Title: Watch One Hour With Me
Book: Mary Renault's "The Charioteer"
Pairing: Ralph Lanyon/Laurie Odell
Rating: R
Summary: On the evening after Laurie's mother's wedding, Ralph and Laurie spend a memorable night at Laurie's childhood home.
Disclaimer: I am not worthy to tie Mary Renault's shoes. I do not own these characters or make any profit from them, although I love them dearly.
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to my picky, patient and all-round wonderful beta, Tehta, and to Capella for help with ensuring the Britishness of the dialogue.
A/N: Birthday fic for Tehta, with thanks for introducing me to this amazing book.




Crates packed with crystal and china sat in transient clumps on the floor, awaiting transport to the vicarage.  The hallway cabinet, which had once softly chimed every time Gyp loped by, now stood empty, its dark wood as strange as the naked earth under an upturned stone.  Picking his way between boxes, Laurie made his way to the kitchen.  He reached for the top shelf with the ease proper to long-held habits, remembering a second too late that the house was not the only thing that had changed.

"Don't be silly, Spud."

Ralph took the glasses from Laurie's hand.  The chair was a few paces away; for a moment, Laurie's awareness narrowed to Ralph's grip on his arm as he felt himself being eased down.  Then the darkness receded and the pain eased a little.

"Have you got your pills?" Ralph asked.

"I'll be all right.  Twisted it a bit, is all.  Not used to standing quite so much."

Ralph's eyebrows were drawn.  "Come now, Spud, this is no time for heroics.  You should see yourself, whiter than a ghost.  Where are those pills?"

The knee still pulsed, as if pierced through with hot iron.  Laurie saw no good reason to argue.  "Medicine cabinet.  I only need one or two."

Ralph nodded.  Laurie heard him running up the stairs.  Soon Ralph had brought the aspirin, poured Laurie a glass of water, and carefully prodded the leg to ensure it wasn't hurt badly.  His hands were patient but, to Laurie, being the cause of such a commotion was a little much to take.

"Bloody nuisance.  I ought to have learned by now that the leg doesn't take well to being used in certain ways."

"It's no trouble, Spuddy.  Here."  Ralph reached for the champagne bottle.  "Have some of this."

The champagne bubbles fizzed, blasphemously festive in the silence of the abandoned house.  But the pleasant warmth that spread along Laurie's limbs quickly dulled this impression.  Soon even the knee felt better.

Ralph had sat down at the table, opposite Laurie.  His crisp uniform and white shirt looked odd against the backdrop of the empty kitchen, rather as if he had wandered onto the wrong stage set.  He has never sat in that chair before, Laurie thought, feeling the strangeness growing.  The clock above the stairs ticked theatrically, as if announcing an imminent revelation -- the build-up before the great denouement.  It seemed to Laurie that he must do something.

"We could have a fire, if we keep the window closed and the blackout snug," he said.  "Last night I wished I might."

"Why didn't you?"

"It didn't seem quite like my house, then.  It wasn't, really."

"Well," Ralph smiled.  "It is now."

It soon grew warm in front of the fireplace and Ralph took off his jacket.  Flames danced behind the grate, casting a spell across the hearthrug and walls, cocooning the living room against the world outside.  The night had some of that quality, too, as if the hours that lay ahead would stretch out forever, protecting any confidences exchanged from the querying light of day.  They had finished the champagne, and Laurie made some drinks.  Ralph lit two cigarettes; for a while they smoked in easy silence.

"I used to wonder what you went back to after end of term," Ralph said.  "But this seems rather like a good place.  You must have been happy here once.  Before all this, I mean."  He waved a hand expansively.

"I suppose I was.  I honestly didn't give it much thought, at the time."

Ralph had put out his cigarette and was now regarding Laurie with a slow, appraising look.  "That's the best way of all."

For some time now, Laurie had sensed things moving slowly yet inevitably forward, like a great, sluggish river.  The tug of the undertow became insistent all of a sudden, though he had known it was there all along.  It felt out of control, like something rolling downhill.

"Anyway," he said quickly, "that's all finished now.  I can hardly believe this is the same house; I never knew it could feel so bare.  At least the wedding is over."
 
"It was a lot to ask of you, to give the bride away."
 
"There was no one else.  And she really did need me, after all."

Ralph smiled.  "You did well," he said matter-of-factly.

One did not often hear those words from Lanyon's mouth back in his days as Head of House.  Laurie, in spite of the awfulness of the past two days, felt a gratifying swell of pride.  "So did you, putting up with awkward questions.  I never did properly thank you for coming up, did I?  I've had so much on my mind, Ralph; do forgive me."

"It's all right.  You take too much on yourself, Spud, you know." Ralph's voice had softened.  "You really ought to let someone take care of you a bit.  Wouldn't be such a bad thing."

He leaned closer as he said this, and Laurie could almost swear he felt Ralph's hand brush his shoulder.  Just then the fire crackled, one of the logs falling and dislodging a spray of sparks.  Ralph got down to see to it, and the current that had electrified the air between them settled back down to an underlying hum.

Laurie leaned back into the comfort of the divan and looked around, expecting the reassurance of familiarity.  But the mantelpiece was empty of ornaments, and the wall above it shocked the eye with the bright-white rectangle of blankness where a picture had once been.  By the time the fire was once again burning evenly Laurie's mood had deteriorated somewhat.

"Now, Spud."  Turning from the fireplace, Ralph had taken in the mood change in a swift glance.  "What you need is another drink."

He poured out more rum and sat back down on the divan, a little closer this time.  He handed Laurie his glass.  "Hardly worth it to waste tonight fretting. No nurses, no late pass; the freedom's staggering."

Laurie smiled; the alcohol was doing its work.  "I know I shouldn't be so difficult.  Some chaps have it much worse, it's criminal of me, really.  And still I..."

"Feel hard done by?"

"Dispossessed, I suppose.  A bit."

"You've every right.  The whole business was quite sudden."

"It isn't just that."  Laurie felt the enormity of the world squeeze around the little cottage, its emptiness suddenly making it seem vulnerable, like the shell of an egg.  "It's all those papers up in my cupboard, and the lanes out behind, and Gyp.  Things could be rotten all round, and hard, but so long as this place was the same it didn't seem to matter as much.  Only now it's not.  The same, I mean.  It's gone altogether."

"Spud."  Ralph had moved nearer still.  "It's all right."  Now his hand really was on Laurie's shoulder.  It felt warm and steadying, like the comforting weight of water.

"Is it?"

"It will be."  There was a tone in Ralph's voice Laurie had not heard before.  "I know it will."  Ralph's hand had moved to Laurie's neck.  The rum was making Laurie dizzy; he could feel Ralph's breath on his cheek.

There is a moment on the diving board when a swimmer looks down at the surface of the water and impels his body to spring forward.  Things had been moving steadily on this course for some time; if Laurie were honest with himself he could see quite clearly that he had willed it to be so, encouraged it even.  Still, up until the very last second there is always the matter of choice, real or imagined -- the comfort of knowing that, when it comes down to it, one can always turn back and climb down the ladder.

And yet sometimes the pull of the deep is too great.  Laurie closed his eyes and met Ralph's mouth with his own.

For some moments it didn't seem quite real.  It was difficult to reconcile the Lanyon who had loomed so large in his mind for so long with this one.  For one thing, the closeness was shocking; all that neatly bundled energy Ralph seemed to contain was now somehow getting mixed up with Laurie -- atoms randomly bouncing, heating up Laurie's skin.  But then Ralph said, "Oh, Spuddy," and started kissing his neck, and Laurie moved his fingers through Ralph's hair, and all considerations of whether something were real or not ceased to matter.

Laurie was vaguely aware of his heart hammering fast and of Ralph's hand on his leg -- Ralph's gloved hand, his good leg.  The hand was exerting a warm pressure on his thigh, and it had been such a long time since Laurie had been touched in anything other than a clinical capacity that its mere presence nearly burned through his trousers.  His body felt healthy all of a sudden, and strong; the blood in his veins pumping as joyfully as if he were a boy.  Light-headed with this feeling of vigour, so long absent, he tightened his grip on Ralph's hair, feeling its fine texture brush against his face.

Less gently now, Ralph pulled him closer and began undoing the buttons on his uniform; he was kissing Laurie's mouth again, hard, as if the waiting that had led up to this moment had been too long.  Laurie felt as if he'd been swept up in a great wave: tossed about, this way and that, the ground long gone from under his feet.

With an insistent swell the wave gained momentum, and the living room began to sway.  Laurie felt a strange prickly lightness under his skin, and heard the thumping of his heart echo in his head.  He opened his eyes, but tiny black dots blotted out his vision; with an odd detachment he noticed that he couldn't move.

"Spud?"  Ralph pulled away abruptly, trying to meet his eyes.  "Spuddy, what is it, what's wrong?"

"I'm dizzy."

The living room lurched and fell away from Laurie, the ceiling coming up to meet him.  He braced himself for the impact of his fall, and felt a pillow being propped under his head.  Gradually the world seemed to settle once again on an even keel.

Ralph was saying, "The pills and then all that rum; I should have thought.  No wonder you--"

"I'm awfully sorry about this, Ralph, I feel such a fool..."

"No, Spuddy, no.  Really, it's no bother."

There was something in Ralph's voice that reminded Laurie of himself as a boy, saying, "Of course I don't mind" to the prospect of some dreadful chore just when the joys of summer beckoned in all their glory.  He should say something, he felt, but his capacity for explanations had grown impaired, along with his ability to tell what it was exactly he should be explaining.  He said the first thing that came to mind.  "Do you know, your hair is just as soft and fine as I imagined?  And fair, too; it must have grown lighter under all that sun."

"Did you really imagine it?"

"I say, Ralph."  Laurie's tongue stumbled over the words.  "You do realize that I won't be much good to you for a while.  More of a dead weight."  He could feel his eyes closing.

"That's all right, Spuddy.  You go ahead and sleep.  I'll be here when you come round."

And so he was.  When the cotton fuzziness lifted from Laurie's mind like a quickly rolling fog, Ralph was sitting on the carpet beside the divan.  Before Laurie had had a chance to arrange his needs into a coherent thought, let alone a sentence, Ralph handed him a glass of water.

"Was I asleep for long?" Laurie asked.  "It's not morning yet, is it?" The thought that he had slumbered away all those precious hours shot through him in a bolt of panic.  The sense of loss seemed to banish ambiguity and sharpen intention.

"It's barely past midnight, Spud, don't worry.  You only slept an hour or so.  How's the leg?"

"Fine." Laurie exhaled.  The night seemed to slow down.  "I didn't talk nonsense in my sleep, did I?"

"Why, do you make it a habit?"

Laurie carefully sat up.  "On operation days I used to say things without being conscious of it -- ether will do that, I suppose.  I still don't know what I went on about.  It was rather vexing; I used to be afraid I'd say, well, too much."

"You didn't send any doctors up like you did me at Dunkirk, did you?" Ralph was smiling.

"Good God, no.  But there were a few nurses I talked to.  And, you see, I'd rather I hadn't talked at all; one must be careful about what one says to people."

"You needn't worry about that now," Ralph said quietly.  His fingers were in Laurie's hair again.  "There's no one here you need be wary of, Spud.  There's only me."

"I know that."

Ralph kissed him again.  This time it felt slower and not quite as unreal -- less surprising and more solid, somehow.  In the back of Laurie's mind was the thought that the night was infinite, the house empty, and life, really, quite good.  He reached for Ralph's Navy-issue collar and tie.

"Will you be all right there, on the divan?" Ralph pulled away for a moment.  His eyes, looking into Laurie's, were strikingly blue.  "A bit of a squeeze, I mean, and the knee..."

Laurie could feel his face heating.  "I used to put the mattress down by the fire when I was younger, and read.  We could--"

"Yes, let's."

They managed the mattress without great trouble, not taking too much care with the sheets.  The pillow had fallen by the wayside, and when Laurie lay down again he felt much more horizontal; he had a clear view of the ceiling.  His leg was quite comfortable, though, and Ralph was mindful of it when he lay down beside him.  Still, the purposefulness with which they had arranged their sleeping spot cast an embarrassing clarity over their intentions, and Laurie began to feel self-conscious.

"Hello, Spud."  Ralph was leaning on an elbow, smiling.  "Is that really you?"

"A bit odd, isn't it?"

"I don't know, feels rather as if this is where we belong."

The confessional quality of the evening had made Laurie feel wistful, and sleep had further relaxed his inhibitions.  Like a child seeking reassurance, he said, "I've often had a feeling that there's nowhere I really belong."

"You belong with me."  Ralph's response was immediate, his voice unsentimental.  "As long as we're both alive, this will always be your place before anyone else's.  That's a promise."

Until that moment the night had been like something out of a book for Laurie: dear and longed for, yet without consequences.  Now vague shapes gained substance, acquired the heavy weight of obligation.  Ralph's generosity seemed plain; Laurie's willingness to be in his debt, less certain than ever.

He hesitated.  "Ralph, I..."

"Spuddy."  Ralph leaned over him, wasting no time.  "You mustn't worry the way you do."

"I wasn't worried, I just--"

In an instant Ralph had sealed his mouth over Laurie's and pressed their bodies together.  His approach was more direct than the one he had taken an hour earlier; within less than a minute Laurie had forgotten what he was going to say and what doubts had caused him to feel that he must say anything at all.  Hazily it occurred to him that Ralph had taken off his glove; his fingers would have been hampered by the padding, and in their present actions seemed quite unimpeded.

From then on, things progressed rapidly –- a shocking thing to fathom when set against all the years Ralph's face had been nothing more than a memory, remote in a cloud of boyish hero worship.  Soon their shirts lay discarded on the carpet, white against khaki, and they were moving against each other with the kind of instinct that comes naturally even to those who do not have much experience with such things.  This might have been enough for Laurie, but apparently Ralph was determined they should have more, for he slid down the length of Laurie's stomach, kissing as he went, and tugged at the zipper of Laurie's trousers.

Laurie held his breath then and would have said something, but in the end could not manage the words.  Ralph's hands were knowing, his mouth soft and hot, and -- it seemed to Laurie -- incredibly generous.  His hair fell forward, rhythmically brushing against Laurie's navel.  Glinting in the firelight, it somehow looked neat and trimmed despite its disarray.  Laurie reached out a hand to touch it, and Ralph looked up then, and went on moving.  His eyes held all the wonder and triumph of an explorer who had just set foot on land previously unmarked on the map.  Laurie, thus caught between sensation and scrutiny, could not keep his composure for long; he felt his body tense, gave a small cry and fell back onto the mattress.

It seemed impossible that the night could get any quieter, and yet just then it did.  Laurie sensed a profound stillness descend over the living room, tension ebbing away.  The shadows in the corners were made of a pleasant kind of darkness and held no menace; his conscience demanded no treacherous self-reflection; he felt sated, tired and rather stationary.

"Spud," Ralph said in a contained voice that meant something different than it had some minutes before.  He shifted up to lie beside Laurie.  "Spuddy."

Laurie turned his head.  Ralph's face was calm, his eyes happy.  Feeling a secret thrill at the thought that certain well-entrenched barriers between them had just been broken, Laurie asked, "Did you ever think of this when you called me into your prefect's study?"

"Spud!"

"Oh, come, don't look so appalled.  I didn't ask whether you'd planned on doing anything, merely if you ever thought it."

Ralph didn't answer.  Laurie laughed.

"You?" Ralph raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't know enough, back then.  Whatever I wanted was all rather vague."

Ralph hesitated.  "And now?"  His mouth had hardened and his body had gone still.  More than ever he gave the appearance of an iron control, a disciplined waiting and watching.  His muscles, tense under the skin, held steady as if commanded to do so.

Laurie felt a rush of power at the thought that all this will was being exerted on his account.  Deliberately he ran a hand down Ralph's stomach to the button on his waistband.  "Things are a bit clearer now," he said.

Soon they were kissing again, Ralph leaning over Laurie, propped up on his elbows.  Laurie had got Ralph's zipper undone and slipped his fingers inside, and Ralph was rocking into his hand with a slow, deliberate motion that seemed as natural as breathing.  There was something of the rolling of a boat on the water in his movements, or of a hammock gently swinging on an equatorial night, and Laurie half expected to look up and see stars above them, and an infinite sky.  There were no stars, of course, just Ralph's face; his eyes closed, a strand of hair damply clinging to his forehead.

When their movement became less steady Laurie tightened his grip, and then Ralph opened his eyes.  His expression was once again purposeful, though not as detached as the one he showed in public.  He lifted his head, fine hair crisply swinging against his cheek, and rocked more forcefully.  Then he pulled at the fabric around Laurie's hips and said, "Off."

It wasn't a 'may I,' it wasn't a 'let me;' the efficiency of Ralph's voice held the unmistakable tone of command.  Laurie had never been one for capricious orders, but his nature had always found the romance of strong leadership profoundly appealing.  In his mind, it was less a question of being mastered than it was of giving oneself over in admiration and loyalty, heedless of the consequences, and standing taller as a result.  He felt an odd exhilaration then, all the stranger for its familiarity in unprecedented circumstances.  He looked into Ralph's eyes expressively, and felt elation mount.

For a moment they broke apart as Ralph slipped out of the remainder of his clothes and helped Laurie get out of his.  Grace was sacrificed for speed, although Ralph was still careful with Laurie's knee.  Then Ralph leaned over him again, and in an instant they were lying skin to skin, Ralph seeking out Laurie's mouth, Laurie sliding his hands along Ralph's back, past the dip at the base of his spine.

Ralph's body was slim, but strong.  His arms and shoulders were tanned from the tropical sun, his legs less dark, though still golden.  Laurie had wondered in passing whether sailors ever went completely nude in the blistering heat, but it seemed from the pale flesh now under his palms that it was not so.  The skin was warm, the muscles under it, alive; Laurie found his hands squeezing quite hard.  Ralph's breathing quickened then and his hips pressed more insistently into Laurie's.  His mouth found its way to Laurie's ear.  "Spuddy," he said, his voice ragged.  "Will you turn over on your stomach for me?"

Laurie's allegiance had been made clear some moments ago; what remained now was merely the follow-through.  He rolled over carefully, watching Ralph retrieve a small jar from his trouser pocket.  Distractedly, he thought that the bathroom cabinet had yielded more treasures than just aspirin.

The rest was as inevitable as water spilling over the edge of a cup that has been filled to the brim.  It all seemed connected somehow, the past and the present: the sound of Lanyon's voice in his study all those years ago, and Ralph's quick breaths on Laurie's neck now; Lanyon's disciplined stride across the school green, and the feel of Ralph's body pressed against Laurie's back.  Even the brief pain Laurie felt seemed to echo some vague and lonely youthful disappointment, while the deep pleasure that quickly followed had about it something of the schoolboy's delight in discovering a secret thrill.

It didn't take long; Ralph's sure movements soon got them to their destination.  Between Ralph's teeth gently biting his shoulder and the steady friction of the mattress below, Laurie's perception of his surroundings quickly narrowed to the demands of his body.  The flames in the fireplace wavered and blurred, the air seemed to still in expectation, and Laurie felt himself climbing ever higher, reaching, and finally tumbling down into a sweet and nearly unbearable completion.  Ralph had been silent throughout, and only at the end gave a soft, muffled shout.
 
Then it was over, and suddenly the living room was a presence again, watching, conspicuously silent –- a witness refusing to pass judgment.  Ralph lay down beside Laurie.  "Knee all right?" he asked softly, hand wandering across Laurie's back.
 
"Hm, fine."
 
"Will you sleep now, Spuddy?"
 
"Don't know.  You?"
 
A satisfied smile crept across Ralph's face.  "I think I'll watch for a bit.  Fire needs tending."
 
Laurie put his head down on his arms and closed his eyes.  Ralph's hand had cautiously settled between his shoulder blades, like a small animal that has managed access to someone's lap and sits motionless in an effort not to be shooed away.  The flames burned high and warmed Laurie's side; it would be a good hour still before the fire needed looking after.

"Ralph?"  A straggling wave of exhilaration and gratitude washed over Laurie.  He lifted his head.  "That was... rather nice."
 
For an instant Ralph looked as if he'd received the most wonderful surprise, and been informed of something weighty past enduring, all at once.  Then he composed his face into a more placid happiness.  "Yes," he said.  "I thought so, too."  He kissed Laurie's shoulder.  "Sleep now, Spud; you must be tired.  They don't let you stay up this long in hospital, I bet, do they?"
 
"None of this happens in hospital."
 
Ralph gave a quiet laugh.  "Yes, well.  Sleep.  I can wake you in a little while, if you like."
 
"All right."
 
Behind Laurie's shut eyelids the fire was a red-tinted glow, with darkness around the edges.  Slowly, the crimson cooled and dimmed, and shadows crept in from all sides.  The flames were no longer hot and blazing, but warm.  In spite of his professed intention to keep watch, Ralph's breathing had grown regular, and Laurie didn't move for fear of waking him.  He opened his eyes and looked out into the dark room; sleep would not come.  Thoughts kept at bay by the comfort of light and fellowship crowded in, demanding their due.

Solitude has many faces.  It is one thing to feel alone in an empty room or flat, and quite another when surrounded by a crowd.  Worst of all, perhaps, is the feeling of utter separateness in the company of only one person, especially if this sort of keenly felt isolation is one sided; it seems a great deal like a betrayal.  Laurie, taking the measure of his emotions, ashamedly saw them falling short.  He felt like a boy who has just watched a colourful parade weave past, cheering breathlessly the rousing sounds of the marching band, and now glimpsed individual band members struggle home in the dust, uniforms askew and faces shiny with sweat.

He saw Ralph's unblemished hand lying on the mattress in complete relaxation, fingers long and beautiful, and could not help thinking of another pair of hands, just now probably hard at work scrubbing dishes or mopping floors in a silent hospital ward.  Something lonely and sad squeezed inside his chest, and he lowered his face onto his arms again and burrowed deeper into the mattress.

"Spud."  Ralph stirred and opened his eyes.  "I meant to wake you.  Seems you're waking me instead."

The buffer of seclusion with which Laurie had surrounded himself rapidly shrank, leaving him exposed.  Ralph asleep had been easier to assess and sum up; awake, he plunged Laurie's feelings into a confused whirl.  Not for the first time, Laurie perceived the great and perhaps unfair advantage enjoyed by those who are not absent.

"Come here," said Ralph in an intimate tone, hand settling on Laurie's hip.

The touch was light but, after the evening's events, unselfconsciously familiar.  Its lack of reserve spoke of a simple and straightforward sensuality; Laurie felt his body respond with an urgency that belied his earlier doubts.  Ralph's look had grown intense, his hand mapping its way across Laurie's skin was both a promise and a claim.

Disquiet, though persistent, is a subtle adversary.  The blood rushing in Laurie's ears drowned out the whispers of his conscience.  He turned on his side and reached for Ralph, welcoming his hands, drawing him closer.

The night once again seemed long, the living room a world apart, like an island.  Morning was ages away.


END



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