#gayviation

yes, I am the dark master of the gay pilot void

Fandot prompt #3: fantastic no. 1

It’s quiet; the sun has long since set, but he hasn’t bothered to get up and turn on the lights. It doesn’t seem right, anyway - he’s not in the sort of mood that calls for lamps. It’s not that kind of night. No, he is perfectly happy to sit here in the not-quite-darkness that comes from one’s eyes adjusting to the gradual loss of light without noticing. It is, he thinks with dour amusement, rather fitting - the light has left his eyes both literally and figuratively.

G sharp C sharp E, G sharp C sharp E - his hands spasm on the keys. That had been his, when there had been someone to scold him for sitting in the dark with no lights on, “honestly, Douglas, you’ll ruin your eyesight,” and he’d just laughed and played those three notes to make him let out a fond sigh and settle down nearby to listen.

And now his damned fingers still stray to those keys because as much as he’d rather forget the whole piece, it had been for him, it had been part of them, and he can’t bear to let go of something so precious. He should, though - it’d be easier on him to forget the golden evenings they spent, lit by the soft glow of lamplight, caught up in each other in the manner of lovers who can’t bear to look at anyone but their beloved.

He had been so bashful when he’d asked for this song, had said it was such a cliche but he really did love the piece, and how could anyone resist when those blue eyes locked on one’s own to plead for such a charming request?

So he’d played the piece, G sharp C sharp E, G sharp C sharp E, and fallen more and more in love with each note. And now, months later, he’s sat at the same piano, playing the same notes, but no one’s here to turn on the lights and he’s going more by muscle memory than being able to see the keys. Which is partially because it really is quite dark and partially because he’s only just realized he’s crying.

What is he supposed to do? Call him up and say “I tell my piano the things I used to tell you,” let it spill out that he’s been playing Beethoven for weeks, offer to play that piece a million times more if only he’d listen? Because he, out of all the people who have ever heard him play for real, he is the only person who ever worked out that Beethoven is what he plays when he’s breaking inside.

He’d thought that his piece would change that. Moonlight Sonata had briefly been the song that played in quiet moments when he was so overcome with love he could hardly breathe for emotion. It had been, he’d hoped, their fantastic Sonata No. 1 - the first song that made them them.

And now it was the most painful of all.

Prompt #2: in the cupboard

“Douglas, you didn’t say what’s in this one,” Martin called out.

Douglas appeared round the corner, still carrying a cardboard box meant for the kitchen. “Is this another effort in your quest to catalogue absolutely everything we own? Item lists are-”

“-for cargo flights, yes, I know!”

Douglas grinned, shifting the box to rest on his hip and pressing a soft kiss to Martin’s temple. “I should have known that having you move in would mean constant talk of aviation. The things I suffer for you.”

“Oh, be quiet. It’s - it’s just - I still can’t really believe that I’m here. We’re going to live in this house. The two of us. Together.”

“We are, aren’t we? It’s - to use an Arthurism - brilliant.”

“But really, what’s in the cupboard?”

Douglas laughed outright. “Ever inquisitive, that’s my captain.” He set down the box, moving to wrap his arms around Martin’s waist. “Why don’t you open it and find out?”

A bit hesitantly, Martin reached forward. The door creaked open to reveal a rather disappointing heap of random detritus.

Martin turned to give Douglas a befuddled look. “This - this is - what?”

He felt the rumble of Douglas’ laugh more than he heard it. “Take a look at that scrap of paper just there. No, a bit to the left - yes, that one. I think you might find it illuminating.”

“Is this-”

“The delightfully sweet note you snuck into my carry-on the first time we were apart on an overnighter? Yes. And over there is the party hat from the party Arthur threw when we went public, and that’s the vase I kept the flowers you gave me on our first few dates in.”

“So… it’s full of things from - us?”

“Well, they were far too important to just leave lying round the house.”

Martin was quiet for a long moment.

“Martin?”

“I really do love you, Douglas.”

martin: *opens mouth*

well I may or may not have been frantically researching various operas to find the perfect setting and god fucking dammit it looks like opera fic of doom is going to be a thing

what have I done