Sapphires and Morning Glory
Virtuoso
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Stan wants to know more about who's pursuing his affections. What will Kyle reveal?
-.-
Virtuoso • noun
1: one skilled in or having a taste for the fine arts
2: one who excels in the technique of an art; especially: a highly skilled musical performer (as on the violin)
3: a person who has great skill at some endeavor
-.-
"Something a little different, tonight, Billy," Kyle said, ushering the freshman into the room the day after receiving Stan's note.
"How so?" the boy – really, he didn't even have to shave – asked.
"This time you're going to be writing a little introduction," Kyle said. "Our correspondent wants to know details. You're going to write what I tell you, OK?"
"Hold on, Kyle," Billy said. "You want me to write a faggy love letter, you're gonna have to pay extra."
"I am not," Kyle said flatly. "Because if you don't, the Deltas are going to find out that their prospective brother has an unhealthy liking of the cock."
Billy gaped. "How did you know?"
"It's written all over your face, not to mention your apparent ire at helping me attain the object of my desire. You tell your roomie that you're only doing it for the money, but you're looking for hints that will help you out with your own hapless romantic life," Kyle said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I complement you, by the way. Jason IS a fine piece of ass."
"He's more than a fine piece of ass!" Billy protested angrily. "He's sweet, he's caring, he's helpful, and he's got the most gorgeous voice…" he defended, trailing off when he caught Kyle's smirk. "Oh…oh shit…"
"Just write, Billy," Kyle said, handing him note cards upon which he had written out the "details" of Stan's mystery pen pal. "Write, and no one finds out."
Stan giddily unlocked his PO Box the next day to find the envelope he awaited, a little thicker than normal. He pretty much skipped back to Kenny's room where he carefully but excitedly opened the envelope.
"Stan," he read. "I'm sorry, I totally forgot you wouldn't have a clue on how to reach me…I hope I've fixed this problem. I took out a new PO Box today with an alias on it, so if you want to reach me again, write to Erik Von Kley at PO BOX 8273. I'm pretty interested in Shakespeare, as I guess you can tell…but I do a bit of my own poetry as well, and I think you're a beautiful poem, Stan…your dark hair and your dark cobalt eyes in contrast to your happy, exuberant personality makes me feel happy every time I see you. I was really close to tears every time I saw you sad, and I'm glad you've taken care of whatever was wrong before. I hope today's choice brings you a couple more clues…signed, 'Erik'."
Stan was still engrossed in this note when Kenny came back from his British Literature class.
"Stan? What is it today? More Shakespeare?"
"Huh? I haven't looked at today's. He got my note and he wrote back!" Stan said excitedly. "Oh, God…I wanna meet him! D'you think it's too soon, Kenny?"
"I do, actually…I would hope you'd be recovered enough to be sure he's not going to be a rebound. Let me see today's," Kenny said, as Stan tore his eyes away from the latest sonnet and handed it to Kenny, who saw the words on the page:
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since, seldom coming, in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special blest,
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope.
"Hmm…I'll have to think over this some, if it's supposed to be another clue to who this Erik is…Are you already writing back, Stan?" Kenny asked, watching the boy engrossed with his writing pad.
"Yeah," Stan admitted. "It's just…I want to make sure he gets these on the days he's not sending me something."
"Good idea," Kenny said. "Alright…I'll let you know what I come up with." Stan nodded and continued to write.
The next day Kyle pulled this letter from Erik's PO Box and quickly took it back to his room.
"Erik…I guess I can call you that until you feel OK with telling me your real name. Dude, I'd love to see something you wrote about me. I'm really glad I took care of that problem too. I fell for the completely wrong guy, y'see, and I got hurt. But even though this is the only interaction we have, I don't think you're like that. Someone as deep as that can't be as sinister and manipulative as he was, but that's a story for another day. I'm looking forward to your next note. Stan."
Kyle couldn't be more pleased, despite Stan saying in writing that he thought Kyle was completely the wrong guy for him. The only thing that concerned him was that his plan was working. Working marvelously, nay, beautifully. That thought in his mind, he returned to the Shakespeare anthology to find another sonnet. He would look through a couple of other sources for some love poetry next, and would try to write a poem about Erik's feelings about Stan's contrasting looks and personality.
Nothing would stop him from getting Stan back.
Nothing.
-.-
Notes: Ooh boy. BAD Kyle! BAD, BAD Kyle!
Phoenix II
