Brimsley and Reynolds

Chapter 7

Brimsley felt warm spring air flowing through his window. He opened his eyes, allowing light to seep in and the sun to hit his face. He must have forgotten to shut his window last night, but he didn't really mind. It felt so nice. He stretched out his arms, bumping into something soft and warm in his bed. A pile of golden hair was spilled out onto the pillow next to his. He leaned over, catching a glimpse of Reynolds' eyelashes fluttering as he slept, the tips so blonde he would have never seen them if it weren't for the rays of sun pouring through the window. His hand traced along Reynolds' jawline, trying to subtly wake him up. His eyes opened, and a smile spread on his lips. A yawn erupted from his mouth as he lazily played with Brimsley's hair. It felt so good. Too good to be true. Wait. 

Brimsley shot up, breathing hard. He quickly turned to the place next to him in the bed. Empty. It was a dream. "Of course it was a dream," he thought. It was the third dream he'd had of Reynolds' since they shook hands on being friends. Friends being the key word. He looked outside his window, grey clouds stretching out across the dark sky. The sun hasn't even risen yet, but Brimsley was too afraid to go asleep again, not if these dreams took over his mind every time he drifted off. He busied himself with getting ready for the day, and organizing what little belongings he owned. Not soon after he heard the noises of Reynolds moving about, getting ready for a day with actual productivity ahead of him, unlike Brimsley. After a while, he heard him leaving, shutting the door carefully as he went. 

Silence. No steps indicating Reynolds was walking his usual route out into the hall. And then a knock. On his real door that lead out into the hall. He sprung up, brushing his hair with his fingers hurriedly before swinging open the door. Reynolds stood in front of him, his usual business like posture in full effect. "Good morning Brimsley. I was wondering if you would be interested in accompanying me as I escort the King today? It will likely be boring bu-,"

"Yes!" Brimsley burst out. Anything other than sitting around doing nothing all day. "That sounds fine," he said in a calmer tone. Reynolds nodded, and the two began walking to the dining hall where the King breakfasts. 

The King looked up from his plate. "Good morning Reynolds, and good morning Brimsley, nice to see you again,"

 Brimsley nodded, "You as well your Majesty,"

 The King stabbed a piece of strawberry with his fork, "George, please," Brimsley looked up at Reynolds, unsure what to do.

 A smile grew on the King's face, "Reynolds still refuses to call me by my name too. You don't have to call me anything other than what you're most comfortable with,"

Again Brimsley nodded, "Of course you're Majesty," The King smiled even more, then stood, pushing his chair behind him. "Well, I'm off to the garden," 

Reynolds and Brimsley followed the habitual five paces behind the King as he readied himself to plant his vegetables. He was only wearing shoes and a pair of black pants, as the once cloudy day had become increasingly warm. Instead of beginning right away, however, he walked over to where Reynolds and Brimsley stood.

 "One of you is going to do this with me. This is a two man job," he said, clearly trying to fight off laughter at the idea of one of these men gardening with him.

 Reynolds and Brimsley exchanged a panicked look before Brimsley said, "Reynolds is always talking of his love for.....dirt,"

 King George clapped a hand on Reynolds's shoulder, "It's decided then, you are my farming partner today Reynolds,"  

Reynolds shot a poisonous look at Brimsley before trying to protest, "No, really, I couldn't possibly," 

King George shook his head, "No getting out of it now, lets go," Reynolds gave Brimsley another look, and Brimsley had to fake a sudden coughing fit to cover up his laughter. 

Reynolds picked up a dirty garden spade, white gloves already speckled with dirt. The King shook his head, "Absolutely not Reynolds, it is a sweltering day outside, and you are built like a beanpole. I won't have you fainting on me because you insist on gardening in five layers, off with it," he laughingly commanded, waving his hand.

 Now Reynolds looked even more panicked, "I'm not insisting I-," 

The King put his hands on his hips, trying to summon an authoritative posture, "Off. With. It," Reynolds began pulling off layer after layer, until he stood in the same amount of clothes as the King. 

Brimsley tries to pull his eyes away from Reynolds, but his shirtless form was proving to be almost too much to bear. He bit his lip to keep from smiling as he watched Reynolds' back and slim torso begin to glisten with sweat. He doesn't think he's ever seen Reynolds' hands have a speck of dirt on them, and he's surprised at how well suited they seem as they become buried in the soil. 

Both the King and Reynolds are moving dirt from a large wheelbarrow into a raised garden bed, and after not too long, Reynolds begins to breathe hard from the work. Brimsley watches him, hanging on to his every move as he shovels dirt and tosses it into the garden bed over and over. He's breathing even harder now, his perfect hair becoming tousled and falling in front of his face before he pushes it out of his eyes. 

King George glances at Brimsley, smiling as he sees him staring at Reynolds. He pulls his gaze away as he feels the King watching him. "Well," the King announces, "I think we've done good work today, lunch?"

 He starts walking back into the palace, patting Reynolds on the shoulder and nearly knocking him down as he pants. "I....need to bathe and....and change and hope I stop smelling like cow manure by the time the Queen arrives," Reynolds says, looking at Brimsley with a pointed look. 

The King rolls his eyes as he veers towards the dining hall, "Go bathe then Reynolds," he says with a laugh. 

Reynolds snatches up his clothes and begins to storm off in the direction of the bath adjacent to their rooms. Brimsley catches up with him before he enters the bath room. His hands, arms, and rolled up pants are covered in dirt, and he has dirt smeared on his face.

 "What are you staring at." Reynolds asks.

 "Nothing, you have dirt on your face," 

Reynolds gives him that same look, "Well whose fault is that? 'Oh, Reynolds likes dirt,' you threw me in with the sharks so you didn't have to-," 

Brimsley pulls off his glove and reaches out, brushing off the dirt on Reynolds' face. 

Reynolds' mouth parts, "I-," he begins. Brimsley moves his hand to cover his lips, "Shhh," 

Brimsley pushes Reynolds into the bath room. His fingers are still on his lips. He keeps on walking until Reynolds' back is up against a wall. He gets close, whispering right into his ear. 

"Listen to me. You're going to bathe, because you smell absolutely horrible. Then, you're going to walk straight to my room, lock the door behind you, and we're going to be," he smiles, "friendly. Does that sound good to you?" 

Reynolds nods, a smirk plastered on his face that says, 'I knew you wouldn't last'. Brimsley pulls away, not looking back as he walks into his room.