Chapter 11 - The Rival
Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth.....the monotonous motion of the oar was lulling Darcy into a dream-like state - the outside world, the cheering crowd and his cold soggy clothes were all forgotten as his train of thought landed on that one subject matter that had been holding his mind hostage for the last two years: George. Instinctively he knew that he would be looking at him; with his clothes being so transparent as to be none existent, he felt exposed to George's ever-lustful gaze. The thought sent a thrill down his spine, and unfortunately he lost the rhythm of his rowing. He fought against the river current to return the boat to its original speed.
But all was lost; being captain and therefore at the front of the boat, Henry's small error caused the Oxford team to lead and eventually win the race. Mentally beating himself about the head in mortification, Henry stepped out of the boat along with the other Cambridge boaters through the straining crowds towards the eagerly waiting George. But what's this? George was not waiting for *him*, but was heartily shaking hands with the captain of the Oxford team, clapping him on the back, smiling at him. George had only ever smiled like that for Henry, or so he thought. It seems that George had had enough of Henry's routine rebuffs. It was a rather strange experience for Henry being the rejected party, so to speak.
Henry was shocked by how much pain he felt on seeing this new development. With a scowl upon his face and a heavier tread, he strode towards where George and the Oxford captain were standing, veritably *hugging*, for god's sake! Could they not control their urges until they were behind closed doors? People would see, *he* would see, and he would hurt inside...
As this thought passed through his mind, he halted, momentarily reflecting on this revelation of sorts. It seems the ever-stiff-and-formal Darcy *did* have feelings, rather intense feelings if the pained expression on his face was anything to go by. From his position 20 yards away from the two, Henry carefully inspected this new rival. Dark honey coloured curls, which would probably turn a brighter gold when dry, a little shorter than Wickham, merry blue eyes and a ready smile upon his face. Nice set of teeth, white and square; the face was quite feminine, delicately featured. His figure was rather effeminate too, more so than George's. More like pretty ballet dancer than a boating captain. Legs and chest well-formed, especially the calves...
What the hell was he doing? Henry shook his head to dispel the disturbing images in his head. It was bad enough that this pretty blond was attracting George, far worse that *he* should be attracted to him. For god's sake, he did not even know his name! By this time, Henry had reached George and the blond. He dithered uncomfortably at the edge of the crowd in his slowly drying clothes. A first year Cambridge student tapped him on the shoulder to hand him a towel. He took it without thinking, then immediately used it as a handkerchief as a sneezing fit suddenly took hold of him.
George and the Oxford captain turned to look at him. George quickly looked Henry up and down to make a comparison between him and the rather tasty- looking Oxfordian standing by him. Within 5 minutes of meeting, George was certain that this man would be an easy yet highly satisfying catch. Let Henry stew over *this*, he thought a tad angrily. Glancing round indifferently towards Henry, now with a red nose and watery eyes from his sneezing fit, he addressed him disdainfully, "So, looks like your rowing skills aren't what you thought they were - you'd been so sure you could win this hands down. Why not come over here and meet the man who bested you."
Henry sidled over and stood directly in front of this blond-haired blue- eyes man who had so suddenly and easily diverted George from himself. "Henry, I'd like you to meet Charlie Theodore Bingley."enryHenr
Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth.....the monotonous motion of the oar was lulling Darcy into a dream-like state - the outside world, the cheering crowd and his cold soggy clothes were all forgotten as his train of thought landed on that one subject matter that had been holding his mind hostage for the last two years: George. Instinctively he knew that he would be looking at him; with his clothes being so transparent as to be none existent, he felt exposed to George's ever-lustful gaze. The thought sent a thrill down his spine, and unfortunately he lost the rhythm of his rowing. He fought against the river current to return the boat to its original speed.
But all was lost; being captain and therefore at the front of the boat, Henry's small error caused the Oxford team to lead and eventually win the race. Mentally beating himself about the head in mortification, Henry stepped out of the boat along with the other Cambridge boaters through the straining crowds towards the eagerly waiting George. But what's this? George was not waiting for *him*, but was heartily shaking hands with the captain of the Oxford team, clapping him on the back, smiling at him. George had only ever smiled like that for Henry, or so he thought. It seems that George had had enough of Henry's routine rebuffs. It was a rather strange experience for Henry being the rejected party, so to speak.
Henry was shocked by how much pain he felt on seeing this new development. With a scowl upon his face and a heavier tread, he strode towards where George and the Oxford captain were standing, veritably *hugging*, for god's sake! Could they not control their urges until they were behind closed doors? People would see, *he* would see, and he would hurt inside...
As this thought passed through his mind, he halted, momentarily reflecting on this revelation of sorts. It seems the ever-stiff-and-formal Darcy *did* have feelings, rather intense feelings if the pained expression on his face was anything to go by. From his position 20 yards away from the two, Henry carefully inspected this new rival. Dark honey coloured curls, which would probably turn a brighter gold when dry, a little shorter than Wickham, merry blue eyes and a ready smile upon his face. Nice set of teeth, white and square; the face was quite feminine, delicately featured. His figure was rather effeminate too, more so than George's. More like pretty ballet dancer than a boating captain. Legs and chest well-formed, especially the calves...
What the hell was he doing? Henry shook his head to dispel the disturbing images in his head. It was bad enough that this pretty blond was attracting George, far worse that *he* should be attracted to him. For god's sake, he did not even know his name! By this time, Henry had reached George and the blond. He dithered uncomfortably at the edge of the crowd in his slowly drying clothes. A first year Cambridge student tapped him on the shoulder to hand him a towel. He took it without thinking, then immediately used it as a handkerchief as a sneezing fit suddenly took hold of him.
George and the Oxford captain turned to look at him. George quickly looked Henry up and down to make a comparison between him and the rather tasty- looking Oxfordian standing by him. Within 5 minutes of meeting, George was certain that this man would be an easy yet highly satisfying catch. Let Henry stew over *this*, he thought a tad angrily. Glancing round indifferently towards Henry, now with a red nose and watery eyes from his sneezing fit, he addressed him disdainfully, "So, looks like your rowing skills aren't what you thought they were - you'd been so sure you could win this hands down. Why not come over here and meet the man who bested you."
Henry sidled over and stood directly in front of this blond-haired blue- eyes man who had so suddenly and easily diverted George from himself. "Henry, I'd like you to meet Charlie Theodore Bingley."enryHenr