Brimsley and Reynolds

Chapter 5

A/N: This chapter will be written in Reynolds' perspective. Let me know what you think!

TW: Mention of SA and violence in this chapter. Please skip if you're not comfortable. 

The door closed softly behind Reynolds. He can't breathe, can't think. He can still taste Brimsley on his lips, sweet, like strawberries and honey. He can still feel Brimsley's breath on his face, can feel his hands in his hair. 

"But Brimsley is a boy,"

This thought hasn't stopped playing in his mind since he met Brimsley, and immediately found himself so drawn to him. Having him in the next room felt like an unbearable torture, always so close but never as close as he wished he could be. 

Reynolds was never a romantic person. He never really found himself extremely drawn to women, neither was he very consumed by the prospect of sleeping with them. He will always remember the time he told one of his closer friends in the palace he'd never been with a girl when he was nineteen. His friend didn't believe him at first, and then, one night, a girl just  appeared in his room. Taking off her clothes, taking off his. He tried to kiss her and like it, but his lips felt numb and her's felt like ice. She kept on going, doing things that clearly made her feel something, but to him it was as if nothing was happening. He just wanted it to be over. 

When it finally was, he decided he just didn't like any of it, romance, sex, or love. He never thought-.

 It was wrong, at least to the majority of England. But that didn't stop the constant presence of Brimsley in his mind, what he smelled like, sounded like, tasted like. 

That night was a sleepless night, filled with the tossing and turning of a troubled mind. He must have at last drifted off to sleep, because he woke up in the morning. He got ready as he always did, but decided to peek into Brimsley's room before he left. 

He slowly opened the door, careful not to make any noise. There he was, sleeping curled up, almost in a ball. He looked so peaceful and innocent as he slept, not at all like the man whose tongue wrapped around his own just last night. 

The King was doing better today. Reynolds hated that Dr. Monroe's methods seemed to work on occasion. He followed along as The King went through his usual schedule, from this to that method of torture. These episodes of the King had been happening for a while now, but have recently become more frequent and serious. Reynolds hated the feeling of helplessness surrounding his episodes, he never knew what to do, how to help. Maybe the hardest thing he had to do was to accept the fact that he couldn't help. 

But Dr. Monroe, he tricked people into thinking he helped, when in reality he was just enjoying the fact he had the ability to harm The King of England without so much as a glance in his direction. King George's screams had begun to echo in Reynolds' dreams, keeping him up at night. 

And then of course there was his sister. The night that he had gone out to the pub, and gotten so drunk he didn't know how he managed to get home, he had received a letter. A letter informing him of the tragic death of his sister from smallpox. His sister was the only family he had, his parents were long dead. Reynolds was now completely alone in the world. Perhaps thats why he felt the need to lean just a bit more on Brimsley, because he feared he'd collapse completely if he was left to his own devices. 

After a few hours, the King dismissed him before heading down into the Doctors room to begin in the chair. Reynolds opened his mouth to say something as he saw the King entering the room, but the doctor slammed the door in his face before a word could escape. He decided to go to the kitchen, perhaps grab a sandwich and see if Brimsley was sitting in that little nook in the library.