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asimaiyatTitle: "The Nightingale"
Fandom: Romantic Poets RPS, yes you read that right
Pairing: Samuel Taylor Coleridge/William Wordsworth
Rating: G
Summary: William is feeling a little insecure
AN: Oh God I have no idea. Actually I think this pairing has tons of potential, but I don't know many people who actually want to read poet slash...
"Well, William? D'you like it? What do you think?"
Wordsworth slowly raised his eyes from the page to contemplate his friend, who was pacing around the sitting-room with his hands clasped behind his back.
"I don't know, Coleridge. What am I supposed to think of this 'most gentle maid who dwelleth in her hospitable home?"
Coleridge un-clasped his hands, and made expansive gestures while he responded: "Well, beauty, obviously, and the moon and the silvery -- the moonlit eeriness of the night. The shadowy beauty that only a poet can see." For a moment he paused and bit his lower lip. "Er... you don't think it's too gothic again, do you? I was trying to --"
"That isn't what I meant." Wordsworth hated to interrupt, but he knew this would go on if he let it. "I meant, who is she?"
Unbelievably, Coleridge looked relieved. "Well, she's our Dorothy, of course!"
Of course. Wordsworth looked back down at the page and wondered when this floating creature with flashing eyes had become ours rather than, well, his. A small change, but one that set him ill at ease nonetheless. Having to share his best friend with Sarah was bad enough, but Dorothy at least should be allowed to remain proprietary.
"Oh, dear, there's no need to be jealous!" exclaimed Coleridge in a sort of way that would allow him to claim, later, that he'd been joking.
"Jealous? I'm not jealous."
And then Coleridge was across the room, perching himself on the arm of William's chair. William adjusted the collar of his shirt and looked down at the poem, only to notice that Coleridge was looking at it as well. His friend pointed one slim finger at a line early on in the poem, My Friend, and thou, our Sister! we have learnt/A different lore. "See, you're in the poem too! You should know better than to think I'd forget my best friend!"
Later on William would recall the conversation in a lonely moment, and realize that keeping company with the collegial laugh in Coleridge's voice, there was the faintest tone of hurt. But at the time, his entire attention was consumed by reading over and over his friend's words of affection, and trying very hard not to blush.
Fandom: Romantic Poets RPS, yes you read that right
Pairing: Samuel Taylor Coleridge/William Wordsworth
Rating: G
Summary: William is feeling a little insecure
AN: Oh God I have no idea. Actually I think this pairing has tons of potential, but I don't know many people who actually want to read poet slash...
"Well, William? D'you like it? What do you think?"
Wordsworth slowly raised his eyes from the page to contemplate his friend, who was pacing around the sitting-room with his hands clasped behind his back.
"I don't know, Coleridge. What am I supposed to think of this 'most gentle maid who dwelleth in her hospitable home?"
Coleridge un-clasped his hands, and made expansive gestures while he responded: "Well, beauty, obviously, and the moon and the silvery -- the moonlit eeriness of the night. The shadowy beauty that only a poet can see." For a moment he paused and bit his lower lip. "Er... you don't think it's too gothic again, do you? I was trying to --"
"That isn't what I meant." Wordsworth hated to interrupt, but he knew this would go on if he let it. "I meant, who is she?"
Unbelievably, Coleridge looked relieved. "Well, she's our Dorothy, of course!"
Of course. Wordsworth looked back down at the page and wondered when this floating creature with flashing eyes had become ours rather than, well, his. A small change, but one that set him ill at ease nonetheless. Having to share his best friend with Sarah was bad enough, but Dorothy at least should be allowed to remain proprietary.
"Oh, dear, there's no need to be jealous!" exclaimed Coleridge in a sort of way that would allow him to claim, later, that he'd been joking.
"Jealous? I'm not jealous."
And then Coleridge was across the room, perching himself on the arm of William's chair. William adjusted the collar of his shirt and looked down at the poem, only to notice that Coleridge was looking at it as well. His friend pointed one slim finger at a line early on in the poem, My Friend, and thou, our Sister! we have learnt/A different lore. "See, you're in the poem too! You should know better than to think I'd forget my best friend!"
Later on William would recall the conversation in a lonely moment, and realize that keeping company with the collegial laugh in Coleridge's voice, there was the faintest tone of hurt. But at the time, his entire attention was consumed by reading over and over his friend's words of affection, and trying very hard not to blush.