Archive of Our Own ^beta

This goddamn path, Monty thinks, is somehow much more winding and treacherous than he remembers.

Has he been gone that long? It has felt like an age to him, of course — even five hours without being in Percy’s presence does, much less going on five months — but surely, in reality, it couldn’t have been so long that he’s forgotten his own walk home. Granted, going on five months ago, he hadn’t a bad leg and a cane to be negotiated against cobblestones, nor had he the infuriating tendency to become winded after short distances that only returning from the brink of death can bring. Nor had he regarded his younger brother as anything more than a relic from a past to be neglected, or settled into the shoes of what being a sibling means for the second time.

He’d told Adrian that journeys can change a person, that one returns a man different than the one he’d used to be.

Funny, he’d assumed himself too old for such drastic shifts in his own life. Then again, there is the whole bit regarding what happens when one assumes.

God, that’s not how he’d like to think about an ass. If he’s thinking about asses, there’s only one that he would like on his mind.

Speak of the devil —

As he rounds the corner, the small garden that Percy had insisted upon cultivating in front of their home comes into view, along with the man himself — and Monty’s entire world. For the moment, he has his back turned, absorbed in whatever one does with flowers; God knows Monty hasn’t the slightest inkling. It’s always been fascinating to watch him work, though, whether on this, or evaluating a piece of music, or even the damn numbers. There’s beauty in everything Percy does, but there’s especially beauty in this, in the way he can be so lovingly absorbed in even something so mundane.

Despite their separation, despite how his heart jumps into his throat and his breath catches there, despite how every inch of him is screaming for him to move as quickly as he’s able so that he can finally feel the touch of Percy’s skin upon his own once more, Monty doesn’t have the heart to interrupt him. Not yet. He can stand here for a few moments more, painting the sight before him into his mind should he ever need it again (he hopes not; he hopes he never has to be apart from Percy for more than a few hours at a time for the rest of their lives, but just in case, he’d like more in his mental arsenal).

He steps closer, just a little, for a better look — but then Percy tenses, lifts his head from the flowers he’s inspecting, and turns, eyes widening. Inwardly, Monty curses himself for the disturbance, for ruining what he’s had weeks to plan as the perfect reunion.

Then again, he supposes the days of quiet steps and sneaking up on people are officially behind him.

And what does it matter, anyway, when Percy has dropped everything to run straight for him, his long legs carrying him there in no time at all? What does it matter when the two of them collide with a force that almost knocks him off his feet, when strong arms wrap around him and prevent that from ever happening, and he clutches tightly in return? What does it matter when all he can hear out of his one good ear is the sound of Percy’s heartbeat, all he can feel is the rise and fall of his chest, and all he knows is Percy ?

It doesn’t, Mony thinks. Nothing else goddamn matters.

“Darling,” Percy finally finds his voice. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“Never.” It’s said in a breath almost more than an actual word, this fierce resolve. This vow ; the word sticks in his mind, burning like a brand. Maybe one day, he’ll be more receptive to such things being exchanged between them, but for now, pulling back a small distance, just enough so that they can look at one another: “You can’t imagine how difficult it was to be apart from your ass for so many months. Zounds, Perce, so many.” He heaves a sigh, only in part for dramatic effect. “It was so painful that I was lying awake at night, willing the masturbation demon to come for me. Can you imagine how bloody awful it’d be to have to toss off with a demon ? All prickly, and not in the good way —”

“My ass?” Percy cuts off the thought, presumably before Monty can further careen down that runaway line of thought. Probably for the best; out of the two of them, Percy has always been closer to knowing it. They may have avoided at least half their sodding struggles on this… adventure had he accompanied them, but there’s nothing that can be done about that now. And Monty would rather not think of it, in any case, not when the corners of Percy’s mouth are turned up in the most enchanting hint of a smile. “You only missed me for my ass?”

“In my defense,” Monty lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, a smirk beginning to tug on his own lips, “It is quite a notable part of you to miss.” For emphasis, the hand not clutching the top of his cane snakes around Percy’s waist, clumsily grabbing a finger-full of trousers.

Percy, in turn, lifts exactly one brow, just as he’s done well more than a thousand times, and in an instant, they both laugh. It’s easy; everything with Percy has always been easy, when it’s really mattered. Nothing could take that away — not time, not distance.

Not even the darkness that Monty will never quite be able to banish from his own mind.

There will have to be conversations, he knows; some will be more difficult than others, and some will be quite gravely serious. Just the mere thought of one in particular has his heart racing wildly in his chest for completely different reasons — but all will be had in time, without him running away from them. This he can solemnly promise.

For now, though, Monty is quite fine to simply be here, watching as the last rays of the setting sun seem to bring out the freckles under Percy’s eyes, seemingly making them dance. Every part of him has always been beautiful, of course, because anything that is Percy’s would have to be, but those, perhaps, take the ultimate prize.

Light-soaked days. His own words come to him again in this moment, settling over him like a cup of hot tea on a frigid evening, spreading warmth to the tips of him in a feeling that he can name without any difficulty at all. Contentment. Peace.

Whether or not he could possibly ever hope to deserve it, he wants to wrap himself in it for the rest of his days.

“Let’s go inside, my love.” After a time, Percy’s hand gives one last gentle squeeze before withdrawing. “I’ll put on a kettle, and you can —” His eyes drift down to the cane, widening as if he’s just now noticed it (and maybe he has, for all that they’ve been wrapped up in one another), and back up again. “You can tell me what in God’s name happened to your leg, for a start.”

“Oh, that?” There’s a light laugh tossed in with the question, deflection also as easy as breathing. “ That was my dear sister. By which I mean that if we hadn’t found said dear sister….” He waves his free hand, vaguely, then clears his throat. “Can we save that story for after a shag? It’s all terribly gruesome, and, frankly, I’d rather not let anything get between me, you, and a bed. Bed optional.”

Percy nudges him in the shoulder, so lightly as not to knock him off balance; he’s careful to the last. “You cad.”

“Calling me a cad when I know you, Percy Newton.” The scoff, the big show of pretending to be affronted, is easy, too. “I know what filthy thoughts are lurking behind those beautiful brown eyes of yours.”

It’s Percy’s turn to shrug, to let the smile that’s been tugging at his mouth fully blossom. The setting sun is sparkling in his eyes now, and it’s all in all the most goddamn gorgeous sight that Monty has ever seen. He’s practically traveled half the world over at this point, he thinks, through one misadventure or another, and he’s seen sunsets over the sea and all sorts of things someone much more skilled than him would wax poetic about, but none of it, absolutely none of it has ever, or will ever, compare to the greatest man that this world has ever had the privilege of allowing to live in it.

The man that he has somehow been dealt a lucky enough hand to call his beloved — a hand that, by some miracle, he has somehow managed not to mess up.

No matter who may see, Monty is far from strong enough to resist rising on his toes and giving a kiss to Percy’s cheek, as he murmurs, “Let’s go inside.”