Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC

19: You Don't Know What to do When We Are This Close

It's well past midnight when the party is over, and even later than that when I retreat upstairs, following after a drunk Venetia to make sure she doesn't fall on the steps. My feet hurt from my borrowed heels, and the thin straps of the blue cocktail dress Venetia gave me are beginning to cut into the skin of my shoulders.

"You're sure you don't need help getting out of your dress?" I ask as Venetia opens the door of her room.

"You just want to see me naked." She teases, leaning so that her nose almost brushes mine.

"And what if I do?" I tease back.

Venetia giggles. "Goodnight Evie."

"Night V." I return, heading into my own room.

This time, when I see Farleigh sprawled over my bed, I'm not as surprised. He grins, tilting his head. "Do you need any help getting out of your dress?" He drawls.

I shrug out of the straps, wincing as the elastic scrapes across my tender shoulders. "No, but if you wanted to rub the red marks out of my shoulders, I wouldn't say no."

He rolls his eyes, but sits up, gesturing for me to sit on the floor in front of him between his knees. The straps of the dress dangling from my shoulders, I sit down, tipping my head back against the edge of the bed so that I can look up at him while he kneads at my shoulders.

"So." I ask.

"So." He replies, eyes flicking between where his hands work against the indents left from the straps and my eyes.

"What brings you to my bedroom?" I ask, grinning. "Besides the obvious things."

"The obvious things being..?" He asks, the look in his eyes telling me that he knows exactly what I'm implying. He'll never say it though, not unless I make him.

"That you're madly in love with me." I say.

He laughs, just a little breathy thing, and rolls his eyes again, but notably doesn't deny it, only - "That seems a bit dramatic." He says. "But - if you must know, Oliver said some... things."

"I see." I say. "You've come to complain."

He digs his fingers into a particularly sore part of my shoulders, and I sigh, melting further against the bed. "I'll leave, if you want." His tone is teasing, and his eyes twinkle.

"No, no." I say. The thought of him taking his hands away from my shoulders seems like the worst thing in the world right now. "Keep going. Tell me about Oliver."

He continues his massaging. "When you and Felix and V got up to get drinks, I asked him, fuck, chuck or marry - Richard III, Henry VII, or Henry XIII?"

"Fuck Richard III, marry Henry XIII, chuck Henry VII."

Farleigh hums. "Interesting. I also said fuck Richard III, but I would have switched the other two. Not the point - he, first, outright says that I could just fuck him instead, which, what the hell does that mean? And then, second, tries to talk to me about how he understands what it's like to come from an unstable home and how humiliating it must be for me to have to ask James and Elspeth for everything, which is such bullshit coming from him. I swear, he gets off on having to ask Felix for help."

"Mm." I say. From what I know about Farleigh - from what Venetia has told me and what I can piece together from the way the rest of the family talks about him when he's not around - it's something of a sore spot, how his mother is running on fumes and how he has to beg for James and Elspeth's kindness. From what I know about Oliver, he's been riding on Felix's coattails since they became friends, and happily. I've seen it myself, the adoring way that he looks at Felix, and how he devours even the smallest kindnesses with such vigor it's almost disturbing. It's a little offensive, that Oliver would pretend to understand how Farleigh feels when he so clearly doesn't mind having to beg at all.

"He knows that I don't like him. I don't hate him, obviously, but I don't-" He pauses. "He just gets under my skin. I mean, he would lick the dirt out from between Felix's toes if he asked him to, and he would smile about it. It's pathetic, but it's exactly the sort of shit that makes these people go wild, and I can't-" He stops, and lets his hands slide from my shoulders. "Sorry."

I turn in my spot on the floor so that I can look at him. "Sorry for what?"

He waves a hand through the air, dismissive. "It's stupid, really. Felix'll get tired of Oliver by the end of the summer and that'll be that."

"Sure." I say, standing up from the floor. "But it seemed like, and you can correct me if I'm wrong here, you were going to say that you can't grovel like Oliver does. And I don't think that's stupid to be mad about. You shouldn't have to grovel, I mean, these people are your family."

Farleigh sighs, turning his head to look out the window, out over the pitch blackness of the grounds. "Yeah."

"Sucks." I say, sitting on the bed beside him.

He turns to look at me as I do, his eyes searching mine. I let him, and after a moment he groans, and flops back onto my mattress. I follow him back with a grin, propping myself up on my side so that I can look down at him. For a minute, we just look at each other, before he breaks the silence.

"You're a pretty good singer." He says.

"So are you." I return easily, my free hand moving to brush through his curls, playing with the coarse strands, pulling at the little ringlets.

His eyes flutter shut as my fingernails scratch against his scalp. I take the opportunity to let my eyes wander over his face. I could stare at him for hours and be content the whole time. If I were a painter, he would be my favorite subject. A modern reimagining of Apollo.

"You're just looking at me." He says, eyes still closed.

Even though he can't see my face, I smile. "I'm always looking at you." I say, dropping my voice in the same way that he did that night on the roof.

He opens his eyes to meet mine. He almost looks helpless, looking up at me with wide eyes while I play with his hair.

I lean down, slowly, stopping when the barest hint of our lips brush together. I can feel his sharp intake of breath against my cheek, and before he can say anything, I ask, "Will you unzip my dress?"

He swallows. "Sure."

Backing away, I slip off the bed, and turn so that my back is toward him. I feel him stand up behind me, and I pull my hair over my shoulder, exposing the zipper. His slender fingers tug at the zip until the dress falls open. I don't bother holding it up, letting it fall to the floor and leaving me in my underwear.

I turn back around. There's a needy look in his eye, and for a moment, I'm tempted, but there's still a good month of the summer left. Better to stretch it out, I think. "I'm going to go to bed."

"Okay. Yeah." He says, sliding past me to head towards the door. Once he reaches it, he lingers, one hand on the doorknob. "Thanks for letting me vent."

"'Course." I say, following him over to the door. "I always like talking to you."

Farleigh laughs, disbelieving. "Sure."

"No, really." I say, winding a hand into his shirt. Gently, I pull him down until we are face to face. I watch his eyes search mine, still just as helpless and needy as before. I let my gaze drop to his lips so he knows what's coming.

I tilt my head to close the gap between us, and he meets me halfway, our lips meeting in a warm embrace. Using the hand I have wound into his shirt, I pull him flush to me, and his hands settle on the small of my back. His hands are warm, and he kisses like he's hungry for it, like he's been waiting. And I know he has.

Just when things are getting really hot and heavy, and his hands have started to wander, I pull back, gently sinking my teeth into his bottom lip.

He groans, low and whiny in the back of his throat. "Fuck."

I slide out of his hold, and step back into my room. "Goodnight Farleigh."

He grins, and opens the door. "'Night Eves."

I watch him slip out into the hall, and wait until the door's fully shut behind him to giggle, and flop back down on my bed.