wildestranger | Fic: Augustus: or, the Tale of a Hamster

Title: Augustus: or, the Tale of a Hamster
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: PG-13
Words: 5200
Series: Brendolina - this will make no sense if you have not read the first part of that, here.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and not intended in any way as a reflection on the people whose names it uses.
Summary: Gerard needs a hamster, Frank gives him one as a symbol of their love. I'm going to be known as that girl who writes only about Gerard's hamster, aren't I?
Notes: A million thanks to

harriet_vane for being a lovely cheerleader and enabler and beta-reader! None of this would have been written without her.

April 20th, 1816, Dieppe, The Wolf and the Maiden Inn.

Augustus was a quiet hamster. Not that Gerard knew of many hamsters who lived unquiet lives – all the ones he had seen stayed in their cages and showed no unhappiness about their confinement. Perhaps they had secret adventures, though. Perhaps they sneaked away at night and wore masks and fought villains and rescued princesses (or princes, Gerard reminded himself, princes needed rescuing just as often). Perhaps Augustus did.

Gerard leaned closer to the cage, placed on a nest of blankets on his desk at the inn, and tried to determine if there were any signs of nightly adventures, but he could not find any. Augustus’s fur was as soft and clean as ever (since hamsters kept themselves clean, as Frank was fond of pointing out whenever Gerard had been so delighted with an embroidered jacket or a velvet cape that he had refused to let it out of his sight, or off his body, for days). He didn’t seem particularly sleepy either, but then again he had slept for most of their journey, unlike Gerard.

Augustus was Gerard’s second hamster. The first one, Matilda, had been a present from his grandmother on Gerard’s seventh birthday, and Gerard had loved her devotedly. Matilda had slept in a little cage next to Gerard’s bed and he had played with her every day, letting her climb over his shirt (and sometimes under it, resulting in many giggles) and constructing trails and bridges for her from his books. He had fed her himself every evening and held her in his hands as she ate. When the door to her cage had been discovered open one morning, Gerard had been devastated. Despite a frantic search of their house (Gerard remembered the cook’s annoyed huffs when his kitchen had been invaded and his grandmother’s icy glare as she stared the man down, her hand holding Gerard’s tightly), Matilda had never been found and he had blamed himself for not taking better care of her. Neither his grandmother’s assurances that it had been only an accident nor the four-year-old Mikey’s sticky hugs could convince Gerard that he could be trusted with another hamster.

It was a painful memory, and one that Gerard didn’t share easily. Yet one night, in a tiny inn in Athens, the story had spilled from his lips. Some uncharacteristic spirit of bravery had taken over him that evening – perhaps destiny, as Gerard sometimes thought in his poetic moods, perhaps bloody good luck, as Mikey had later suggested. Frank said there was no such thing as luck, only Frankness and Gerardness which had naturally combined to produce the most perfect of outcomes. Gerard liked this interpretation best.

March 12th, 1812, Athens.

He had only met Frank a few hours earlier – he had arrived upon Gerard’s overturned carriage, cheerfully introduced himself as the illegitimate child of a Ravennese Marchesa, and offered to take Gerard and his servant to the city they had been heading towards. While Gerard’s man had negotiated the repair of their carriage, Frank had taken Gerard to his inn, bought him dinner and proceeded to tell Gerard all about his life. The crucial parts, from what Gerard could remember the next day, were that Frank was twenty-two (four years younger than Gerard), had little interest in Grecian art, and was touring Greece on the orders of his mother who had decided that a long absence from Ravenna would be in Frank’s best interests – apparently there had been an incident with a baker’s daughter, a young priest and a choirboy costume (Gerard had refrained from asking who had worn the costume, but his dreams for several months afterwards included Frank dressed as a chorister, kneeling before an altar and opening his mouth to receive the Sacred Communion. Gerard’s interest in the Catholic Church increased considerably as a result.).

Although Gerard was tired from the day’s journey, frustrated and feeling guilty by his part in the accident (he had insisted on taking the scenic route, over the mountain with the unfortunate falling rocks), as the evening progressed and the wine continued to flow he noticed that his fatigue was receding, replaced by a strange sort of contentment. Frank was smiling at him and telling increasingly outrageous stories about Ravennese society, his arm brushing against Gerard’s every time his tale required illustration through expansive hand movements. Frank’s lips had gone dark from the wine, but his eyes seemed brighter, happier – he seemed happy to be sitting there with Gerard, sharing a table, leaning against him.

At first Frank’s openness had been a surprise. No English gentleman would insist on introducing himself with only his first name (Gerard had awkwardly followed suit, pondering the incongruity of being known as only Gerard, rather than Lord Way), or revealed his irregular parentage, but as the conversation went on, Gerard found himself delighted by Frank’s, well, frankness, the evident pleasure he took in his life and the lack of shame or embarrassment which coloured his every word. Frank didn’t apologise for his birth or his vices, nor did he boast of them; he merely presented himself as he was. Gerard, who had spent many years wallowing in guilt over a number of unspecified sins, was charmed by this attitude, and also by Frank’s perfect eyebrows, his sharp little chin and the way his hair curled around his ears.

He had also felt compelled to counter Frank’s generosity in sharing something of himself. The memory of Matilda was still painful, but this time the thought of it didn’t bring on the usual all-corroding guilt, as Gerard began, haltingly, to tell the story. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was Frank’s lips forming into a grin, but Gerard discovered that he could say the words in a way that matched Frank’s matter-of-factness, his lack of embarrassment in his narrative. Frank listened quietly and didn’t laugh, only refilled Gerard’s glass and nudged his shoulder, then proposed a toast to lost loves. Gerard drank, watched the solemn curve of Frank’s mouth, and felt a curious tightness in his chest.

It was a few month later, after Frank’s initial plans to accompany Gerard for a couple of days had turned into his constant companionship at Gerard’s table by night and alongside Gerard’s horse during the day, that it became apparent that Frank had neither forgotten the story nor taken it lightly.

Gerard was in the middle of packing for his return trip to England – he had received word that his grandmother had taken ill, and Mikey’s letters were growing disturbingly exhilarated on the topic of his new friend Sir Peter Wentz – when Frank walked in, brushing aside Gerard’s Italian servant Verme, and gave an uncharacteristically shy grin as he held out a big box at Gerard. It was covered with bright red silk, a golden sash draped over it and tied untidily in a giant, sloppy bow at the top. Gerard guessed that Frank had wrapped it himself.

Gerard gave Frank a shy smile in return, took the box, and placed it on the largest of the crates (Gerard might have gone slightly overboard with the amount of books, paintings and other assorted curiosities that were the souvenirs of his Grand Tour). It took him a few minutes to untie the bow (Verme took one look at Frank’s continued fidgeting, rolled his eyes, and mumbled something about checking the kitchen as he left the room) as Frank’s efforts at gift-wrapping seemed to have been more enthusiastic than skilful, but in the end Gerard’s perseverance in the face of golden sashes prevailed. (When he narrated the story to Mikey back in England, this part always made Mikey snicker, although he refused to explain the cause of his hilarity.) The silks fell away to reveal a tiny cage.

A moment of stunned silence, then Frank stepped closer, close enough to grab Gerard’s hand which was still clutching the sash, and tug at it gently.

“It is for a hamster. You should have one, I think. It would be good for you.”

Gerard blinked. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out, and he had to swallow a few times before he could try again.

“But I don’t…I can’t – ”

Frank’s thumb stroked Gerard’s palm, and the tiny lines around his eyes wrinkled with fondness.

“When you’re ready. This is just to remind you that when you’re ready, I will bring you a hamster. And you will take good care of it.”

Gerard didn’t know what to say, couldn’t say anything, and so he stared at the cage instead. It was larger than Matilda’s had been and strangely shaped, with a round cupola on top and curving sides. The bars were painted golden and there were intricate flowers carved around the door.

“It’s lovely.” Gerard said, his voice faint. He took a deep breath and squeezed Frank’s hand. “Thank you, Frank, it’s…”

Frank kissed him. Warm lips, chastely brushing against Gerard’s open mouth, a touch of tongue that sent shivers tingling down his body, an inhale of breath as Frank pressed closer. Frank’s eyes remained open and Gerard didn’t look away. Instead, he lifted his hand to Frank’s cheek and saw Frank’s eyelids flutter.

They fell apart, and Frank nuzzled Gerard’s hand.

“When you’re ready. I will come and find you.”

Verme coughed from the doorway. Gerard moved to step back, but Frank kept hold of his hand, not looking away.

“My lord, it is time to go.”

Gerard swallowed, opened his mouth and closed it again, then licked his lips. “I will be downstairs shortly.”

“Yes, my lord. I will tell the men to start carrying the crates. Would you like me to take this down now?” Verme gestured towards the cage.

“No, I shall…I shall bring it myself.”

Verme nodded, and walked out again. Gerard’s lifted Frank’s hand to his lips.

“I will be ready when you come.”

* * *

It was two years before Gerard saw Frank again. He had returned to England in 1812, published his first poem, and woke up one morning to find himself famous. The Unicorn Heart, the tale of a young man who deserts his homeland to escape the treachery of his friends but comes back to find that one friend has remained true, was lauded as the most exquisite portrait of manly feeling ever to be written. The critics were keen to discover the original of the sensitive Claude in Gerard himself, and despite Gerard’s protestations, insisted on looking for similarities (the round, pale face, the dishevelled dark hair, the propensity for purple velvet) in excruciating detail. The dedication to Mikey had not helped to dispel rumours that he, in turn, was Wulfric the True Friend. The publication of two other long poems, The Night of the Wolf and The Pyrate, had distracted the critics’ attention (Gerard had been careful not to write anymore characters with rounded cheeks), but both Olivier the melancholy French knight and Tancred the Sicilian nobleman-turned-pirate were called Gerardic heroes.

He had also fallen briefly and passionately in love with a widowed noblewoman (Countess Ballato’s dark, smiling eyes and vibrant form may have reminded him slightly of Frank, not that Gerard was ever so unchivalric as to voice the comparison), who had laughed at him, but who had become his friend after his awkward courtship came to an end. Their collaboration on Walburga; or, the Wronged Witch had been a succès de scandale, as critics refused to believe that the blood-stained drawings of Walpurga’s tortured body (both before and after the mutilation) were not the product of Gerard’s notoriously morbid pen.

He had told Mikey about Frank. Mikey agreed that the hamster cage was a thoughtful gift, and that despite such irregularities as the inked marks on his arms, his short stature, and a pointed irreverence towards social institutions, Frank was clearly a young gentleman worth knowing. Despite the increasingly loud clamours against vice and loose manners, Mikey insisted, there were still people in London who could appreciate originality in thought and appearance. And while Gerard was not as impressed by Sir Peter Wentz as Mikey seemed to be, he acknowledged that hypocrisy and cowardice were not among the man’s flaws. He felt certain that Frank would feel welcomed among them.

Yet, there had been no letters from Frank – Gerard had sent a few to the care of the Marchesa Iero in Ravenna, but there had never been a reply. It was possible Frank was still travelling, or that the letters had gone lost, Gerard had decided. The hamster cage was still kept on the desk beside his bed, though – it was a happy memory, after all, a happy thought.

April 3rd 1814, London, Way House.

It arrived on a rainy Tuesday morning in early April. Gerard was still in bed, thinking about rain and wetness and artistic dashes of blood when a maid’s hesitant voice informed him through the door (they had learned not to open the door uninvited after Gerard had fallen out of bed, for the third time, in his haste to cover himself) that there was a package for him downstairs and that Mr Schechter had said that Gerard would want to be told. Why Gerard would want to be told was unclear, but as the maid’s quick steps moved away from the door, Gerard rolled out of bed anyway and prepared to face his steward and his breakfast table, as well as the mysterious package. Since the maid, and therefore Schechter, had said nothing about any visitors, Gerard decided that his paint-splattered turquoise dressing-gown, on top of his usual nightgown, would be enough. Schechter had seen him in worse, and the coffee would love him no matter what he wore.

As he opened the door to the breakfast room, Gerard was faced with a nervous-looking maid, a slight grimace on Schechter’s face when he saw Gerard’s appearance (Gerard tightened the embroidered sash around his waist and reminded himself that matching was for cowards), and a tiny box, sitting quietly on the breakfast table. It was a plain box, made out of wood with the planks not quite touching each other, and without any signs or markings – nothing remarkable or threatening, yet Gerard was suddenly filled with dread. He took a step forward, almost tripping over the hem of his gown (Schechter hemmed quietly under his breath at that, but Gerard had no time to lecture him on inappropriate and unconstructive personal remarks, again), and accepted the cup of coffee, offered by the maid, with trembling hands.

“This package just arrived for you, my lord. A note came with it.”

Schechter’s voice, usually so calm and filled with unvoiced impatience, was disturbingly blank. Gerard swallowed, placed his empty coffee-cup on the table, and picked up the envelope from beside the box. His hands were shaking a little.

The note was simple, a single piece of paper with only one line of writing.

Are you ready?

The handwriting was unfamiliar but, as Gerard reminded himself, he had never received letters from Frank. It could be from Frank. And if it was from Frank, then the box was…

The note fell to the floor as Gerard scrambled towards the table, to the box, his hands reaching for the metallic latch on the side.

Inside was the tiniest hamster in the world.

It had clearly been sleeping, lulled into peaceful rest by the warmth of the room and its steady position on the table, after god knows what trials of travelling through a loud and rainy London. But as Gerard lifted the lid (with only the slightest clang caused by his haste and concern), the tiny brown ball of fluff twitched a little, and a pair of sleepy brown eyes looked at Gerard through a nest of straw.

The hamster blinked. Gerard did not. He was in love.

“My lord?”

Gerard could not speak, he had no attention to spare. He reached into the box and scooped up a handful of straw, with a small furry lump nesting on top of it. It was warm and soft, eyes still blinking curiously at Gerard, and Gerard could not help the manic grin that was splitting his face.

“It’s a hamster. A hamster, for me.”

He was almost whispering because he did not want to frighten the little one, and because there was no air left in his lungs for anything other than love. He had a hamster. It was small and soft and warm in his hands. Gerard could feel its heartbeat, fast against his palm, so tiny and precious.

The hamster started nibbling his finger. Its teeth were tiny and sharp, and Gerard let out a shaky laugh.

Schechter coughed behind him.

“Ahem. My lord, would you…shall I arrange for the cage to be delivered here?”

There were traces of the usual polite amusement in Schechter’s voice, but also a smidgeon of fondness. Gerard turned his (uncontrollably) beaming face at his steward, who raised an eyebrow, but Gerard wasn’t fooled. There was definitely an affectionate curve to Schechter’s mouth, which was almost threatening to smile.

“I shall call him Augustus.”

Schechter nodded gravely.

“An excellent name, my lord. Allow me to congratulate you on your new pet.”

“Thank you, Schechter. And yes, please have the cage brought here, and some straw. And a little bowl for water. We’ll have to think about what to feed him.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Schechter exited the room, the maid servant trailing behind him with wide eyes. Gerard looked at the tiny creature in his hands and Augustus looked back, his eyes displaying clear signs of intelligence and thoughtfulness.

“I’m going to take such good care of you.”

* * *

The hamster cage stayed in his room, on a little desk that had been brought in especially and placed halfway between the window (so that Augustus could see the sky) and Gerard’s bed (so that Gerard could see Augustus). Both Mikey and Schechter had argued against this location, warning that too close a proximity to the bed might prove dangerous to the cage’s stability, since Gerard tended to be less than perfectly graceful in the mornings. But putting Augustus in the corner would deprive him of both light and company, and even Schechter admitted that such a scenario had the high likelihood of Gerard setting the curtains on fire in a quest to keep Augustus out of the dark. And Gerard didn’t want Augustus to think that he was something that could be easily put aside, something that should be kept out of the way.

Still, he worried, especially when the wind rattled against the windows and even he could feel the draught coming through. He had thought about getting a warm wrap for the hamster cage, but then the air would get stuffy and Augustus wouldn’t be able to see outside. There were so many things that could go wrong, and Gerard spent the first week after Augustus’s arrival barely sleeping, anxious about what else could he do, what else could be done. He stared at the twitching lump of straw that was Augustus’s nest, and resisted the urge to poke at it just to check that everything was allright. Augustus didn’t like that, he had learned.

Gerard insisted on feeding Augustus himself. It was important, he had decided, to share their meals, and so every evening before going to bed he took Augustus out of his cage for a chat and a bit to eat. Most of the time Augustus stuffed the food into his cheeks and then stared at Gerard while Gerard talked, but it was still good. Sometimes Augustus gnawed on Gerard’s fingers, which made him giggle, and he always stopped when Gerard petted him. He was fairly certain that Augustus had started to become fond of him.

There was no news of Frank, no word after the letter and the package. Gerard had waited, all that morning and late into the night, for a knock on the door or a maid’s voice announcing that he had a visitor. But there had been no visit and no note, and after a while Gerard stopped listening for the sound of footsteps outside his door. He spoke to Augustus about Frank sometimes, and wondered what Frank had told Augustus about him, what he might have said about Gerard needing a hamster, or what it meant for Frank to get him one. Gerard didn’t like to think that Frank might have paid someone else to buy the hamster, and arrange for it to be packed up and send to Gerard. Frank couldn’t be that callous about a hamster.

Still, he didn’t come. One night over some nibbles and a bottle of burgundy, Gerard admitted to Augustus that he missed Frank. He started a new poem, something that he had been vaguely planning for a while – the tale of David and Jonathan, with scenes of war and acts of jealousy mingling with introspection and heartfelt devotion. The plan had been to write in heroic couplets, for that sense of epic drama and a smoother pace, but the poem did not want to cooperate. Gerard was beginning to suspect that it wanted Spenserian stanzas, which would mean going back to the metre that had made The Unicorn Heart famous, but also revisiting the flush of creativity brought on by his encounter with Frank. He experienced many flushes when contemplating this.

The narrator’s voice would be Jonathan’s, he decided. A king’s son, with all the privileges and pleasures of his rank, whose life is changed by an encounter with a stranger. There would be a struggle, at first (Gerard’s mind was inexplicably filled with grappling youths, their naked skin gleaming with oil under the Athenian sun), because it was hard to let go of familiar grievances, old habits of thought brought on by disappointments. But something about David’s courage and honesty would cut through the jaded bitterness of Jonathan’s heart.

It was a good plan, and sounded just like all his other poems. Gerard took a sip from his wine glass, and glanced at Augustus, who was pushing the straw around to form a little nest on Gerard’s writing table. Gerard blinked, then laughed.

“Of course, you’re quite right. He makes a home on every battle camp, every fireside. Doesn’t Marvell say something about that? A summer in each other’s breast…”

Augustus stayed with him through the night, sometimes running under his hands and getting inky pawprints over the paper. In the morning, Mr Schechter found Lord Way sleeping on his desk, his hamster snuggling in the crook of his elbow. Carefully, he moved Augustus to his cage, then shook Gerard’s arm gently.

“My lord. My lord, it is morning, you should be in bed.”

Gerard scrunched his eyes, but didn’t open them. A short consideration revealed that the desk was a perfectly comfortable sleeping place, and above all, didn’t require him to move.

“Augustus?”

“Augustus is safe, I have just put him in the cage.”

Of course, Augustus needed his rest, being a far more delicate creature than Gerard. Gerard ignored the brief pang of lost companionship, and focused instead on what would sustain him through the cold morning.

“Coffee?”

Schechter made a noise that might have been interpreted as grinding one’s teeth.

“It would be better if you had a few more hours of sleep, my lord.”

Gerard opened one eye.

“Coffee?”

Schechter sighed, a pinched look on his face. Gerard couldn’t see why; it wasn’t as if they didn’t have this conversation every morning.

“The maid is on her way.”

With ambrosial liquid in her arms, bringing fortitude and sharpness of mind in tiny delicious cups. Gerard regretted, not for the first time, that the time for coffee-house poetry was over. He had so many thoughts on this, insights that went unappreciated by the taste of the town.

“Wake me when the coffee arrives.”

“Yes, my lord.”

* * *

The dream was an old one – Gerard felt the wind on his face and the sea-salt on his tongue, and knew that if he opened his eyes, the brightness of the sun would blind him. The pirates’ shirts would be startlingly white (an unrealistic fictionalisation that Gerard reminded himself to be aware of even as he imagined it), all the better to accentuate the tanned skin and wiry muscles they so tantalisingly hid. None more tantalising than the pirate captain, whose long, nimble fingers were holding on to the wheel, deceptively light, though Gerard was well aware of their strength…

Gerard jerked awake. The windowpane banged against the wall, again. Early morning light was filtered through the curtains, flickering as they moved in the breeze, exposing to view Gerard’s dressing table with its myriad pots of kohl and rouge, his favourite purple cape thrown haphazardly on the floor, and Augustus’s little desk surrounded by bits of cheese and straw.

And a dark figure crouching before Augustus’s cage.

Gerard was up and out of bed before he remembered that he had neither weapons nor clothes on his person at the moment. This would not have kept him from sacrificing either life or dignity for Augustus’s sake, but as Gerard struggled to stand up through his sheets, the mysterious assailant turned around to face him.

Frank’s eyes were as bright as ever and the curves of his lips were still as tantalising. Gerard felt himself to begin beaming helplessly back, before he remembered what he was not wearing and blushed, clutching his sheets to his bosom. Frank grinned.

“Hello, Gerard.”

His voice was the same, yet there was something new, some signs of the few years of life and adventures that had given Frank deeper lines on his face and a scar that curled up to his neck. Gerard blinked, and tried in vain to pull the sheets higher. Then he realised that he was standing on them, and blushed harder. Frank was there, and real, and clothed, and Gerard didn’t know what to do. He chewed on his lip and frowned.

“Frank?” It came out as a squeak, so Gerard coughed and tried again. “What are you doing here? How did you…” His voice petered out at the sight of Frank’s face, still shining with barely suppressed enthusiasm and sweat but beginning to fall.

“I climbed the wall?”

There was a light note of anxiety in Frank’s voice, and as Gerard watched, Frank started to blush in turn. Gerard realised that in his concern for Augustus, and then for his modesty, he may have failed to be suitably welcoming to a guest.

“The wall?”

“Yes. Um. There was a cart outside…”

“A cart?”

Frank mumbled something and shuffled his feet. Gerard noted that he was wearing high-heeled boots, in the style they called Gerardic, and felt ridiculously pleased for a moment. Then he remembered that Frank was even shorter than him, and had probably been wearing heels long before Gerard had made them fashionable.

“Why didn’t you come by the door?”

Frank looked up, and gave him a bashful smile.

“I wasn’t sure if…I sent him, you see, but there was no answer and I wasn’t sure if you had ever received him, or if you still needed a hamster, and I thought you might have got one already, and perhaps…”

Frank swallowed and bit his lip. Gerard felt the sheets loosen in his hands.

“I thought that perhaps you had forgotten.”

A smile blossomed on Gerard’s face, and it was ridiculous and he didn’t care. He took a step closer, stumbling briefly on the sheets, and grabbed Frank’s shoulder with one hand.

“Frank. You didn’t leave an address. I couldn’t send an answer, but I would have done. I still…I still needed a hamster. And he’s perfect.”

Frank’s shoulder vibrated briefly under his fingers, and then Gerard was pulled into a spine-crushing hug. Frank’s mouth was by his ear and Gerard could barely hear what he was saying. Not that his own voice was much clearer.

“I’m glad.”

“He’s perfect.”

“Good.”

“His name is Augustus.”

“Of course it is.”

Gerard pulled back. Frank’s eyes were shining and he knew that there must have been a suspicious wetness in his own.

“He’s…”

Later, Gerard would think about how strange it was that Frank should have been the one to initiate the kiss both times. Frank was braver that way, he acknowledged. Or possibly, as Frank remarked, Gerard was more likely to just keep talking.

Still, at that moment, with Frank’s warm mouth covering his, Frank’s fingers tugging lightly at his hair, Gerard had no thoughts about bravery, or anything else. Frank’s skin felt slightly damp under his fingers, but whether from sweat or rain Gerard didn’t care, he just wanted more of it, all of it. The sheets were hanging loosely around his waist, held up only by the tight press of their bodies.

“Frank, Frank, we need to…there is so much I…”

Frank stopped nibbling Gerard’s jaw and gave him an exasperated look.

“Yes, I missed you too. I am overjoyed that you like my hamster. Yes, we have many things to talk about, since apparently you have become a famous poet during the last two years? Remind me to tell you what I think about Tancred the pirate captain at some point. For the moment, however, could we just…”

Frank’s fingers turned out to be just as eloquent as Gerard had hoped. And although it would be a gross exaggeration to say that Gerard remained quiet for the rest of the night, his words did not, in fact, have much coherence.

Augustus was allowed to sleep late that morning.

April 20th, 1816, Dieppe, one bottle of Riesling later.

“Hey, are you coming to bed?”

Frank’s voice was still rough from his illness, but there was a healthier glow to his cheeks, and his coughs no longer made his body curl upon itself. Still, Gerard made a point of keeping him in bed at least every other day.

“Yes, I was just having a bite to eat. And a chat with Augustus.”

A frown appeared on Frank’s forehead. Gerard resisted the urge to go and smooth it with his thumb.

“Were you talking? I didn’t hear you. Must have been quiet.”

There was a detectable note of doubt in Frank’s voice at this notion.

“No, no, I was…I didn’t want to wake you, so.”

“So you were communicating with Augustus through your brain?”

Gerard straightened his shoulders and put on his haughtiest, most lordly pose.

“Are you suggesting that my hamster isn’t clever enough to read minds?”

Frank’s snicker was interrupted by a cough. “Of course not, my lord. Your hamster is famous for his abilities throughout the land.”

“Of course he is.”

Frank nodded, as if Gerard’s lordly statements were something to take seriously. Then he let the sheets wrapped around him slide down a little, and smiled.

“Come back to bed.”

Gerard glanced at his desk. The wine was mostly gone, and Augustus was only visible through the slight twitching of straws around his nest.

“Well, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be bothering you.”

Frank’s grin was sharp, and the sheets slipped down further.

“Quite sure.”

Gerard blew out the candle, whispered a goodnight to Augustus, and went to bed.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Location: Bed
Current Music: Fall Out Boy: 27