An Unexpected Ending

by idlesuperstar

Summary:

He should undress, and get into bed. He should not be fumbling with his buttons and thinking of Theo’s mouth.

Notes:

A companion piece to An Unexpected Find, from Clive's point of view. You don't have to read that one, but it would help.

Series notes here

Clive pushed the door to the den open, glad of the brief respite, glad to have regained control of himself. He would have one last drink with Theo and send him home safely, and that would be that. There would be time for more talk, for - other things - another day, when they were both less exhausted. “I’ve fixed your car home, old thing, more’s the pity! We’ve still got half and hour or so. Let’s - ” he broke off, stunned, his heart in his throat. Theo was standing by the desk with - God! - that handkerchief in his hand.

“Clive - I am so sorry. I did not mean to snoop. I was looking for matches. I did not - ” Theo faltered. He sounded - distressed? Clive could not tell. Lord, what must he think? Well. He took a breath. He would face it and find out, one way or another. No retreat now.

“Theo,” he said, approaching his friend cautiously. “It’s. It’s alright. I’ve nothing to hide from you, you know that.” He scanned Theo’s face, desperate for a hint as to his feelings. Theo looked up at him. He looked - Clive could not say. But not blank. Not disdainful, at least. God, he’d feared it, hadn’t he? That awful coldness that time at the camp, still he feared seeing it. How untrusting he was. But Theo hadn’t helped, with his silences. Those four years of silence.

“Clive,” said Theo, with a small smile, “Clive, I called you a romantic, earlier. I had no idea quite how true that was, until just now.” His voice was fond, teasing. Clive could not bear teasing, not on such unsteady ground.

“I had expected you to call me a fool, too,” Clive said, dropping his eyes from that clear gaze. But, no, surely Theo would not be so cruel.

“I feel as if we must have this conversation every time we meet, my friend.” Theo’s voice had the old familiar warmth to it. “And each time, you are the brave one, and I am the fool. Forgive me." The man was mad. Forgive him for what?

“Nothing to forgive, old horse.”

“There is. I had hoped - ” Oh! Clive’s heart jolted at that, “but I did not dare believe it. And then I find this.” He waved the handkerchief under Clive’s nose. Clive felt his face heat. Now Theo would tell him what a sentimental fool he really was.

“It’s just and old hankie,” he said, turning away. He could not look at Theo. Nor the damned handkerchief. A mere scrap of cloth! But oh! a reminder of the most complete moments of his life.

“Clive, you idiot. Truly. Shall I tell you something?” Theo sounded - what? Fond? Could it be? Clive’s stomach lurched again.

“If you must."

“Did you never notice, when you were packing your things, that morning?”

“Notice what?” He’d noticed nothing. He’d been thinking only of Theo. Theo’s hands, his mouth, the feel of him - god! He must get himself under control.

“Were you not missing a shirt?”

“A shirt?” How on earth did Theo know that? “Well, yes. I missed it once I was home. I thought the laundry had lost it. Are you saying - ” Impossible, surely? His heart skittered.

“Yes, Clive. I took it. That morning when I left. All our clothes were mixed up - ” dear god, hadn’t they been? And Theo reluctantly pulling his trousers on, coming back to kiss Clive, falling on him again, desperate, until the nurses’ voices in the corridor had terrified them both “ - and I picked it up with mine in my hurry. Not as romantic a gesture as this - ” he smiled at Clive, and his eyes were fond “ - but when I realised. Well. I could not bear to give it back.”

“I’m not surprised.” Clive was brusque, clumsy, not daring to hope. “That was a good shirt.”

“Clive you oaf. I am trying to tell you. I sat there on my bed that morning, with your damned shirt in my hands, and I could not put it down. It smelled of you. Of your cigarettes, and your hair oil, and your sweat - and - ” he broke off, voice cracking, and turned away. Clive could not bear it, and stilled him with a hand on his arm.

“Theo - ”

“No, shut up, Clive. I am telling you what a romantic fool I was.”

“Back in Berlin, you mean?” Oh, Christ, let him still feel it. Clive would give anything to have Theo still feel half of it.

“Was. Am. I still have it.” Theo nodded, his face downturned, sounding terribly weary. “How ridiculous is that? I am an exile from my country. I have only three shirts which I must take great care of lest they fray, they are so old. I used to have a whole wardrobe full of shirts, you know. And now all my possessions fit into one suitcase. And at the bottom of that suitcase is an English shirt from forty years ago that I have never worn, and cannot bear to launder for fear the scent would fade even more than it already has. Now who is the romantic fool?” He flung the handkerchief back into the drawer and turned his back, reached for the decanter. Clive’s heart was pounding. This joy would kill him. Oh god, god, it was true, it was all true, all of it, still. He put a trembling hand on Theo’s arm, turned him round.

“I think we’re equal, then, aren’t we, old thing?” Clive asked, shakily, taking the offered glass. Theo knocked his back like it was water. God, he’d been worried, hadn’t he? Worried that Clive didn’t feel the same. The one thing that would never change. They were as bad as each other, he thought, relief welling up uncontrollably. He took a drink, steadying himself.

“Clive,” said Theo hoarsely, and Clive’s heart thudded at the sound of it, and he looked up at him expectantly. “Please tell me you have some matches. I was only looking for matches. I desperately need a cigarette.”

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. A declaration of love? What an idiot he was! He found he was laughing, unable to stop, weak with relief. And Theo was laughing along with him, the years falling from his face, and he was the same handsome boy he’d been all those years ago. Beautiful.

“My friend,” Theo said, warmly. “What idiots we both are. Before, we were young idiots. Now we are old idiots. At least we did not change.”

“Old!” Clive protested, distracted for a moment. “Speak for yourself! I’m sixty four. That’s not old. I feel like a twenty four year old.”

“You know, Clive, I think you are right. I think part of you will always be that young man that I duelled.”

“No, Theo. Not him. He really was an idiot. But the other one.” He looked at Theo, suddenly serious.

“The other one?”

“The one after that. The one who was your friend.” Friend! Such a small word, for all that they were.

“Ach, yes. Him. Well, he was an alright fellow.”

“Hey!”

“Truly, Clive,” and Theo turned serious also. “He was the best of men.” Oh, what nonsense. “No, Clive he was. And, you know, he made me want to be the best of men too.”

“Theo! But you are! I have always said it.”

“Clive! You and your great heart - ” and there was Theo’s hand on his chest, over his heart. Oh! He froze. His heart! Oh, let them swear it again.

“Theo - ” he whispered, barely breathing. Theo’s face, oh his face.

“I will say it, Clive. And, you know, I think this will be the last time I need to. Because - unless I am forced to - I cannot leave. Not again. So.” Clive felt sure his heart would burst. Yet Theo’s own heart was just as wild under his own hand.

“Mein Herz, Clive. It is yours.”

“Mein Herz, Theo. It’s yours. It’s always been yours.” Oh, Theo’s face! His eyes were dark, burning. He felt magnetised by them. Then, damnation, a knock at the door from Murdoch.

“General, sir, the car is here for - ”

“Yes, yes, Murdoch!” he called. “Five minutes! We’ll be out then! Damnation,” he said more quietly, turning back to Theo. “What was that you said? You wouldn’t leave again?” he asked, wryly. “Are we never to have any blasted peace?”

“Not in wartime, my friend, it seems.”

“Well, look old man. I’m off early in the morning as you know, but by god as soon as I’m back, I’ll sort this mess out as best I can. At the very least I’ll get round this damned curfew.”

“Clive - ” Theo was about to protest about the fuss, Clive could tell.

“Theo, it’s the least I can do. Really. It’s nothing. Don’t fret.” What was his rank for if he couldn’t pull it now and then? “Now,” he said, taking his hand off Theo’s chest and grasping his arms. Oh, there was still strength there. “You had to ask last time,” he said “so I shall ask this time. And after this time there will be no need to ask ever again, because the answer will always be yes. Will you kiss me?”

Theo’s face! As if he’d been given some kind of gift. And then Theo’s hands were on his face, and he was being kissed softly, as if he were some precious thing. God! Not enough! Not after all the doubt. He’d waited so long; he wanted more, damn it. He kissed him back fiercely, felt Theo surge against him, almost desperate. He pressed up against him, wanting to feel all of him, his strength, his warmth. Oh! the feel of his hair through his fingers! The ridge of Theo’s scar under his thumb, Christ, he wanted to mark him again, to brand him; he wanted all of him, all at once. God the heat of him, the lovely soft warm feel of his mouth! The swell of his backside, the smell of his sweat. He wanted to get to skin, to peel the clothes off him and wallow in it all. He felt Theo’s hands warm and strong on his back, burrowed under his jacket, only a layer away from skin, and god, the feel of it, the sense of belonging, of being owned. He broke the kiss, breathless, overwhelmed; buried his head in Theo’s neck, his heart racing; tightened his arms more fiercely around Theo’s strong back. Theo’s hand a familiar weight on the back of his neck, stroking gently. Theo murmuring softly into his ear, something German, the sound of it at once soothing and thrilling.

“What’s that?” he breathed into Theo’s ear, unable to let go.

Theo was trembling against him. Clive was unsteady himself, half relieved, half aroused.

“You never would learn German,” Theo murmured, low and rough into his ear, the feel of it making Clive shiver. “Never mind. There is still time to teach you. Another day.” Another day, yes. The thrill of it! But oh, he must let Theo go. Had they but world enough and time! One moment longer. He took a shuddering breath, pulled himself away, looked at Theo. What a sight! Clive felt a throb of arousal, felt his cock stir. As if he were a young man again! That was all Theo’s doing.

“Clive, look at us. What a state.” Theo half laughed, started tidying himself up, shooting a heated look at Clive. “Clive, if you continue to look at me in that way I will embarrass myself in front of your driver.”

“Oh, that would never do!” laughed Clive, glad he only had to get himself upstairs.

“Clive Candy, you are a heartless wretch.” Theo said sternly. Clive grinned back at him, the joy bubbling up inside him. What did it matter, that Theo had taken so long to find him? He had him now.

“Sir!” came Murdoch’s vexed shout from the hallway.

“Alright, Murdoch!”

“Clive,” Theo put an unsteady hand on his arm, “I will see you on your return, yes?”

“Of course, Theo. As I promised. It should be no more than a week. Have a safe journey back. And - ” he paused, then with a thrill of joy realised he could say anything, now; “- when I get back, come for dinner.” And then, greatly daring, “we can finish what we’ve started.”

“Oh, yes, mein Freund,” Theo murmured, and god! His voice! “I shall hold you to that promise.” He took Clive’s face in his hands again, pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips. “That must serve for now, Clive. Come along,” and he was shepherding Clive out of the door, a possessive hand at the small of his back. Clive clenched his fists, forcing himself to look forward, to not touch Theo again, and then there was Murdoch being an insubordinate fusspot as usual. He was just about to harangue him when Theo turned to him and took his hand. Handshakes! He could barely stand and they had to shake hands.

“Goodbye Clive, have a nice journey.” Theo’s voice was low, his hand firm; Clive wanted that voice murmuring in his ear, wanted that hand hot on his cock. Christ.

“Don’t worry about anything, everything’s under control,” he replied, equally low. Theo was shaking, under the firmness of his handshake. And then he was gone, climbing stiffly into the car. Clive was cold all over, suddenly. He found himself herded indoors by Murdoch, walked blindly to the foot of the stairs. He could do with another drink. But - god! He was half hard. He could smell Theo on his hands, his shirt. Could still feel his mouth, that last fleeting promise of his kiss.

“I’m going up, Murdoch. Will you see to the locks?”

“As I always do, sir, as I always do. Goodnight, then, General.”

“Yes, goodnight,” and he was walking stiffly up the stairs. He reached his room in a daze, shut the door clumsily behind him. He almost fell into the armchair, breathing heavily. He should undress, and get into bed. He should not be fumbling with his buttons and thinking of Theo’s mouth. The feel of Theo was still all around him, the smell of him, the memory of him pressed against him. God! He brought his arm up to his face, pressed his nose into his sleeve, yes there, there it was, the smell of Theo. Christ. His cock twitched again at it. He undid his trousers, finally, pushed his underwear aside, felt his cock throb as he finally got a hand on it. He sank back into the chair, left arm flung across his eyes, with the smell of Theo’s cigarettes and skin still there; right hand working himself. It was so easy, to think it was Theo’s hand. Theo’s hand, that had been on him moments ago! And that would again, god, yes, they would spread out in his bed, Theo’s mouth hot and wet on his own, Theo’s arms strong around him, all warm skin and fierce kisses. God, he was close, so soon, with the sound of Theo’s breath hot in his ear, yes, he would murmur filthy curses into Clive’s ear and do filthy things to his cock, yes, yes, put that lovely mouth on Clive’s cock, that hot wet lovely mouth - and - and - oh god and he was coming hard, shuddering into his fist, back arched, panting desperately.

God, what a wreck he was! He slumped back, heart stuttering, breathing slowing, feeling at once both gloriously sated and utterly worn out. He was an old man. They both were. The day had put ten years on him. Christ, though, those last few moments with Theo had made him feel young again. Made his body think it was young again. His heart always felt young. Mein Herz. Oh, he should get up and clean himself up. He had an early start. He looked at his watch. Not even midnight. Theo would still be in the car. Poor Theo! He huffed out a laugh, smiled wryly. A little longer before Theo could get to his own bed. Would he, too, seek his relief? Clive flushed at that, an aftershock of arousal running through him. Picture that, Theo in his little bed, taking himself in hand, and thinking of Clive. Thinking of Clive’s hand on him. Maybe even thinking of Clive’s mouth. Oh, yes! Yes. God, the things Clive wanted to do to him. He’d never even put a hand on Theo’s cock. He wanted to feel its hot weight in his hand. He wanted everything, every inch of Theo, under his hands, under his mouth. God, this would never do. He must get up. And then next time - well. Next time, Theo would not go. Next time, Theo would be here with him, taking his hand, leading him to his bed. Clive’s heart leapt. It was such a glorious thought. Next time. Just think of it - now, lord now, there would always be a next time.

Notes:

Beta as ever by jennytheshipper who loves it when she gets another Clive-and-his-wanking story, honestly.

For added P&P glory/meta-ness, I wrote the first draft of this in the lounge of the Western Isles hotel, on Mull, which of course is where Joan and Torquil stay in I Know Where I'm Going! Hopefully the ghost of Emeric is looking kindly on me. If not, it's a bit late now. There's no stopping this train.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 22 of The Life And Death Of Sugar Candy