Work Text:
Once you knew a thing, you could not suddenly cease to know it. It was a simple fact that Laurence was becoming all too familiar with.
John Granby was a good man. He was a good officer and he was a good friend. He was also, apparently, an invert. Laurence wished to God sometimes that he did not know it.
Every time Laurence looked at Granby, his head filled with the most terribly inappropriate questions, foremost of which was, why? Why would a man seek to do such a thing when it was not his only option? What was it that Granby saw in men that he could not see in women? What was it about Little that made Granby want to -
Usually about there was when Laurence grew too uncomfortable to finish the discourse even in his own head. Unfortunately, the next time he looked at Granby, his mind saw fit to run in the same circles again.
Sometimes Laurence’s private dialogue was even more inappropriate, and that bothered him most of all.
“I do not see that it matters,” Temeraire would comment idly, as if Laurence had asked his opinion, which he certainly had not. “If Granby should like to be with men like you are with Admiral Roland, I fail to see the trouble. At least he need not worry about making an egg, like poor Harcourt.”
Laurence dearly hoped that Temeraire was not going around expressing his views to anyone in earshot, though he admitted it was likely a vain hope. “I am afraid it is not polite to discuss. It is a personal matter, my dear, and as such it is not our place to--”
Temeraire snorted very loudly. Laurence blinked up at him.
“You can act very stupidly sometimes, Laurence,” Temeraire informed him, and then devoted his full attention to polishing his breastplate.
Laurence stood up and tried to recall a time when he had not had dragons to poke their large noses into things. It felt an extremely long time ago, indeed.
-
Laurence went at night to walk along the hillside terraces, alone with his thoughts. He had left Granby drinking by the fire, but could not banish the man from his head. He found his mind drifting back to moments he had seen Granby and Little together, and wondered if he had missed something. Did the other captains know? Was it only Laurence who had remained in the dark? The thought depressed him.
Granby had been one of Laurence’s dearest friends, or so he had thought. Knowing that Granby had kept this secret, had kept this part of himself hidden away, was not a pleasant feeling. Then he wondered why that should bother him. It was private, after all. Laurence did not speak of his time with Jane to Granby, so why should Granby tell Laurence of Little?
And yet, Laurence’s time with Jane was not a secret. He did not speak of it, he did not make a show of it, but nor had he ever sought to hide it from Granby.
Of course, spending nights with Jane was not a crime.
Had Granby thought Laurence would tell someone? Did Granby trust him so little as that? The idea made him feel ill.
He wondered how it had started. How had Granby known that Little shared his particular inclinations? Had it always been Little, or had there been someone before him? Laurence thought of Little’s wavy dark hair, always too long, and his blue eyes. He was pleasant looking enough, Laurence supposed. Not like Granby, with his easy smiles and bright, lively eyes.
That is, if Laurence were to notice that sort of thing.
What exactly was it about Little that drew Granby towards him? Was it only that he was in the same formation, willing and available? If, for the sake of discourse, Laurence happened to -
The sound of footsteps drew Laurence out of his musings, not a moment too soon. His gratitude was somewhat lessened when he saw it was Granby who approached him, stopping beside him and looking out at the sprawling land below.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” he said.
“Nothing to interrupt,” Laurence assured him. “I was merely lost in my thoughts.”
“Laurence,” Granby said, his eyes to the distance. “I have made you uncomfortable.”
“No,” Laurence insisted.
“I have. I see the way you look at me, now that you-- you know.”
Laurence dropped his own eyes to the ground. He was ashamed that he had let his personal feelings color his behavior and yet more ashamed that it had been blatant enough for Granby to notice. “I am sorry. I did not mean to--”
Granby only waved a hand in the air, dismissively. “Do you think I need an apology? The only reason I am unsurprised to have received one is because it’s you.”
“Indeed,” Laurence said, to say something. He was unsure as to whether Granby was awkwardly complimenting him or subtly mocking him. Perhaps both. “You must believe that I do not-- It is, of course, no business of mine.”
“No?” Granby asked, a queer expression in his eyes. “That fact seems to matter little to many people, in any case.”
“It matters to me,” Laurence said, and lamented his own miserable failure to convey what he actually wanted to. “I mean only that… I only wished to... to know.”
“To know what?”
“Why,” Laurence said simply.
“It is not a thing which can be easily explained,” Granby answered, hedging. “I simply… look at a woman, and I don’t want her. I can see, perhaps, that she is beautiful, but I don’t want her.”
When Granby did not offer anything further, Laurence fought away his discomfort and said, “But you look at a man, and you…”
Granby nodded. “Not always. I have never wanted Berkley, for example,” he said with a laugh.
“What about me?” Laurence asked, thinking to make a light joke, but he wished immediately that he had not said it.
Granby’s ruddy cheeks had flushed deeper and he looked vaguely horrified. Laurence could not make up his mind what that meant. He was not sure what he wanted it to mean.
“That was rude,” he said, so Granby would not need to answer and embarrass them both. “I am sorry. Again. I feel I am always apologizing.”
“I wonder if I should have apologized,” Granby said, and he would not look at Laurence.
“For what?”
“For the trouble.”
“For the trouble,” Laurence repeated, and felt guilt and shame well up inside. He was sorry that a man such as Granby should ever feel the need to apologize for himself, and he was even sorrier to have contributed to it.
“This all would have been much simpler if I were not… if I were like you.” Granby meant it in more ways than the obvious, and they both knew it.
“You still would not have wanted to marry the Inca,” Laurence said, because it was easiest. Easier than all the rest, all the rest that hung between them that he could not say.
“No. No, I would not have.” Granby’s face turned pensive and pinched and Laurence wished he had not mentioned it, even if it was as of yet inescapable.
Laurence wished for a lot of things, but what he wished for did not matter.
“Is Captain Little…” Laurence paused, thinking that he had not the slightest clue how to express what he meant. “If things were different, would you be… with him?”
Granby was smiling now, wryly. “You mean, if one us were a woman, would we be married? No. No, dear Lord, no. Little is… He is my friend, and we have an arrangement, I suppose you could say. An arrangement built upon affection, yes, but mostly convenience. I think you understand what I mean.”
Laurence could feel the heat suffusing his cheeks. “I-- I see.”
Granby laughed, then, loud and cheerful. The sound felt oddly foreign, as it seemed such a long time since Granby had had cause to be cheerful. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’ve traumatized you forever, haven’t I? Now you really won’t look at me the same way you used to.”
“I won’t,” Laurence admitted softly. “But not for the reason you think.”
“Oh?” Granby sounded only mildly intrigued. “Laurence, what exactly have you been thinking, out here by yourself?”
Laurence felt he had made a grave misstep. He wished he was not so confused himself. “Nothing. Nothing, I assure you. I can confess only to a mild sense of curiosity, for which I believe I have already apologized.”
“Yes, you have, many times. But I fear you are not being entirely honest.”
“Granby--”
“I could show you,” Granby said, his fingers upon Laurence’s arm. “I could show you, if you like.”
Laurence swallowed, and could not say a word.
“We are both far from our conveniences, and have been for some time.”
“Is that what I should be?” Laurence wondered. “A convenience? A curiosity to be indulged, even as I indulge my own?” He did not think he wanted that, but he did not know what he did want either.
“No, Laurence,” Granby said, and his eyes seemed very dark, though it may have only been a reflection from the late hour. “You would never be that.”
“I fear I have led you to misunderstand,” Laurence said, and swallowed again. He did not know why his mouth felt so dry and he did not know why he was so utterly unable to tear his gaze away from Granby’s eyes.
“Do you? I don’t think I misunderstand, at all. I think perhaps it is you who is confused.”
“Yes,” Laurence agreed immediately, and then felt rather idiotic. “Oh, Lord,” he muttered under his breath.
Granby smiled again, wide and toothy, and he slipped his hand to Laurence’s waist. “I wonder if I might help you.”
Granby’s hand felt warm through Laurence’s clothes, too warm even, maybe, but Laurence did not wish to move it. “Help me?”
“To be less confused.”
“Ah,” Laurence said.
He did not move away.
End