"θυμούμαι", Charles/Camilla, PG-13
Jun. 28th, 2007 02:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hardparadeTitle: θυμούμαι
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Charles/Camilla
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Brother/sister incest
Summary: A look at Charles and Camilla's relationship, past and future.
A/N: This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
belles_letres_x who asked for Charles/Camilla involving post. The title is 'remember' but in Greek, according to an online translator, haha.
It had always been sudden and unexpected, usually at inappropriate times when she was busy - hunched over in an armchair absorbed in her greek, padding around the kitchen cooking linguine in her underwear, on the phone planning to meet somebody. He didn't concern himself with trivialities such as headaches, periods, not-being-in-the-mood. He would scoop her up in his arms, carry her to the bedroom as she giggled and protested, or he would press his body close to hers and stamp kisses over her shoulders, marking her and claiming her with them until she surrendered, lifted herself onto the kitchen counter or the top of the piano, or spread herself across the threadbare rug in the living room.
And for the most part, this was acceptable. He took from her because she gave to him, and it had always been that way. It had been that way since that first afternoon, when Nana's house hadn't yet become home and Nana still felt like a stranger, and the two of them were cleaning the basement. They were exchanging old memories about their parents - Charles always insisted he remembered more, could still see their mothers' face in his mind - and Camilla began to cry. As Charles comforted her, holding her close and kissing her forehead, it only seemed natural for things to progress. Camilla was lonely, and though Charles wouldn't admit it, so was he.
It was what she had wanted for so long that, at first, it was hard for her to even imagine anything else. And then there was Henry. And Henry gave her something else. He was gentle, thoughtful, and where he was often frustratingly methodical, he did, at least, show her that he cared. And it was new, and it was different, and it took some getting used to, but in time she began to feel that this was how sex was supposed to be - careful and slow and sweet and loving in his flawlessly made white bed, not quick and frantic and almost savage whenever he felt in the mood.
It wasn't as simple as that, and she would have been eternally grateful if it had been. If she had been able to cast Charles out, leave him fully when she left the house, things would have been simpler. But nothing could change the fact that she loved him, fiercely and passionately - unconditionally - and she still thought of him when Henry was making love to her, and she still complied when her brother demanded. (It was Henry, after all, who moved her out; packed up all her things, took her to the inn.)
She will still think of Charles years later, still half-expect to see him wander in while she is doing the laundry and throw her down amongst the towels and blouses and pillowcases. She will still hope for this, miss it just as she misses him. She will call out his name while sleeping with a lovely man who works at the library, who will ignore it at first but ask her afterwards "didn't your grandmother say that was your brother's name?" and they will not see each other again. (He will be the only person her own age that she will have even spoken to in months, finding it too hard to leave the house and live without her brother; finding it easier to stay in and look after Nana and be a good granddaughter.)
Though she will grow used to not hearing from him - there will be scatterings of phone calls for two or three months, and then nothing - she will still leaf through the mail every morning, hoping to see his familiar messy scrawl on one of the envelopes. She will listen to what little news Nana receives, but will not be able to connect it to Charles in any way - running off with a thirtysomething married woman, washing dishes in a diner - because it won't seem like him. to her it will be almost as though Charles had died along with Henry. And she will want to go back in time to change it all, not accept Henry's invitation for that first dinner, not even speak to Henry at all - do anything to have her twin back.
It is true that she will still love Henry - go on loving him forever, in fact - but it will be Charles that will stuck in her mind the most, circling her brain like a catchy radio song, refusing to leave her in peace. She will go up to their old room; press her face to the cool papered walls, run shaky hands along the wooden floors. She will still be able to smell him - not the heavy, sultry, damp alcoholic scent that she associated with Bunny and destruction and the scars on her arm, but the simple smell of her boy twin brother; lazy, quiet, warm and soft like safety.
Over and over she will want to give up. She will see him in her own reflection, and take down all the mirrors. She will try over and over to stop wearing his old clothes, but she will not be able to stop slipping on a pale blue shirt that he wore years ago, and she will cuddle it close to her in bed, hiding her hands inside the sleeves and clenching the fabric in her fists. She will try not to think of him - try not to think of them, and it will even be hard to make herself stay in touch with Francis and Richard - but it will be such an effort, every day.
And then one day, a hazy morning in late August, she will come wearily down the stairs and out the door to collect the mail, and as she sorts through the pile she will see the familiar messy scrawl of her brother's handwriting on a small brown package. Inside she will find no letter, no card, no news at all. Inside there will be nothing but a small black tape measure. The tape measure they had both fought over incessantly as children, the tape measure they had kept in the house for so long without ever using it. With tears in her eyes and a smile, she will lift it out, sink down onto the grass with the blue shirt pooling around her, and slide the tape measure out, long and yellow with its faded black marks. She will press the red button - weak after so much time - and watch as the tape measure snaps back into place.
And never again will she try to forget him.
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Charles/Camilla
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Brother/sister incest
Summary: A look at Charles and Camilla's relationship, past and future.
A/N: This is for
belles_letres_x who asked for Charles/Camilla involving post. The title is 'remember' but in Greek, according to an online translator, haha.It had always been sudden and unexpected, usually at inappropriate times when she was busy - hunched over in an armchair absorbed in her greek, padding around the kitchen cooking linguine in her underwear, on the phone planning to meet somebody. He didn't concern himself with trivialities such as headaches, periods, not-being-in-the-mood. He would scoop her up in his arms, carry her to the bedroom as she giggled and protested, or he would press his body close to hers and stamp kisses over her shoulders, marking her and claiming her with them until she surrendered, lifted herself onto the kitchen counter or the top of the piano, or spread herself across the threadbare rug in the living room.
And for the most part, this was acceptable. He took from her because she gave to him, and it had always been that way. It had been that way since that first afternoon, when Nana's house hadn't yet become home and Nana still felt like a stranger, and the two of them were cleaning the basement. They were exchanging old memories about their parents - Charles always insisted he remembered more, could still see their mothers' face in his mind - and Camilla began to cry. As Charles comforted her, holding her close and kissing her forehead, it only seemed natural for things to progress. Camilla was lonely, and though Charles wouldn't admit it, so was he.
It was what she had wanted for so long that, at first, it was hard for her to even imagine anything else. And then there was Henry. And Henry gave her something else. He was gentle, thoughtful, and where he was often frustratingly methodical, he did, at least, show her that he cared. And it was new, and it was different, and it took some getting used to, but in time she began to feel that this was how sex was supposed to be - careful and slow and sweet and loving in his flawlessly made white bed, not quick and frantic and almost savage whenever he felt in the mood.
It wasn't as simple as that, and she would have been eternally grateful if it had been. If she had been able to cast Charles out, leave him fully when she left the house, things would have been simpler. But nothing could change the fact that she loved him, fiercely and passionately - unconditionally - and she still thought of him when Henry was making love to her, and she still complied when her brother demanded. (It was Henry, after all, who moved her out; packed up all her things, took her to the inn.)
She will still think of Charles years later, still half-expect to see him wander in while she is doing the laundry and throw her down amongst the towels and blouses and pillowcases. She will still hope for this, miss it just as she misses him. She will call out his name while sleeping with a lovely man who works at the library, who will ignore it at first but ask her afterwards "didn't your grandmother say that was your brother's name?" and they will not see each other again. (He will be the only person her own age that she will have even spoken to in months, finding it too hard to leave the house and live without her brother; finding it easier to stay in and look after Nana and be a good granddaughter.)
Though she will grow used to not hearing from him - there will be scatterings of phone calls for two or three months, and then nothing - she will still leaf through the mail every morning, hoping to see his familiar messy scrawl on one of the envelopes. She will listen to what little news Nana receives, but will not be able to connect it to Charles in any way - running off with a thirtysomething married woman, washing dishes in a diner - because it won't seem like him. to her it will be almost as though Charles had died along with Henry. And she will want to go back in time to change it all, not accept Henry's invitation for that first dinner, not even speak to Henry at all - do anything to have her twin back.
It is true that she will still love Henry - go on loving him forever, in fact - but it will be Charles that will stuck in her mind the most, circling her brain like a catchy radio song, refusing to leave her in peace. She will go up to their old room; press her face to the cool papered walls, run shaky hands along the wooden floors. She will still be able to smell him - not the heavy, sultry, damp alcoholic scent that she associated with Bunny and destruction and the scars on her arm, but the simple smell of her boy twin brother; lazy, quiet, warm and soft like safety.
Over and over she will want to give up. She will see him in her own reflection, and take down all the mirrors. She will try over and over to stop wearing his old clothes, but she will not be able to stop slipping on a pale blue shirt that he wore years ago, and she will cuddle it close to her in bed, hiding her hands inside the sleeves and clenching the fabric in her fists. She will try not to think of him - try not to think of them, and it will even be hard to make herself stay in touch with Francis and Richard - but it will be such an effort, every day.
And then one day, a hazy morning in late August, she will come wearily down the stairs and out the door to collect the mail, and as she sorts through the pile she will see the familiar messy scrawl of her brother's handwriting on a small brown package. Inside she will find no letter, no card, no news at all. Inside there will be nothing but a small black tape measure. The tape measure they had both fought over incessantly as children, the tape measure they had kept in the house for so long without ever using it. With tears in her eyes and a smile, she will lift it out, sink down onto the grass with the blue shirt pooling around her, and slide the tape measure out, long and yellow with its faded black marks. She will press the red button - weak after so much time - and watch as the tape measure snaps back into place.
And never again will she try to forget him.
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no subject
Date: 2007-06-29 02:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-29 10:10 am (UTC)your characterization is spot on - I love the hints at charles still caring. (:
it's exactly like I imagine things would have gone on.
"She will still be able to smell him - not the heavy, sultry, damp alcoholic scent that she associated with bunny and destruction and the scars on her arm, but the simple smell of her boy twin brother; lazy, quiet, warm and soft like safety."
that like KILLED me! in a good way, of course. ;)
this was just fantastic, thanks so much for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2007-06-29 02:27 pm (UTC)And also, ha, I didn't capitalize the B in Bunny, how odd. *goes to fix* But I'm glad you liked that bit, eee. xxx
no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-01 08:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-08 12:25 pm (UTC)