats through, he's conducting a deal, it sounds like and Guy's not certain if they've been doing this for years or not but they definitely are doing it. Definitely.