Wilde (1997)

❝—Well, at the moment I'm very interested in you. But of course you mean artistic interests, though I would easily put you in the same category.❞ The coquettish remarks spill from his lips with such ease as his gaze capers amongst the charmingly bacchanalian coils of Felix's dark hair, presently picturing them adorned with flowers.

❝—Let's see. Do you like opera, Felix? Call me old-fashioned, but it's a personal favourite. As a matter of fact, I happen to have two tickets to Lohengrin, one of which I've not been able to give away. Would you be prepared to join me for next Saturday?❞ His expectant glance returns to meet the other's once more. By now, he has become comfortably seated upon the surface of the table, with the graceful expanse of his legs crossed beneath him. ❝—It will be a cultural experience like no other.❞ His promise is equally soaked with playfulness. The fact that his own father would be no less than utterly pleased with the prospects of their friendship goes deliberately ignored by him.

felix merely beams in response, childishly pleased that he picked an appropriate quote. he inhales, the cherry of his cigarette lighting up before he sandwiches it between slender fingers and courteously exhales the plumes of smoke away from the other man's face. "it's no skin off my nose. but, er, i feel similarly. shame on me for not paying you proper attention before. you seem like a man of culture and taste," felix teases, gaze glimmering with amicable mirth. he hums, his eyes roaming over victor's face unabashedly. he's certain that they have met each other before, always in the periphery but never in the forefront. his father likely made him greet lord alastair at a gathering once or twice. "nice to meet you, victor. and to learn of your appreciation for oscar wilde and shakespeare." a grin dimples his cheeks, but his words are sincere -- as is his flirtation. "what else are you interested in?"

The smile reflected upon the pliant curves of his lips grows, his fair head canting to the side as he releases a silvern plume of smoke from his lungs, before making a concurring gesture at the other's choice of reference. ❝—Arguably his one quote worth remembering.❞ There is a delighted glimmer in the profound depths of the azurine waves trapped within his eyes, as they bore into the other's from his new, and decidedly more intimate position. ❝—Why demand permission or forgiveness for what is being offered to you readily?❞

The name Catton is undoubtedly familiar; he has indeed met Sir James once in the past, as he has conversed with most members of nobility out of obligation, though none have ever been quite as intriguing as Felix is proving to be. ❝—I'm sure it means something to my dear old father. For me, however, you're a memory I should have cared to retain.❞ His remark is unashamedly sincere, his gaze curtained by leaden lashes as it takes note of the warm shade of Felix's eyes. ❝—I'm Victor; always delighted to put a face to a name anew.❞

his gaze flits between the lit cigarette and the shapely swell of victor's mouth, his curiosity already piqued by the mention of oscar wilde. felix makes an affirming noise in the back of his throat, forehead wrinkling in thought. "love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling," he says, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he casts an assessing gaze victor's way. that wasn't the quote verbatim, but felix has a one-track mind when it comes to oscar wilde, along with most things he reads. he surreptitiously reaches forward to nab one of the cigarettes, accompanied by a sheepish smile as he sticks the filter between his lips and lights up. "d'you mind? better to ask forgiveness than permission, at times. yeah, that sounds plausible. i'm felix -- felix catton." he has no doubt they've brushed elbows with one another before, whether it be at saltburn or the trevor's estate, but perhaps felix regrets not looking twice. "depends. does me being a catton mean anything to you?" felix teases, cocking his head to the side. those born into their life either loved it or resented it, and felix was eager to find out which sort the other man was.

As he peers down at the other from above the lines of his hands, now preoccupied with lighting the cigarette between his lips, the gold rims of his eyes take on a new shade of amusement, and he finds it agreeable to indulge. ❝—No, it's usually Wilde, but that's only when I'm really hammered.❞

Bending his knees, he leans down in order to offer the young man whose table he has conquered a cigarette from his case, and to better gaze upon his charming face. ❝—You're rather familiar; haven't I seen you somewhere? At one of our families' dull gatherings, perhaps? I'm a Trevor, if that means anything to you.❞

felix's eyebrows make a mad dash for his hairline, staring up at the man with a mirthful gaze even though he hasn't a clue what's happening. too much drink, if he had to place bets. he shakes his head, a grin dimpling his cheeks. "i'm assuming you've had a pint or two, yeah? do you always recite the bard when you're hammered?" felix questions, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he leans forward on his elbow. he's unsure if the last bit is hyperbole, so felix opts not to respond and shakes his head with a disbelieving smile.

[ it's pretty wild that people were dancing to Macarena in clubs when Vic was in Uni in my main timeline. ]

open

The young man whose blood is evidently intoxicated by some form of substance or other, manages to hop onto the other’s desk with both feet firmly planted, his arms thrown in the air for his group of imagined spectators. ❝—You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey?❞

The dramatic effect only lasts for a moment, though there is a hint of gratification behind the sudden listlessness in his expression as his fingers reach for the cigarette case in his pocket, his tall figure still erected atop the invaded desk. ❝—I would make a truly exceptional Hamlet; my mother is a whore, and my father may as well be dead.❞

[ young stupid aristocrat fucks up big time

 → his dad sends him off to Europe to avoid scandal ]

“Never do the same mistake twice. Unless he’s hot.”

— Me (via whengarfielddiets)

❝—Needy and demanding; how could I have not known?❞ His lips mirror the other's expression even as he teases, his hips shifting against Michael's in an answering roll before one hand rises to the buttons of his shirt, fingers all but wrenching away at the fastenings as he retains his hold around the other's wrists.

With the fine fabric of his shirt shrugged from his shoulders and tossed to the side as an afterthought, he seizes the opportunity to take in the sight of Michael's splayed form underneath him, with the soft light of the bedside lamp breaking upon the prominent curves of his cheeks and the sensuous pillows of his lips. ❝—You are gorgeous, though. Don't let it go to your head.❞ Their bare chests grow pressed against one another as his smile swallows Michael's once more. Deft fingers undo the other's trousers, the heat of his palm enfolding his waking arousal in-between increasingly fervent kisses.

he tumbles easily, without any fight, and grins, smug when victor weighs him down. the night is long and their privacy is mostly guaranteed — so he doesn't mind the twisting, the amusing interruptions to a rather predictable arrangement. "it's a start," michael replies, chuckling when a lap of tongue runs against his neck. this was it all along! — the chase, at the beginning of it's fulfillment. fervent interest however, rarely allows michael to stay passive, and under the mounted pressure, he moves where he can. his hips draw up, intention obvious there, and in between rousing nibbles, michael turns to rub his cheek against victor — sighing when he's reminded of how clothed the blonde is. especially in comparison. "you should have a lot less clothing — that would improve my mood considerably." bar the fact that michael is still grinning.

❝—Aren't you an eager one.❞ The warm ring of his amusement spreads within his chest in the form of a deep laughter; he is charmed by Michael's plain enthusiasm, by his rippling fervour as he claims Victor's lips with his own. There is a sincerity in his passion which is surprisingly refreshing. The very same candidness which had initially pushed Victor away, now works entirely in Michael's favour in this new context.

His assertive touch follows the subtle curves of Michael's naked skin until it reaches his wrists. With the guiding push of his own hips against his, Victor shifts their positions until Michael is pinned underneath his weight, with his hands pressed into the bedsheets. ❝—Is this what you wanted?❞ His words are sighed against the warm column of Michael's throat, his tongue soothing the mark of his teeth against the pale flesh.

sparks. michael's attention dips to trailing fingers, and then there's a pull — warm contact, arriving just like he'd asked. his stomach flips, eager eyes widening with the pull of a grin. " — if? i will kick people out of rooms if i have to. nudity or half-drunk, i will not hesitate." as soon as michael's arm bends to hold victor in turn, he makes good on his word by dragging them, to any bloody room that'll take them. he abandons his drink on the staircase banister when they climb it, and michael is nearly jogging when he waltzes down the hall — trying each knob without hesitation. if anything, he figures the avid stabs at securing a room must be somewhat flattering. it's in michael's third twist of a knob, that grants them access to a guest bedroom, largely undisturbed. evidence of an earlier partygoer sits in a beer can at the foot of the bed, but otherwise — it's miraculously empty. and private. he hip checks the door, leans against it to press it closed, then immediately goes to peel his shirt over his head. michael tosses it to the side, before surging forward, easing victor back into the bedframe where he collects him for a necessary kiss.

The smile teasing the very edges of his lips grows more vivid at Michael's show of impatience, evidently pleased with the effect he is having on the other; though he supposes it does not take much effort to entice the young man in his current, disheartened state. Victor would dare him to a kiss right where they stand, if he cared not for the last shred of his own reputation.

His fingers turn in response to the other's, their pads tracing the underside of Michael's forearm in a deliberate line, until they curl against his elbow in a gently firm grasp. ❝—If you can find us somewhere private, I may give you more than a kiss.❞

victor is enchanting. he is a sight for sore eyes, and a gentleman through and through — but the mere hint of touch, draws michael into an extended impatience. he wants more than eyes, more than subtle experiment! and perhaps there is something to be said about foreplay — or perhaps the plan involves driving michael mad — but he is tempted to ask for a narrative leap, or a button that skips all the talking. they are both very attractive, presumably interested in men, and he is silly with want. "well — are you? going to touch me i mean," michael interjects, turning his hand then, as if expecting threaded fingers. " look — i'm charmed victor, i'm very charmed already — though i was hoping you would answer with actual responses, not. well." he scrunches his face up, half grumpy, half taunting, "not actual instructions. where are the descriptions of how enticed you are by my — handsome face, or better yet — you could've dared me to kiss you! — you could do it now."

jude law as lord alfred “bosie” douglas in Wilde (1997)