Fic: Fascination

[phantomtomato]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Fandom: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Relationship: Ralph Lanyon/Laurie Odell
Words: 1,302

Written for blackbentley in Yuletide 2022

Summary

Ralph Lanyon fancies a boy.

The school assembles on a balmy autumn day when the leaves haven’t yet fallen, all golden-yellow and flame-red up on their branches and flickering like fire as they wave past the narrow hall windows. It’s the sort of day when boys would be out on the pitch, bowling for fun, or loafing on the green with their faces turned up to the sun, and Ralph would admire the beauty of it all. Someone’s made an ass of himself, though. They’ve been called to order.

Ralph, as Head of House, has reason to choose his seat last. He waits out his fellow sixth-formers as they sit in the chairs near the front of the assembly hall, where they’ll be seen by the boys from the other houses. He waves the fifth-formers to the back, taking the paper darts from their pockets before they can toss any. He gathers the lost little scugs who aren’t brave enough to jostle between packs of friends; he seats them in ones and twos where space remains. They tug their forelocks and mutter thanks to him, red-cheeked and awed.

The awe never grows tiring. It forms the basis of his duty, earning the right to it. Ralph hopes he’s done enough and fears he’s fated not to outrun his failures. The ways he’s failed—Hazell sits, glaring blackly, trapped between friends on either side—form a sore portrait in Ralph’s mind.

Today he’s earned reprieve. The Headmaster called for this special assembly and Ralph has gamely rounded up every last boy in his house. Ahead of the other houses, even Jeepers cannot find fault in their appearance when he comes loping in and looking for the glee of giving a scolding. With the darts stowed safely in Ralph’s pocket and even Hazell encouraged to sit straight, Jepson must take his seat without comment.

Ralph finds his place towards the back, ostensibly to oversee his charges. The boys shuffle under his gaze more than they ever will for Jeepers and the other masters; Ralph knows each of them by name, and he knows who’s got an extra dart stored in which pocket. However, though Ralph keeps a watchful eye on all of his house, he spares a thought for his delight that he has the space next to Odell. There’s good reason for Ralph liking this, of course, in that Odell is the sort of boy not to cause trouble, and there’s risk, in that Odell is the sort of boy to pull Ralph’s notice.

“Lanyon,” Odell greets him, cordial, his cheeks slightly pink. It could be the breeze outside, gusting, or Odell’s coloring, ginger pale, but Ralph imagines to himself that he’s part cause of it. Odell has always been a possibility: he’s queer about girls, while the other boys in his form have nearly all got the interest now, mooning after the ones in town. Anyone else would think Odell’s only late to bloom, perhaps a bit innocent or driven by his studies, but Ralph thinks he’s caught Odell looking at boys. Mightn’t understand his own fascination yet, Ralph knows.

Which makes this a dangerous fancy to have, but Ralph has it all the same. Odell is so damnably pretty, and a good sort beyond that. He’s not a Hazell, that’s certain. Hazell’s nice enough to look at and miserable to talk with, but he’s got a mouth on him in more ways than should be allowed, and one keeps Ralph going back.

They face forward as the lecture begins. The Headmaster has caught boys out for dishonesty, some cribbing scandal in another house—not theirs, Ralph runs a tight ship. Still, it’s made for enough of an emergency to warrant a jawing. Ralph sits unimpeachably straight right through the end of it, glaring warnings at all of the boys who start to twitch and fidget.

Jepson is the sort of Head Teacher who looks on these incidents as proof that his own students are even more devious than he’d thought. He’s the kind who thinks that they’ve gotten away with hiding this behavior or worse, rather than the type to reward his boys for avoiding misconduct. He’s earned Ralph’s detestation, and that carries Ralph through the hour on a hard-backed chair. Beside him, he feels Odell following his glares and doubling their intensity. Does Odell realize what he’s doing? Ralph is sure he’ll be a fine Head some day. He likes to imagine it, their connection through a shared study, Odell following his path up to Cambridge, Odell reading classics, Odell admiring the newly-minted Lanyon, F.R.G.S.—

Then the Headmaster’s speech comes to a close, and with the usual formality, he invites the boys to bow their heads and join hands with their neighbors in prayer.

Odell takes Ralph’s hand. His palm is tacky with sweat. He tangles his fingers in Ralph’s, like the older boys no longer do; with their hands so clasped, Ralph’s mind conjures only the embrace of a lover, not the chaste and glancing touch of prayer.

First, Ralph seizes, but Odell looks over with worry, so he wills himself to relax. Though a limp hold won’t do, either: Ralph is not that type, and doesn’t wish to frighten Odell another way. He settles on a firm, friendly grip, he hopes, except that the strength of their join seems a prelude to a more intimate caress.

Ralph might pull Odell to his chest, whereupon Odell would look up into his eyes. Odell’s eyes are hazel. They would catch the warm autumn light like they were meant for it, coming alive as something more than Ralph’s cool blue could ever be. Ralph would sweep aside his bright copper hair, and bend down until he felt Odell’s stuttering, damp breath on his lips, and then they would kiss.

Oh, god, Ralph would kiss him until he’d run out of air.

He wishes to kiss Odell sweetly, then fiercely, and then simply hold him close. There are more things he would do, and has done, but Odell is worth savoring. Ralph wants the thick, slow progression of a first time so that he might capture all of Odell’s first times and hold them forever, close to his heart.

His hand flexes around Odell’s, wanting so greatly to pull him into this fantasy, as though his body can forget what his conscious mind cannot: where they are, how they are being watched, the differences in their station. This is why Hazell glares at him with potent jealousy, even as they continue to meet for stolen moments. This is why boys like Carter or Harris whisper, being more attuned and less innocent than their friend, Odell. Odell might not even be so, for god’s sake, or willing to see it.

Ralph chastises himself until his hand goes slack, as it would never work for him and Odell. Not a boy like Odell, who wants time to come around to it. Not a boy like Ralph, who would go to his knees on the first night, no matter the pretty things he tells himself about waiting.

The prayer ends. Ralph means to let go. He lowers their hands, and Odell lets him, not pulling away as the other boys start to rustle and stand. They’ve bare seconds left, Ralph knows, as surely as he knows that he will hate to stop this—but stop it he must.

He brushes his thumb across Odell’s knuckles as they part. The tips of Odell’s ears are cherry red. “Lanyon,” he says again in the barest whisper, a breath which goes straight to Ralph’s heart, his stomach, sets a fire in his veins. Odell can’t mean more than a parting nicety, but he sounds like waking in sun-warmed sheets on a summer morning. Ralph wishes they’d met at university, instead.