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Percy leaned forward to see his paper more clearly. Candlelight and fireplaces went only so far in the dark.
The sound of heavy raindrops hitting against the side of the house provided a soothing background noise for Percy to write his poetry.
True love will rage like storms untamed.
He stared at the line. There was something there. If situated correctly, it could evoke some kind of emotion, and the simile felt suitably dramatic to represent passion.
If only he could think of something to go with it.
Lightning flashed outside, temporarily flooding Percy's bedroom in light. Absent-mindedly, he counted the seconds before the crashing sound of thunder followed.
Again in the dark, Percy cursed the weak flames he had to work by. Someone really ought to figure out a better solution to working in the dark.
He watched the flame of the candle bob and dance on drafts imperceptible to any human.
Fire. Percy could do something with that.
Not the kind of contained fire this candle had, though. This fire was hungry.
Love can burn, a hungry flame.
Yes. That had a fierceness to it.
Another lightning strike lit the room. The thunder came sooner this time and was loud enough to rattle the windows.
The sound made Percy smile. He'd always loved storms. They were entirely unashamed of what they were. They made their presence known and refused to waver when faced with any action of man.
He reached a hand up to twist a lock of hair around his finger. Poetry wasn't like storms. It was slippery, and liked to evade your grasp.
Percy liked it all the same. Most of the time, at least. Sometimes, it was just plain infuriating.
Take right now, for example. He could sense the heart of this poem. It was nearby, but it remained elusive and just out of reach. It was taunting him.
Perhaps he should wait until morning. Then Franklin would be awake, and Percy could talk through the poem with him. That always helped. Franklin was his inspiration.
Once, Percy had mentioned out loud that Franklin was his muse.
“I've never quite understood what a muse was. Don't they sing?”
“They don't have to,” Percy had said. “All they have to do is be themselves, and they inspire the very best in artists. You're my muse because everything you are is poetic.”
Franklin had laughed then, in that warm way of his, and then he kissed Percy so tenderly it felt like music.
“For the poetry,” he said with a grin as soon as he pulled away.
Another peal of thunder gently roused Percy from his reverie. The metallic crash that came from downstairs a split second later jolted him rudely back to the present. He froze.
Was someone else awake, or was there an intruder?
Hands trembling slightly, Percy grabbed the fire poker by the fireplace and cautiously made his way downstairs. He crept around the ground floor, trying to ignore the odd shapes the shadows formed against the walls.
When he reached the kitchen, Percy heard the sound of someone else breathing, at which point he realized he had been holding his own breath.
Another step, and he saw the dark outline of another person. Holding the fire poker out in front of him, Percy took a deep breath and stepped forward.
“Excuse me-”
He jumped back as the other man spun around with a shout.
“What the- Percy?” Percy’s eyes could just make out the face of the other man.
“Franklin?” Percy fruitlessly willed his heart to stop attempting to escape his chest.
“What are you- What's with the poker?”
“Well, I heard a crash, and I- I thought that if there was a burglar, I could threaten him with this, and then he would… go away?”
Franklin dissolved into laughter. “Do you- Do you think- D'you really think that'd scare anyone?”
Percy frowned, offended. “I'm perfectly capable of defending myself.”
“Right.”
“I'm serious. I- I can be very threatening.”
Franklin gently took the poker out of Percy's hands and set it aside. “Let's leave the defending to me, hmmm?”
Percy harumphed, but he couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face.
“What are you doing up, love?” Franklin's voice turned serious. “Have the nightmares come back?”
“No. I was writing. Storms help inspire creativity.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “Sometimes.”
“Ah. You should get some sleep. It's late, and the writer's block will be there in the morning.”
Percy recognized that Franklin wanted him to comment on the strange phrase, but something more important had occurred to him.
“What are you doing up?”
“Well…” Percy's metaphorical ears perked up at the hesitation in Franklin’s voice. “I was doing some cleaning. Accidentally knocked the silverware on the floor - that was the racket you heard earlier.”
“Why are you cleaning in the middle of the night? You can barely see anything.”
“‘S morning now, my dear, and you are going to get some rest.” He put both hands on the back of Percy's shoulders and started pushing him out of the kitchen.
“Franklin… Franklin, stop, what's going on?”
Franklin sighed and stopped walking. “Fine. The storm woke me up, and I thought I might as well do something useful. Happy?”
“I suppose… Are you sure you're all right?”
“Never been better. Apart from this terrible din, of course, but that can't be helped. Now, can you please-”
A roll of thunder cut him off, and his grip on Percy's shoulders tightened. Then the sound died off. Percy expected Franklin to continue his instruction, or at least stop holding onto him quite so fiercely. Neither happened.
“Franklin?” Percy twisted his head around. Then in a softer voice, he whispered, “Franklin?”
Franklin opened his eyes, which had been tightly shut a moment ago. He swallowed.
“Y-yes?”
Percy reached up and gently took Franklin's hands off his shoulders. “Are you afraid of storms?”
Franklin’s gaze dropped. “It's not like that. I just-”
Lightning flashed, and Franklin stiffened, not relaxing until the inevitable thunder ended.
“Well... Maybe I am a little… nervous about storms.”
Percy grabbed Franklin's hand and began. “Come with me.”
“Oh! Um… Actually, I'd really rather stay down here.”
“Then I'll stay here with you.”
“No! Percy, you can go to bed. It's fine.”
“Really?” Percy raised an eyebrow. “You'd rather be alone with the frightful thunder and lightning?”
Franklin bit his lip and seemed to shrink into himself. Percy frantically tried to backtrack.
“Franklin, I didn't mean- It's a perfectly normal thing to be afraid of. I only meant that you might feel better if you weren’t by yourself.”
“I… I don't want to be a bother.”
“You're being a bother right now by arguing instead of just coming upstairs with me.”
Finally, Franklin acquiesced to follow Percy to his bedroom.
“All right. Lay down.”
Percy took off his robe and house slippers and slid into the bed beside Franklin. He rolled onto his side and draped his arm over his lover, curling his body around him.
“This is nice, isn't it?” He asked.
Franklin made a noise of agreement.
“Good.”
Percy closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of Franklin's breath against his body. Yes, this was very nice.
The peacefulness was broken by a crash of thunder
Franklin's body went rigid, and Percy rubbed gentle circles against his chest.
“It's all right,” he whispered. “The storm part’s far away. You're safe.”
“How far away?” Percy opened his eyes to find Franklin looking at him with his full attention.
“We can figure that out the next time there's lightning if you want.”
Franklin nodded. They waited quietly, Franklin still tense under Percy's arm.
The room lit up, and Percy quietly counted the seconds out loud until the thunder came.
“That was twenty-five seconds, so the worst part of the storm's five miles out. A little while ago, it was four, so it's getting further away.”
“That's good.”
“Mmm.”
“No one ever taught me that trick. I never had much school.”
“I didn’t learn it in school. My father told me. He always said stormy nights were poets’ nights.” Percy smiled at the memory. “We appreciate them more than most, I suppose.”
“Am I taking you away from your night?”
“It's your night too. You're a poet. And I couldn't think of a way I'd rather spend tonight.”
Franklin relaxed into Percy's body and closed his eyes. “Thanks, Percy,” he said sleepily.
“Of course, darling,” Percy kissed Franklin's cheek. “Sleep well, Franklin.”
The next morning, just to prove Franklin truly was Percy's muse, the poem Percy had been searching for flowed from his quill as easily rain flowed down the eaves of the house.
Some love may strike with tiger's might,
With outstretched claws to claim and fight.
Some love can burn, a hungry flame,
Or rage like storms no hand can tame.
But mine curls softly at your feet.
It gently purrs, content and sweet.
When thunder rolls across the plain,
My love will hush the storm and rain.