(no subject)
my favorite book
gabe saporta / william beckett, 1053 words
people don't believe it, and most actually laugh when they discover it, but gabriel saporta is something of a book worm. one could explain that he has a thing with literature, but it would be a horrible understatement.
he has a passion for words, has engaged in many a torrid affair with the sentences and stanzas laid out on a page. he has an obsession, a deep seeded infatuation with justified blocks of type bound together on thin, worn paper. he treats books more carefully than he treats anything else; thumbs through pages with a gentle caress as though he is sifting through sheets of silk.
william discovers his secret while he is reading dante and doesn't think anything of it, really. he assumes it's one of alex's books or ryland's or anyone else's and gabe was just bored, going through it to see how many dirty words he could find. william reads, but he has more of a book exchange with ryan ross than a selection of actual material. ryan recommends tropic of cancer and choke and while those are good reads, they're nowhere on the same level as the books gabe reads while tucked away in his bunk, hiding from the world and avoiding having to go outside and partake in actual conversations with real people.
"no one is as interesting as my characters," he says affectionately and william would be offended but after repeatedly staring at gabe for a straight week and asking, incredulously, "you read!?" he'd rather not offend his friend at the moment.
instead, he crawls into the cramped bunk and tells gabe to scoot over and read out loud, because if his characters are more interesting than he is, he'd like to at least meet the competition.
gabe reads him the little prince and the picture of dorian gray over a series of sleepy days. they take turns yawning through ulysses and frankenstein, and whispering every beautifully written word in a big book of byron's poems. they don't see much of the sun or much of anyone else. william is as immersed in the fiction as gabriel is and together they explore worlds far more exciting than their own.
it's hard not to fall for literature and as gabe pulls another book close to his nose and inhales deeply, imagining that the pages are faded and torn and not brand new and bought in a store on the side of the road because he forgot his copy at home, william can't help but feel his own infatuation taking over, consuming his every thought.
he thinks about the books all day when he is busy, thinks about when they'll be able to read again. he dreams of how they will end and who will be happy. he sighs little happy sighs and bites his bottom lip when something doesn't go the way he thought it would and he clutches at gabe's shirt and laughs at himself when they read something frightening or exciting or heartwarming to a certain degree.
"they remind me of you," gabe whispers one night after he tucks page one hundred and fifty two down. the last line ("yes; that was the man he wanted") gave bill shivers and he snuggled up close to gabe's neck as they pulled the blankets up over their bare chests to battle the cold seeping into the bus from an open window. william should have been on his own bus, but they were already driving an hour ago when he suggested they end their reading and gabe shook his head, stating that it was just getting good.
william breathes hot against gabe's neck and asks, "who does?" even though he thinks he might already know the answer to his question.
"the flower," gabe explains, tucking the book under his pillow and wrapping his arms around the jagged bones under william's hips. "the little prince's rose. she reminds me of you and the way you cough for attention. and his fox, not because he had to be tamed or because he was sad when the prince had to leave him, but because he truly was the only fox in the world. for the prince, at least."
william leans up onto his elbow and smiles. "you remind me of dorian." gabe scoffs but william nudges him in the rib and scowls. "not your vanity, it's not really about you. i mean the way basil saw him-- really saw him-- and the way harry was so eager to know him." he nods, grinning at gabe and nudges him again, expecting him to say something in return.
instead gabe just laughs, leans up and presses his lips against william's. he closes his eyes and falls back onto the pillows with a smile creeping to the corners of his mouth.
gabe thinks, there might be something he treats better than he treats his books. his fingers find william's hair in the dark, running through locks that are soft and weightless though misleadingly dark and framed too close around his face. wiliam's skin is smooth, like the pages of something unread, something that's too high up on a shelf to reach. as he shifts down to get more comfortable, however, his skin reacts to gabe's like an old friend, a story that was just waiting to be spotted again amongst the new books. his palm against gabe's chest is rough, akin to his favorite tales, the ones so worn the pages are falling out.
gabe thinks, william beckett may be his favorite character of all time. william may be his favorite book.
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i get yelled at when i write these two, as innocent as it may be. i am being a rebel :)