pxnandqxll

[pxnandqxll]

"Your hands," he motioned with a small and poised gesture, "I can't exactly place it, but there's something about them that gives me the impression of you being an artist.-- It's something about the curve of your fingers, I think," hummed the musician, his chocolate gaze dropping for a moment upon the curl of the other's aureate digits, before flicking back at the mention of his program. "Oh, business?" Scarlet sheepishness brushed lightly upon Peter's tinged lips. "Well, you see why I'm in music and not in something as clever as business," he chuckled. "Although, it seems you're not only clever but a rebel, as well. Running away from your classes? Aren't you the wild card." The corner of his lips dimpled into that of a teasing smirk as Peter couldn't help but wonder what other transgressions the passenger before him had committed.

"That's very kind of you to say. It certainly doesn't feel like a dream, sometimes, what with the amount of scraping-by I find myself in." Not to mention the amount of disapproval he had received not so long ago. "--But then I wake up and find myself playing music in some of the most historic churches, so, perhaps, in some ways I am lucky, if I do say so myself." He almost inquired as to whether the young man found such a life to be his own dream as well, but the musician thought better of it. Surely, that would be crossing a line. The two were nothing more than perfect strangers after all; even if, for the hair of a second, it almost didn't feel like it. "Peter-Smith Kingsley, how do you do, Victor" he cooed, extending his hand for a warm shake. There was a peppering warmth to uttering the other's name. "Now, correct me if i'm wrong, but did you mention that you're also a Cambridge alumni? Well, isn't this a small world. Perhaps, we might've bumped into one another."

He cannot decide which he likes more; the stranger's warm brown eyes fixed upon him, or the meditative mien which softens the contours of his striking countenance. ❝—What gave you that impression?❞ Victor challenges his guess with an indulgent smile. ❝—I'm actually in business— Cambridge. It was all quite boring, so I ran off.❞ His playful expression touches his leaden gaze as the back of his head comes to a rest against his seat's cushion.

A musician; how sublime. Victor's thoughts grow fixated upon that singular word. ❝—That sounds wonderful; you're living a lot of people's dream.❞ It feels oddly easy to be sincere with this man. Easy enough, perhaps, to even speak one's secrets; a dangerous thought. Perhaps it is the loneliness ruling his judgement. Would one with such sensibilities wish to hear the true reason behind his wanderings in Europe? ❝—I'm Victor, by the way.❞

[pxnandqxll]

"Oh, you're a student! What university do you go to?" Perhaps they had attended the same campus? Then again, even if they hadn't England's universities all swam within the same elite pool; allowing the students to co-mingle and swap mannerly war-stories amidst the welcoming embrace of a decorous gal. However, if they had crossed paths Peter knew he wouldn't have forgotten the likes of the such a stranger. "What are you taking?-- No. Wait. Actually, let me guess." A low hum blossomed from the musician's throat as he tucked one hand underneath his chin. A sculpture lingering in deep thought, save for the keen glimmer shimmering through his hazel eyes. "Are you in Literature, perhaps? Or, actually, scratch that, you must be in Arts, surely!"

Peter couldn't help but feel endearingly amused by the other's eagerness regarding his immigrating to Europe. Frankly, coming from a world where opulent nonchalance was reveled in, it was a breath of fresh air to witness genuine excitement. "Well, it's a lot of grunt work, especially as a musician. Certain months roll by where I'm not quite sure when I'll be picked up for my next performance," he shrugged humbly. "--But other than that, I have to admit, living in Rome it feels like... It feels like a breath of fresh air. From the food, the art, the culture, the language, the music, I've truly never felt more at home; but, perhaps that's the bohemian in me speaking.-- What about you? What brings you so far from the home country?"

As the other's ebon gaze grows focused upon him, Victor cannot help but mirror the man's charming smile. ❝—Well, you're rather close; I'm from Scotland, but I've spent more years in England, I suppose— studying and whatnot.❞ Britain seems so far behind him now, its gloomy image lost within the dark mist rising in the wake of the rushing train.

❝—So you actually live here? What's it like? To be settled here, I mean.❞ His intensely blue eyes glimmer with a hushed sense of wonder as they roam across the details of his travelling companion, moving from his amiable countenance to his clasped hands; he would recognise the hands of an artist anywhere, veined yet somehow still dignified, and quite beautiful in this instance.

[pxnandqxll]

"Mm, have you always taken a likening to men in uniform, or am I just lucky?" he purred, reveling in the soft caresses of Victor's fingertips combing through his now untamed waves, his head now tilting as if to thread the gap between himself and his lover's touch.

The twinkling glimmer in his warm eyes mellowed at the mention of freedom. "Who I really am..." Delicate words webbed through the reeds of a tempered hum, as if balancing his unsaid thoughts upon the tip of his tongue. "You know sometimes I can't help but wonder who I would be without the uniform. Frankly, I would hardly know... Even now.-- I've spent the majority of my life imbued in the world of the law. In the world of the sea. Sometimes I can't help but think that this is maybe all I am. Outside this uniform, what part of me could possibly be left?"

❝—Free.❞ He sweetly corrects the other, as his fair fingers weave themselves further within the silken strands of his beloved's hair. Eyes which challenge the lapis blue oceans James has conquered in the past, follow the ridges of his smile as though drinking in every minute detail. ❝—Free of your uniform, of your responsibilities. Free to be who you really are.❞ Free to be his, without societal conventions standing between them.

Though a dreamer, he is not blind to their life's realities, however. Perhaps out of caution not to tire James with his own whims, he adds in a playful tone. ❝—Mind you, not that I can't appreciate your appearance within the uniform.❞

[pxnandqxll]

( @vxctorx II Continued from here )

The deepened purr of James's soft and velvet laughter poured into Vic's throat as their lips pressed upon the other, basked in their sacred hold. Strong arms holding the other closer still.-- It wasn't until irksome urge to breathe got in their way that James allowed himself to indulge in the golden image before him. The memories of a thousand tropical sunsets could not compare to Vic's rosy light. It surprised him. All of it. The hum of his own laughter. The softness of his own touch. The desire to feel his lover's lips upon his own. James couldn't remember a time he felt this unabashedly happy. He feared it as much as he reveled in it. Would it be like this forever, he thought. Could it?

"What? Unkempt?" the officer teased in return, his dimpled smile continuing to pull upon his cheeks as he sunk deeper still into the tingling sensation of Vic's fingers combing through his undressed locks.

[pxnandqxll]

i think i’ll daydream about being loved for the rest of my life

[pxnandqxll]

*

words by @starpeace

[pxnandqxll]

“okay, i think that’s enough for tonight.”

drunk prompts: ACCEPTING

II @vxctorx

"Oh, come now, my sweet and darling, Love, it's a celebration! What's one more drink gonna do?" the musician hiccuped, between rogue strings of boyish giggles, before taking the glass in his hand and giving a victorious swig. "Also, have I mentioned how absolutely stunning you look this evening? Breathtaking, dare I say," Peter cooed, his wrapping themselves round the other's neck; his ruddy facade inching closer towards the other's golden features, only for such a distance to fold when the tip of Peter's nose scraped against Vic's own.

[pxnandqxll]

drunk prompts ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🐚 ꒱

— “oh god, how much did you have to drink?!”

— “y’know wha- i’ve alway thought you were th’prettiest person around.”

— “don’t worry, honey, i’ll stay with you.”

— “there’s water and painkillers on the cabinet. you know, for the hangover.”

— “i’m not sure if you’re up for it, but i made breakfast.”

— “i don’t know if it’s just the vodka, but you look so cute in this lighting.”

— “you’re the best. d’you know that?”

— “are you sure you should be putting something that shade of neon pink into your body?”

— “okay, i think that’s enough for tonight.”

— “no way am i letting you drink at seven in the morning!”

— “uh- thank you for getting me home safe last night.”

— “did i… did i kiss you last night? i can’t remember.”

— “stay with me, please.”

— “come on, let’s get you home.”

[pxnandqxll]

[pxnandqxll]

"Ah, that explains the accent then." Peter wondered whether the stranger's Scottish brogue continued to reside, dormant, and lingering within the confines of his being. He could imagine that hearing such a lilting accent would further accentuate the young man's charms. "Where exactly did you study, if you don't mind me asking? Maybe we've been moving in the same circles without the other knowing." Fate, perhaps?

Peter could feel his smile tugging further against the corner of his lips as his honeyed gaze shifted to the view of the other's rather fashionable shoes in an attempt to ebb the gradual flow of warmth to the apple of his cheeks. He could feel the other's lingering blues drift upon his person, leaving a trail of prickling rapture. "I do. I've been living in Rome for about a year now. At first it was rather challenging, having to overcome the cultural differences, and find work as a musician. Eventually, I managed to learn enough of the language to get by and find somewhat steady work and... Well... Here I am. Frankly, I feel as though I've found my own heaven on Earth." It was rather delightful to see the other's face light up with such rapture and wonder at his curiosities to leaving overseas. Such excitement suited him, Peter thought. "What about you? Are you here on business, pleasure, or have you also resided here for a while now?"

As the other's ebon gaze grows focused upon him, Victor cannot help but mirror the man's charming smile. ❝—Well, you're rather close; I'm from Scotland, but I've spent more years in England, I suppose— studying and whatnot.❞ Britain seems so far behind him now, its gloomy image lost within the dark mist rising in the wake of the rushing train.

❝—So you actually live here? What's it like? To be settled here, I mean.❞ His intensely blue eyes glimmer with a hushed sense of wonder as they roam across the details of his travelling companion, moving from his amiable countenance to his clasped hands; he would recognise the hands of an artist anywhere, veined yet somehow still dignified, and quite beautiful in this instance.

[pxnandqxll]

" 'Wise' might be giving me too much credit. Cowardice, perhaps, is a better word," he remarked, the sheen of light-hearted banter tinted over his clotted nerves. "God forbid," Peter chuckled softly. He knew Vic was teasing him-- which, he had to admit, he found such casualness and ease rather charming, whenever he initiated such chaffing-- but if Vic's father were to ambush him and ask him to play on the spot, he may keel over. Frankly, the notion was a hundred times more nerve wracking than playing in front of the world's best conductor. "If your father asks me to do such a thing I'm afraid that may be the end of my music career in all its entirety."

A sudden and breathless hum escaped past the young musician's throat before Peter allowed himself to melt into the warm embrace of Vic's familiar lips. His nerves continued to handle the reigns with an iron grasp, however, such a kiss was enough to breathe an ounce of reinvigoration into his spirits. A breath of fresh air poured into him by his beloved. He managed a somewhat strained smile at the other, but a smile nonetheless. "Do you really think he'll like me, Vic? I mean, while you and I may have similar backgrounds, I'm basically a traveling musician. I'm not penniless by any means, of course, but I doubt modern-day troubadours are not exactly the sort of people your father mingles with, nor would he approve of within his circles, even if he is appreciative of artists." Slender fingertips delicately cupped the blonde's cheeks, as if Vic's touch alone would kindle some form of luck.. Or at least calm. "I just don't want you to face any sort disapproval from your father's end, or trouble. because of my presence." And Our relationship.

@pxnandqxll continued x

His smiling gaze grows drawn from the silken fabric held between his fingers, to the cherished curve of his beloved's chin. ❝—It's okay to be nervous; wise men usually are in my father's presence.❞ Despite his words, his tone carries a playful lilt. ❝—He likes to put up airs that he's indomitable, but he has a soft spot for artists; he collects their works. He will most certainly approve of you. I do warn you, though, that he may ask you to perform a piece on our piano. Nothing you haven't dealt with before, I promise.❞

The pads of his fingers gently pat the neatly tied knot of Peter's tie into harmonious submission, before he gives into his whim to steal a kiss from the other’s nervous lips. That Peter is adamant to win over his father's heart is admirably endearing, though perhaps charmingly misguided. ❝—Only a fool would dislike you, Peter, and while many things, my father is not a fool.❞

[pxnandqxll]

A gracious 'thank you' passed the amber timbre of the musician's lips, as he quietly settled into the seat across the stranger. The gentle curve of his steadied hands busied themselves with filing through what little materials he had in his carry-on in an inconspicuous attempt to pretend as if he didn't feel the golden stranger's radiant gaze caress against his turned cheek.

It was only when the other imparted a question that Peter's tawny eyes flickered up, cupped by the crescent of a kind smile. "Unfortunately," he chuckled, finally placing his carry-on down beside his legs. "Although, I've been living in Rome for some time, I suppose no matter how much traveling I do I'm stuck being unfortunately English," Peter continued, a light-hearted twinkle teasing against his warm gaze. "What about you? Are you English, as well? Or have I shot myself in the foot and it turns out I'm not as keen with accents as I initially thought I was?"

The other's voice, startlingly warm and rich in timbre, beckons Victor to raise his gaze once more, a tinge of surprise glimmering in its blue depths at the all too familiar accent with which the man speaks. He offers his own approval with a small nod of his head. ❝—Of course!❞

His eyes linger upon the other this time with a quiet curiosity even as he begins to settle into the carriage, making note of his charmingly dark outfit and lack of any real luggage.

❝—You're English?❞ His words sound more akin to a statement, though they may have a compulsory question mark placed at the end of them. Throughout his impromptu trip across Europe, he has seldom come across a French or Italian who speaks English with such a natural fluidity. The possibility of having stumbled across another British wanderer is enough to intrigue his attention away from his own scribblings.

[pxnandqxll]

Oh wait one last thing before I go… I was born w a hopeful heart which is I think why I never really lost my childlike wonder… so even when the world is a hard and harrowing place that leaves me wallowing at its feet I’ve still got this hearty, inspirited lust for life that encourages me to pull myself from the hole I will inevitably fall into and fall into and fall into but every time crawl back out of soon as I see all those stars in what I forgot isn’t an endless black sky

[pxnandqxll]

Perhaps, it had been his own carelessness due to his mind being in constantly engrossed with thoughts of the upcoming concert. Or, perhaps, it had been a mundane bout of carelessness from the conductor itself. After all, mishaps occur all the time amidst the constantly churning purgatory of train stations. Eitherway, it didn't matter. Peter certainly was not about to blame another for such a blimp of a miscalculation in the long run. Besides, what mattered was getting there. Occasional slip ups and omissions be damned.

Eventually, after exchanging polite and rather sheepish 'excuse me's as he bustled his way towards his new and temporary accommodations-- taking care as not to let his bag full of sheet music obstruct any of the poor passengers-- he located the carriage. In a breathless huff, he drew back the door to reveal a comfortable enough carriage and the image of a young gentleman. About his age, if he wasn't wrong. He appeared to be with no other companions. Golden, Peter thought to himself. That was the first thing he could think of as he caught wind of the afternoon light slanting upon his noble figure. There was something rather golden about him. His hair, naturally, but something in the brief catch of the stranger's sapphiric gaze, as well. "Hello, sorry to have disturbed you. I hope you weren't expecting an empty carriage as there appeared to be a mix up with my ticket you see. Is it quite alright if I sit here?" he inquired, genteel smile curling upon his lips as, with a fluid curl of his hand, he motioned to the seat across the other.

@pxnandqxll

The picturesque landscapes roll by in the luminous haze of the afternoon as the steam train slides down the tracks at a steady pace, which is only interrupted in pulses by the wheels passing over the points. Fingers which had been tap tap tapping restlessly against the half-blackened sheet of paper beneath them as though conjuring a faded melody, at last settle against the fine scribblings, as Victor's languid gaze rises in order to meet with the scenery in an abstracted daze, golden lashes fluttering in restrained surprise as he realises that the fields are no longer moving; they have stopped at another station.

The bustling sounds of passengers stepping in and out of the train, some heavy, some hurried, seep beneath the door to his carriage. Moments later, the door is no longer shielding him from the noise, for it has opened to reveal a tall figure which Victor seemingly is to share his carriage with from this point on. Out of some sense of curiosity, his gaze collides with the other's, and something shifts in his heart at the handsome sight of a man as young as he, who is determined to occupy the empty seat opposite his. A half-smile is spared the man, before his gaze retreats to the safety of his journal, fingers once more catching hold of the pencil which has been laying idle between them.

[pxnandqxll]

Deleted scene from The Talented Mr Ripley (1999): Peter comforts Tom. Source: ‘My Funny Valentine’ official music video.

[pxnandqxll]

[pxnandqxll]

Help them with their tie [ vic about to introduce Peter to his father perhaps? ]

Send 'Soft gestures' + a number for my muses reaction to yours

II @vxctorx

The words 'I'm fine' were tossed about numerous times throughout the day. Why wouldn't he be fine? The luxury of composure came rather naturally to Peter to the point that his natural gift of calmness would bleed out into his music. Besides, he had played in front of hundreds of people countless of times. Why wouldn't he be fine?

As the hour ticked closer, whispers of his once buried nerves began to swell, spilling past his often collected baring as his often steady fingertips began to quiver like a bow. Furrowed mutterings tumbled past his lips as he began to clumsily draw the tie round the wrong turns. It was only when Vic wordlessly stepped in, the poised tips of his fingers webbing and threading the slice of cloth into a practically perfect tie, that Peter felt his shoulders drop at ease. "Is my nervousness that obvious?" he chuckled, his warm gaze crinkling with his brittle smile, as he arched his chin for the other. "Of course I want to meet your father, but, Vic, I need you to be honest. Do you genuinely think he will like me? Approve of me? To be fair, I can think of a number of reasons as to why he wouldn't."