Tavolara

some quick drawings of costa sirena

*

Arthur had never been one for showing vulnerability, always preferring to be the one initiating any contact, the one who constantly bestowed compliments that left you breathless.

So now, when the sky was painted a deep blue hinting at the coming dawn, you took advantage of his unconsciousness to ponder your relationship with the man beside you.

It had only been your first night together, conversation lasting long into the late hours of the night, long past any hopes of catching the Tube or a safe bus ride home. He had suggested it confidently, but you could tell he had been as nervous as you.

Falling into bed had left both of you sleep drunk, he pressing kisses constantly to your knuckles, always between a steady, ridiculous barrage of teases that left both of you in giggles, words and laughter trailing away as you both eventually succumbed to sleep.

But rest was limited, your nerves leaving you tossing and turning, awake long before the first birds had even begun singing. But now-

At some point during the night, he had rolled onto his stomach, his t-shirt long-abandoned to the far corner of the room, hair a dishevelled mess that made him deceptively angelic.

You fought a smile; he’d kill you if he found out that you had ever thought him “cute.”

Unwilling to disturb him, hyper-aware of how little he slept anyway, you contented yourself to studying his exposed shoulders, counting the freckles that peppered his skin; there were only a few, scattered as if someone had flicked paint droplets across his back.

As the deep blues faded into soft greys, you were able to take in more, wincing upon discovery of the blush zigzags spread all across his back, highlighting an alarming amount of scars.

For several moments you held yourself back, inexplicable despair filling you upon realizing just how deep so many appeared to be. There weren’t many, not enough to send you into a total panic, but just enough that you wished-

It seemed your fingers had a mind of their own, hovering over the most severe, a cut that started at the base of his neck and disappeared somewhere beneath the covers.

So entranced were you that you hadn’t noticed that his eyes had slipped open, that he was holding his breath.

Gently, as if you were trying to caress a butterfly’s wing, you let your fingertips graze the elevated skin, a broken sigh slipping past your lips.

“Oh, Arthur…”

“I got that one back in 1900.”

You gasped in your shock, retreating immediately at the presence of his voice.

“Artie-”

“Would have been worse if not for Matthew showing up when he did,” he continued as if you hadn’t spoken, as if he was completely ignorant of your guilt.

Slowly, he turned his head to place his other cheek on his pillow, his expression earnest and open. There was a softness about his eyes, a look that had you relaxing again almost immediately.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you whispered in apology, unable to repress your regret.

He hummed at your words, seeking your hand to draw to his lips, murmuring into your palm, eyes slipping shut in fatigue. “Don’t you dare apologise. Last night was the best sleep I’ve had all decade.”

It was no different than any of the gestures he had made the night before, but now with the dawn’s rosy glow dusting his cheeks, the heavy flutter to each of his lazy blinks, the complaisance with which he had casually admitted something so intimate-

Your heart stuttered against your will, embarrassment creeping through you.

“Arthur-”

His eyes opened once more, gaze locking your own with unwavering intensity.

For a moment, for an infinity, the world fell away, your only reality the firm press of his lips to the base of your palm, the steady breaths tickling between your fingers, and the heavy weight of his attention.

You couldn’t recall who had moved first, only knew that soft lips began to trace over your own and calloused fingertips were gently caressing your cheeks. When you finally opened your eyes once more,  you were free to survey heated cheeks and the yet unspoken affection shining in his eyes, a saccharine smile highlighting his contentment.

It was still too early for either of you to name the emotion hovering in the limited space between you, still too soon for either of you to completely expose your vulnerabilities.

But as he shifted back beneath the covers, capturing each of your hands within his own-

You knew it was only a matter of time before Arthur Kirkland completely stole your heart.

(This took an infinity and a half, but here you go, lovely.)

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

By all accounts, it had been a fairly emblematic morning until now.

He'd risen before you, slipping out of the bedroom quietly to dress and get the kettle on.

Saturday mornings were often quiet, starting with a light breakfast and an hour working in the gardens. He kept tending to the sausages, knowing the scent would rouse you soon enough.

Not even moments later, your arms were wrapping around his waist, your shuffling following him as he finished frying the patties and began prepping the toaster. You managed to yawn out a good morning before slipping away once more, grabbing the orange juice and tea pot on your way to the back garden.

The weather was still warm enough after all, though he did look forward to seeing you in his old cardigans.

"I'll be just a minute, luv."

You grumbled out some form of acknowledgment, your shuffle helping indicate just how tired you still were. Perhaps he could tempt you into a nap...

He turned his attention back once more to serving tray and was just rearranging the jams when he heard you scream.

Arthur's stomach dropped, though his mind was taking a moment to process your terror and the simple fact that you were still screaming.

He was spurred into action, using some Magicke to aid the rush through the corridor, his voice amplified as he frantically shouted your name.

Nothing could have slipped in, no one would have been able to get past the barriers and warding.

Nothing he knew of, at least.

And it was that damnedable unknown that made him run faster, almost ramming his shoulder into a corner cupboard.

Your name escaped him once more as you cried out for him, your fear not audibly lessened in the slightest.

At last, he reached the French doors, slowing to a stop upon seeing your back pressed flush against the glass, fingers splayed as if trying to will the door away.

Whatever- whoever- had you this shaken made him pause, a defensive spell already tingling his fingertips. Slowly, silently, he crept behind you, using your body as cover until he could reach the other door.

"Luv?"

He honestly worried you hadn't heard him at first as you hadn't given away any indication you were aware of his presence. He nearly called to you again when your voice, brittle and so small, reached him.

"Arthur-"

The sound of it made his chest constrict, a wave of anger fueling his confident leap through the doorway, seeking out the entity who had dared to frighten you so.

His gaze swept across your surroundings, seeking out anything amiss.

Apart from some thoroughly concerned Fey nearby, and one very unimpressed spector, he couldn't detect anything out of place.

Wondering if perhaps his own vision was off, he turned anxiously to you, following the direction of your outstretched finger towards the oak tree.

Nothing awry that he could tell, apart from the ros-

"Dragon!"

Arthur's eyes narrowed in confusion, searching once more for a threat. Detecting none, his brows furrowed as he turned once more to you, bewilderment clear in his voice. "Luv, I only see Æđelfriđ over th- What?"

Your eyes, wide as saucers, were suddenly facing him fully, your mouth open in disbelief.

"What," he found himself asking again, even more lost. Your surprise and- remarkably- joy were baffling to him. It was as if you had never seen the Knucker before, as if-

Whatever confusion had been affecting him till this moment was tossed aside in favour of disbelief and- dare he say it?- hope.

"You can see him?"

He didn't register how his words had wobbled, couldn't have been bothered to care even if he had.

Could it reall be true? You could-

You offered a nod, words nearly a whisper as your eues flickered towards the scarlet youngster curled beneath the oak.

"I'm not crazy? It's really there?"

Arthur swallowed around a newfound lump in his throat, simply overwhelmed.

You could see! You could see! You-!

"Yes, he is."

His words were nearly as soft as yours had been, his heart skipping at the wonder shining in your eyes, the awe.

"I thought I was going nuts when I kept seeing ghosts in the dining room, and the bloody pixies scared the shit out of me when I was weeding by the begonias, but- Holy shit."

Your words fell away, a soft look teasing your features as you studied the dragon once more. "I never thought that dragons were real, too."

Seemingly aware of his uncharacteristic silence, your own eyes narrowed in concern. "Artie?"

For his part, it was indeed a lot of information to process.

Finding out you possessed the Sight? Something ue had been praying for?

"How long?"

His attention shifted back to you once more, the whole build-up towards understanding careening helter skelter to a sense of betrayal.

"How long have you been seeing them?"

The worry in your eyes tugged at his heartstrings.

"Just a week or so."

Your expression and tone became a touch more apologetic, your hand finding his.

"I should have mentioned it sooner; I am so sorry, Arthur."

And just like that, his inner turmoil dispersed, nothing reamining save his glee- his euphoria!- of being able to share something so special with you.

"No fear, poppet."

You seemed surprised by his smile, remained stiff as he pressed a kiss to your hand before pulling you into an embrace.

Gradually, you relaxed, shifting to rest your forehead on his shoulder.

"You're not angry?"

"On the contrary." He drew away just enough to study your eyes and his thumb across your cheek, wondering if it was possible to love you anymore than he did in this moment.

"I'm ecstatic!"

Slowly, your smile returned, relieved and just a smidge giddy.

He would have been content to remain like that all morning, but your stomach protested the idea, a low growl ruining the moment. He snickered at your embarrassment, grinning as he pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

"What say after breakfast we go meet him? I think it's about high time for a proper introduction, wouldn't you agree?"

Your smile alone could have stolen his heart all over again. As it was, a flutter still circulated through his bloodstream, a wave of affection near overwhelming him as you nodded. "Oh yes, please!"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Been dabbling in Victorian literature again; I have a feeling in played a role in this one. Hope you enjoy~

“Do you really think so little of me?”

His tone was sharp, distressed; it was an accusation you couldn’t bear to face.

You couldn’t bring yourself to even look at him, casting your gaze back towards the cracked pocket doors, shadows from the parlor dancing along the walls of the secluded library.

Yet you knew that should you wish to clear the air between you, should you dare hope to force away this incessant, ridiculous longing, you must face him head-on, damn him with the same truth that had been tormenting you so relentlessly these past few weeks.

“I don’t know what to think of you anymore." 

You heard his intake of breath, the first whispers of a rebuttal, one you swiftly interrupted before it could fully take shape. "You once claimed you were above attachments, that such ‘frivolities’ are beneath you.”

Your eyes closed out of reflex, allying with a refreshing breath before you turned your attentions to him yet again, resolve burning within your core-

-all for it to be smothered again upon taking in his appearance, firm expression eclipsed by the naked vulnerability in his eyes.

You weakened at the sight, gasping quietly as your given name slipped almost silently past his lips.

It was too much, summoning the very emotions that you were trying so hard to be rid of.

You took a step back, then another.

He followed, slowly, each step in this broken dance made with cautionary hesitance, as if he were afraid you would run from him. But all things eventually come to an end, and there at last came a moment when you could step no further, one of the bookcases preventing your escape.

For want of fleeing that desperate gaze, to escape the eyes that were looking at you with the same reverence a desperate sailor casts upon a safe harbor, your hands pressed into the rosewood, silently wishing for it to fully consume you.

“What do you want from me?”

Your words were enough to give him pause, halting a mere few meters away.

His features shifted, clear considerations shining as he dismissed one explanation, then yet another and another. Finally, perhaps only a few heartbeats after you had first demanded his answer, he settled, lips twitching in the flicker of a pained expression before he spoke. "You’re right; I did once consider myself beyond such things.“

A small thrum of victory trilled within your veins, an air of superiority coating your own accusation. "So you admit it?”

His eyes narrowed, sharply angling to once more meet your own. While you were certain he possessed no magical capabilities, the fire in his gaze burned, sending a not unpleasant, hauntingly familiar ache through your veins.

“Yes,” he hissed at last, seemingly unaware of his effect on you, the indignation laced within his response doing little to spare your increasingly erratic heartbeat.

In a desperate attempt at retaliation, you latched onto whatever remnants of your prior haughtiness still remained, fleeting as it had become. You narrowed your eyes, dared to step forward and straighten your posture, meeting his challenge as candidly as circumstance could allow. "Tell me then: what made you change your mind?“

His silence was suffocating as ash, muffling the party just beyond the doors of what had been your sanctuary. It settled heavily between you, the unspoken conveying more than any words freely given could ever hope to say.

You sensed an ending, upon observing his reluctance, sensed a finality to the exchange which left you inexplicably disappointed. Resigned, overcome with an unfathomable bleakness, you bowed your head in acknowledgement. "Mr. Kirkland.”

You made to move past him, intent on rejoining the other guests, hoping there was yet still some chance to enjoy the rest of the evening, but- 

“You did.”

-a quiet admission had you firmly rooted to the spot.

The confession had fallen past his lips much like a prayer, cradled so tenderly and with such broken affection that you couldn’t help your gasp, felt silent relief that he couldn’t see the impact of his words likely painted across your face.

A deep breath- a second, a third- and you had restored your composure, turning back to face him. “Pardon?”

He still faced the bookcase, his posture relaxed, attentions elsewhere. But soon he was turning to face you, darkened gaze sweeping across your features before finally ensnaring your own.

You felt as if your defenses had been reduced to charred rubble, your whole soul now laid bare, the pieces exposed for him to do with as he pleased. A ridiculous notion, you reprimanded yourself. And yet, you couldn’t find it within you to fully ignore that sensation, equally enthralling and alarming.

“I’ve been alone, for so long,” he murmured, haltingly, the admission bearing with it the weight of centuries, as opposed to the mere handful of years to which he must be truly referring. His words were enough to give you leverage, to pull yourself firmly back to present circumstances, focus on the here and now.

“So long,” he continued, “that I accepted it as my fate, truly believed that I was doomed to never form any real attachment; I was never going to yearn for anything more than what had been given me.”

At that, he paused, once more surveying you, a fond warmth tempered by exasperation shining in his eyes. “Yet as you always seem so damned determined to do, you’ve challenged my convictions on that front, too.”

Your heart, which had nearly resumed its customary cadence, stuttered at his words. He couldn’t possibly mean that-

In a moment of weakness, decorum forgotten, his given name tumbled past your lips, unrestrained and befuddled. “Arthur, do you-”

“Again.”

Your brow furrowed at his interruption, breath catching as he took yet another step nearer. 

“Pardon,” you scarcely stuttered out, senses attuned to his steady approach, feeling half-drowned by the yearning in his gaze. You found yourself mourning the decision to abandon the bookcase’s support, suddenly uncertain of your own footing.

Finally, thankfully, he stopped, allowing you a little freedom, just enough to flee should you truly wish it.

Though, frankly, were you being completely sincere, all desire to do so had abandoned you ages ago, leaving only your curiosity and the tattered scraps of hope.

Surely, there was no way he-

“You asked me earlier what I want; do you still wish to know?”

Emerald eyes which always seemed to glisten with an inner fire had darkened to nearly black, pulling you even deeper into their depths. Entranced, you offered a nod of assent, unable and unwilling to put faith in your voice.

“I want you. I’ve wanted you for longer than I could hope to quantify. I-” He cut himself off with a derisive scoff, turning away for a moment before his attentions were once again on you, an angle to his gaze that pierced straight through your heart. 

“We come from very different worlds, you and I. I told myself to accept your companionship, your friendship. I had myself convinced that I could cope with that alone. But then-" 

His eyes narrowed, bitterness etching into his features. "I couldn’t bear to see you with another suitor. Couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else vying for your affections.”

Clarity gleamed with the radiance of a freshly polished looking glass, recognition burrowing itself deep into your thoughts. He was impassioned, and his deplorable behavior earlier this evening only heightened the credibility, yet you couldn’t resolve yourself to anything beyond incredulity, doubt casting a shadow on your fleeting sparks of hope.

“Arthur… What is it you want?”

You could feign being ignorant of your hand coming to rest on his arm, could feign obliviousness at having drawn near enough to see the sheen of dim light against the collar of his dinner jacket, and you could likely feign innocence in how you could now decipher the delicate detailing of his buttons. 

But you couldn’t feign naiveté at the way his eyes widened at the movement, at the awareness that this witchery had dragged you both under its spell, that your hopes were not unfounded after all.

His eyes found yours once more, all awareness of the world beyond falling away. At last, at long last, you saw that smile that you had come to adore, lighthearted and whimsical and always tentatively hopeful.

This was more the man you knew, more the man you had come to care for and cherish most out of all your companions.

“As incomprehensible as this may sound-” He cut himself off for a moment, his eyes studying yours carefully, searching for an answer you were eager to give. 

You could only pray your actions had made your wishes clear, still uncertain of your voice. Perhaps he found something in your expression, as soon enough his smile was growing ever brighter, his words continuing in barely a whisper.

“I want to spend Eternity with you.”