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charlie_cochraneI have a story (set in Oxford, post World War 1) that's going into a trilogy - alongside works by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lee_rowan and erastes! Working title for my bit is 'Aftermath'.
Hoping for a summer release for the e-book and then into print. (See those flabbers over there? Mine's the gasted one...)
Tiny little spoiler here:
The Easter vacation was looming on the horizon, horribly near for Easterby, who preferred even his lonely life in college to the tense and repressive atmosphere of home. He met Lamont every day between the time they’d sat down to coffee, cakes and guilty kisses, and the end of the Easter term. Sometimes they walked, or sat together in hall—it was just friendship on the surface, but all the time the undercurrent of attraction wouldn’t go away.
On the last but one day of term, Easterby stood in Hugo’s rooms, watching the man pack, desperately keeping his hands pinned behind his back so that he couldn’t reach out and touch him. “I suppose you’ll be having a big family gathering to welcome you home?”
“I guess so.” Lamont didn’t look up from his packing. Edward wondered why the man looked so uncomfortable; he hoped it was at the thought of their being apart for weeks on end. “I dare say all the family will turn up in Hampshire at some point, they usually do, although it won’t be as mad as when I was a boy. Not so many Lamonts now—what the war didn’t take, the flu did, but Mama will make sure we keep up the traditional family festivities.”
Easterby always felt jealous of Hugo’s family—not just because they had first claim on the man. “I don’t suppose we’ll be particularly festive, we’ve never been great ones for partying.” He swallowed hard. “I’m dreading going home, really.”
Hugo put down a book he was putting in a box and looked straight at his friend for the first time that morning. “I’m sorry, truly. If I could do anything…” Lamont tailed off; there was no point in even beginning the conversation. “You’ll write?”
“I will.” Edward felt the tears welling, turned on his heels and returned to his own rooms, where he started drafting what would be the first letter.
lee_rowan and erastes! Working title for my bit is 'Aftermath'.Hoping for a summer release for the e-book and then into print. (See those flabbers over there? Mine's the gasted one...)
Tiny little spoiler here:
The Easter vacation was looming on the horizon, horribly near for Easterby, who preferred even his lonely life in college to the tense and repressive atmosphere of home. He met Lamont every day between the time they’d sat down to coffee, cakes and guilty kisses, and the end of the Easter term. Sometimes they walked, or sat together in hall—it was just friendship on the surface, but all the time the undercurrent of attraction wouldn’t go away.
On the last but one day of term, Easterby stood in Hugo’s rooms, watching the man pack, desperately keeping his hands pinned behind his back so that he couldn’t reach out and touch him. “I suppose you’ll be having a big family gathering to welcome you home?”
“I guess so.” Lamont didn’t look up from his packing. Edward wondered why the man looked so uncomfortable; he hoped it was at the thought of their being apart for weeks on end. “I dare say all the family will turn up in Hampshire at some point, they usually do, although it won’t be as mad as when I was a boy. Not so many Lamonts now—what the war didn’t take, the flu did, but Mama will make sure we keep up the traditional family festivities.”
Easterby always felt jealous of Hugo’s family—not just because they had first claim on the man. “I don’t suppose we’ll be particularly festive, we’ve never been great ones for partying.” He swallowed hard. “I’m dreading going home, really.”
Hugo put down a book he was putting in a box and looked straight at his friend for the first time that morning. “I’m sorry, truly. If I could do anything…” Lamont tailed off; there was no point in even beginning the conversation. “You’ll write?”
“I will.” Edward felt the tears welling, turned on his heels and returned to his own rooms, where he started drafting what would be the first letter.
