|Screaming loud enough to turn back the wind. (whatawaytoburn) wrote,|
He doesn't have an issue with the way he looks, not normally, not really.
(He's too thin, too pale. People say he always looks this side of sick.)
Nick doesn't mention it, not ever. He makes him eat when they both know Sherlock hasn't bothered to and he takes care of him when he really does fall ill but he never actually says anything.
(He says that he's beautiful, in spite of his pale skin, in spite of how thin he says. He says that's a part of the beauty.)
He can never tell if he's lying, if he's saying it because he loves him. He wouldn't blame him if he was, it's just a part of how things are. You fall in love with someone and you find all sorts of them beautiful, even the parts that other people don't.
(And he wonders if that makes it a lie or not? Because if Nick really does see beauty in him, how is that lying? But he's never sure.)
William doesn't look in the mirror much. It's a practice he's perfected over the years. He looks at it only when absolutely necessary but often times, he'd rather just go without it. He finds that, if he looks a bit grubby, no one says anything, or they do and it's something he can fix.
(But sometimes Nick makes him. He forces him to look in the mirror and he points out all the things he loves about William. He's never sure what to do in these moments, so he just stands there and lets him.)
Sometimes he's not sure what to do with Nick's k,isses, his touches, the way he seems to love him both for who he is and how he looks. It's strange to him, even though he's met men who like his type before. He's never met someone who loves him quite like Nick, careful and sweet and savouring every touch, every taste.
(Sex was awkward at first. He knew what to do with Nick, knew how to kiss him, how to touch him. He learned quickly that he liked to have his earlobes nibbled at and that he could leave interesting marks on his hips that made both of them groan. But he never quite understood what to do when Nick told him to lay back, when he kissed him, when he touched him.)
And William suspects he's always going to be that sort of man. The kind who's never quite going to fit in his own body. It makes sense really, the body is more Sherlock's than his but still, sometimes he thinks about it, sometimes he imagines what it would be like for him to fit
(Nick pushes him up against the wall and kisses him hard. he tells him he'[s beautiful, that he'[s wonderful, that he's everything Nick could have ever wanted. In the back of his mind, in the part that's being consumed by sex, he wonders if Nick ever felt odd in his body, if he ever felt distant from it. But then he looks at the way he moves, the way he carries himself and WIllWilliambts it.)
But then there are times when he's not thinking about it. When he and Nick are lazing around in bed together, when he's just finished off a really good meal, when they're out on the balcony dipping wine and talking, that it slips his mind. He feels like himself, he feels like the person he should look like. Nick will take his hand and he'll smile and he won't care if he's too thin or too pale, it won'[t matter in the glow of the city lights or the lamp by the bed.
(These are his favourite moments. The moment Nick is trying to get him to see, to love himself nice but these are better. These are natural, more fluid. Those moments forced and awkward to him, at least on his part. He doesn't feel attractive so much as someone who is supposed to be attractive. But these? These sweet moments in time are perfect.)