Ethan POV
Sebastian Ashworth's rooms at St. Aldric's were exactly as Ethan had pictured: a comfortable, slightly cluttered haven of scholarly solitude. Books overflowed from shelves, stacked on every available surface, their spines a testament to a life lived amongst words. A single, deeply indented worn leather armchair was angled towards a fireplace, currently unlit, its emptiness echoing the room's quiet. A heavy mahogany desk dominated one wall, papers arranged in neat, if towering, piles. The air smelled of old paper, Earl Grey tea, and a faint, lingering trace of pipe tobacco, though no pipe was in evidence. A room that spoke of quiet contemplation, Ethan thought, of a retreat from the world. Or perhaps, a carefully constructed prison.
He'd arrived punctually at four, the time Sebastian had suggested. The Professor had seemed almost flustered to see him, a faint flush rising on his cheeks as he fumbled slightly with the door handle before ushering Ethan in. Now, Sebastian was fussing with a decanter of sherry and two small, mismatched glasses, his movements a little too quick, a little too eager.
"A little something to ward off the autumn chill?" Sebastian offered, his hand slightly unsteady as he poured, the sherry glinting amber in the dim afternoon light. "It's not the college's finest, I'm afraid, but it's passable."
"That's very kind, Sebastian, thank you," Ethan said, accepting the glass. He took a deliberately small sip, his gaze sweeping the room, not just scanning, but dissecting. No personal photographs, save for a faded landscape of what looked like a Yorkshire dale on the mantelpiece. No vibrant colours, only the muted tones of old wood and aging paper. Interesting. He filed away these details, each one a small piece of the puzzle.
Their conversation began, as before, with literature. Ethan had come prepared with a list of carefully crafted questions about Crashaw, knowing it was another of Sebastian's particular interests. He let Sebastian guide the discussion, interjecting with observations designed to showcase his own intellect while simultaneously stroking the Professor's ego. He watched, with detached interest, as Sebastian visibly relaxed; the initial tension in his shoulders eased, his gestures becoming more fluid, his voice losing its formal edge and warming with rediscovered enthusiasm.
Ethan, sensing an opening, gestured to a volume of Romantic poetry on a nearby shelf. "I was revisiting Keats earlier, Professor—Sebastian. 'Bright Star.' Such a desperate longing for an impossible permanence. It's almost painful to read."
Sebastian's eyes lit up, a genuine spark igniting within them. "Ah, Keats! A master of the beautiful ache. 'Bright Star' is indeed a testament to that consuming desire, the tragedy of a love yearning for an eternity it knows it cannot have." He spoke with a soft passion, his gaze drifting towards the empty fireplace as if seeing the poet's ghostly image there. "One feels the weight of his premonitions, the finite nature of his joy pressed against the infinite."
Ethan nodded, his expression carefully arranged into one of sombre understanding, his own gaze following Sebastian's for a moment before returning to the Professor's face. "It makes one wonder if such profound connections are always doomed to be fleeting, or if the very intensity of the feeling signs its death warrant." He watched Sebastian closely. "Do you believe a love that intense can truly last, Sebastian?"
Sebastian looked away, towards the window where the afternoon light was beginning to fade, a shadow crossing his face. "I… I would like to believe so," he murmured, his voice barely audible, the words seemingly pulled from a deep, hidden well of longing. "Perhaps the tragedy is not in its fleetingness, but in never experiencing it at all." He's speaking to himself now, Ethan registered, lost in his own romantic notions.
Ethan filed away the response. The man is a romantic, starved for intensity, already framing our nascent connection through a literary lens of profound, perhaps tragic, love.
***
Sebastian POV
Having Ethan Blackwood in his rooms felt… different. The solitude he usually cultivated, a familiar shield against the world's disappointments, felt less like a preference and more like a habit he was suddenly eager to break. Ethan's presence wasn't an intrusion; it was a current of fresh air in a long-stagnant room.
The young man was remarkably bright, his mind quick and incisive. He didn't just absorb information; he interrogated it, wrestled with it, brought his own unique perspective to bear. As they talked, Sebastian felt the old intellectual fires stir within him, a warmth spreading through his chest, the joy of sharing his passion with someone who genuinely seemed to understand and appreciate it. It's been so long, he thought, since I've felt this alive with ideas.
The sherry helped, of course, its gentle heat loosening the tight knot of anxiety that so often resided in his chest. He found himself speaking more freely than he intended, straying from the safer shores of seventeenth-century poetics into more personal waters.
"It's a solitary life, sometimes, being an academic," Sebastian found himself saying, swirling the sherry in his glass. The statement hung in the air, more revealing than he'd meant it to be. He glanced at Ethan, half-expecting a polite, noncommittal murmur.
Instead, Ethan's gaze was direct, his dark eyes holding an expression that felt, surprisingly, like understanding. "I can imagine," he said softly, his voice a low timbre that seemed to resonate with Sebastian's own unspoken feelings. "Especially when your work is so… internal. It must be hard to find people who truly share that world with you."
Sebastian felt a prickle of surprise. It's as if he sees right through me. "Yes," he admitted, his voice a little hoarse. "Yes, it can be." He took a larger sip of sherry. "My wife, Margaret… she's a good woman, of course. Very practical. But literature… it's not her world." He hadn't intended to mention Margaret, but the words slipped out, tasting of a familiar, low-grade dissatisfaction. He thought of her quiet disapproval of his book-filled life, her subtle pressure for him to be more… normal. More like the husbands of her friends.
He remembered the strained silences at their small dinner table, the way her denial of his true nature felt like a constant, unspoken accusation. Margaret had always suspected, he knew, from the earliest days of their arranged, pressured union. She'd seen the way his eyes sometimes lingered too long on a handsome face, the way he recoiled from her touch. But she'd buried that suspicion deep, preferring the veneer of a respectable, if cool, marriage to the scandal of truth. Her denial was a wall between them, thicker than any college stone.
***
Ethan POV
Ethan listened, his expression carefully neutral, a mask of gentle sympathy. Here it comes. He'd laid the groundwork, created the illusion of a safe space, and Sebastian was walking right into it.
"It must be difficult," Ethan said, his voice pitched with just the right amount of empathy, his gaze soft, "when your deepest passions aren't shared by those closest to you." He let the ambiguity of "passions" hang in the air.
Sebastian looked down at his glass. "Difficult, yes. My parents… they had certain expectations. For my career, for my… personal life." He sighed, a sound heavy with unspoken regrets. "One tries to do the right thing, to meet those expectations. But sometimes…" He trailed off, shaking his head slightly.
Ethan leaned forward, his voice dropping to a more intimate register, a conspiratorial whisper. "Sometimes the paths others lay out for us aren't the ones our own hearts would choose." He watched Sebastian closely, saw the flicker of pain in his eyes – a slight wince, a tightening around the mouth – the slight tremor in his hand as he set his glass down.
The light outside was beginning to fade, casting long shadows across the room. The only sounds were the ticking of a grandfather clock in the hallway and the occasional distant chime of college bells. The atmosphere was charged, intimate.
"You're very perceptive, Ethan," Sebastian said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up, his gaze locking with Ethan's. There was a raw vulnerability in his eyes – pupils wide, a sheen of unshed moisture – that made Ethan's pulse quicken, not with empathy, but with the cold thrill of imminent victory.
"I just try to understand people," Ethan said, his own gaze steady, unwavering, holding Sebastian's as if to draw him in. "And I think… I think I understand something of what you're feeling."
They sat in silence for a moment, the unspoken hanging heavy between them. Then, as Sebastian reached for his glass again, his hand brushed against Ethan's, which was resting on the small table between their chairs.
It was the briefest of touches, skin against skin.
***
Sebastian POV
The contact, accidental though it surely was, sent a jolt through Sebastian, sharp and unexpected as an electric shock. He pulled his hand back as if burned, his heart hammering against his ribs, a flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. He looked at Ethan, expecting to see surprise, perhaps even revulsion.
But Ethan's expression was controlled, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dimming light. He didn't pull away. His hand remained where it was, still, a silent invitation.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over Sebastian: shame burned his cheeks, fear tightened his chest, and a desperate, undeniable longing, sharp and sweet, pulsed deep within him. He hadn't felt such a powerful surge of attraction in years, not since… well, not for a very long time. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. What is happening?
He looked at Ethan's hand, then back at his face. The young man was watching him, waiting, his stillness a stark contrast to Sebastian's internal turmoil. The silence stretched, taut and fragile.
Slowly, hesitantly, Sebastian reached out again. His fingers trembled as they made contact with Ethan's, a light, questioning touch. Ethan's fingers closed gently around his.
The warmth of the contact spread up Sebastian's arm, a warmth that had nothing to do with the sherry and everything to do with the silent acknowledgment passing between them. In that moment, the loneliness that had been his constant companion for so many years seemed to recede, just a little.
He sees me. He understands. The feeling was so overwhelmingly potent, so desperately needed, that it eclipsed everything else.
***
Ethan POV
Ethan felt the slight tremor in Sebastian's fingers as they touched his. He kept his own hand steady, his grip gentle but firm, a silent reassurance. He watched the play of emotions on Sebastian's face – the fear, the shame, the dawning, incredulous hope. It was all going according to plan. Better, even.
The first physical contact. A critical threshold crossed.
He allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to touch his lips, a fleeting expression of triumph quickly masked. Sebastian was falling, faster and more completely than Ethan had dared to hope. The Professor's carefully constructed defences were crumbling, his emotional hunger making him reckless.
He gave Sebastian's hand a slight, reassuring squeeze. "It's alright, Sebastian," he murmured, his voice a low caress in the stillness of the room.
The Professor's eyes, when they met his again, were filled with a desperate, fragile gratitude, like a starving man offered a feast.
Ethan knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that Sebastian Ashworth was now his.
Ethan's Internal Log: Physical contact initiated (target reciprocated after initial hesitation). Target confessed marital dissatisfaction and parental pressure, revealing significant emotional vulnerability. Literary discussion confirmed romantic ideations. Emotional dependency accelerating. Target is primed for deeper entanglement. Control solidifying.