Somebody with whom to dance

Fanfiction based on the character Clive from the novel Maurice, by E. M. Forster. Oliver is an original character. Character looks and place names are based on the film version. The title is from a song of the same name by ‘Magnetic Fields'.
Rating: Adult/R
Editing/beta: by Rick, who did a wonderful job. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Feedback is, as always, very welcome.

Screen capture from the film Maurice — Clive and Maurice at Cambridge

"Is everything all right dear?"

"It is, Clive. Thank you." Anne smiled happily. "It's so wonderful of you to bring us here. You know how I was dying for a holiday, and this is such a nice hotel."

They sat by one of the tables in the ballroom and enjoyed their after dinner coffee. After a long drive, they had arrived late at the hotel, and Clive hoped they could retire soon. Since it was late spring, the weather was mild and the drive down had been pleasant, but he felt a bit tired and stiff now. Around them, other couples danced or sat by their tables and talked. He hoped Anne would not want him to dance with her this evening, but he knew she enjoyed the music and dancing, and he wanted her to have a nice time. He returned her smile and continued to listen while she told him about the plans she had for the next few days.

His life with Anne had always been fairly easy. She was well brought up and handled her duties as the wife of a country squire well. He felt lucky that he had met her just when he needed to establish himself as the heir of Pendersleigh. At the time, his mother kept inviting young, suitable women to stay, and she had not been shy about reminding Clive of his obligations. Meeting Anne was a relief; they got along well, and she didn't seem to expect much beyond the life she was given. They had never had children, but his mother acted very graciously towards her, and she was very good with the tenants. Yes, Anne had saved him, and life at home was mostly peaceful. Sometimes though, he missed the close friendship he'd had with Maurice in college. Anne was a good wife, but they had never been really close.

She chatted on while Clive listened with only half an ear, and at first he did not pay much attention to the man who approached Anne, asking for a dance. She looked at Clive as if to ask him for permission. "Please. Enjoy yourself," he said. The man held out his arm and led her to the dance floor while Clive's smile slowly froze in shock as he watched them go.

Maurice…! No!?

He felt the room going dark and closing in on him, and his hand shook when he put down his cup. Lightheaded, he clutched his chair, focusing on staying upright. After a while the feeling ceased and he furtively glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his little spell. No one was looking, and he let out a breath in a rush. Feeling a little more in control of himself, Clive turned his eyes to the dance floor and sought out the couple. He knew it could not really be his Maurice, but, like him, the man had fair, wavy hair and a pleasant, open face. He was rather slim and a graceful dancer and the way he moved spoke of someone who was very much at home on a dance floor. His evening dress was not quite up to the usual standard, though, and Clive guessed that he was one of the hotel's dancers, hired to entertain the guests. Looking at the man, Clive barely noticed Anne who was eagerly trying to follow his steps, and memories of Maurice started to overtake him. Maurice when he came to him that night in college, Maurice at Pendersleigh, Maurice doing, Maurice talking…

#

Later that evening Clive wasn't certain how he had managed to escort Anne to their room. He prepared for the night automatically and was thankful that they had separate beds. He didn't think he would get much sleep that night.

Maurice. He had looked so happy and free that last time they met, but Clive was shocked when he heard about Alec Scudder. That Maurice had allowed himself to… and the scandal it would cause. Even if he'd wanted to, he could never have met with Maurice again; the betrayal had been too great. But Maurice had laughed him off and Clive knew then that he was lost. When he had gone back into the living room, the soft ‘click' of the doors sounded like a shutter falling down and he felt numb. Ever since, he'd gone through the motions of normal life and he'd pushed any stray thought of Maurice to the back of his mind. He had been lost to Clive since they parted that October night fifteen years ago, but afterwards Clive still missed his company.

A year later they were both caught up in the war and Maurice was later killed at the Somme. After that Clive felt more alone than ever. And now this.

#

"Darling, are you awake?"

Clive turned in his bed. Anne's voice was too bright and too loud. "Yes dear. I am now. It's not too early is it?"

"No." Anne smiled brightly. "It's going to be a wonderful day. You remember we are supposed to go on a tour today?"

Clive grumbled and started to rise slowly. Sleep had eluded him for long into the night and he was stiff and tired. It was too much to hope for that Anne would let him sleep in. As he washed and shaved, he looked into the mirror and his bloodshot eyes stared back at him, mocking his attempt not to think about Maurice.

After breakfast they went out in the car. Anne had bought a guide book and was eagerly dragging him around from one place to another. Clive was happy to follow; the activity helped him to relax and kept his mind off Maurice. It was a nice day, though, and the sun was shining from a clear sky. This late in April it was pleasantly mild, and at lunchtime they found a pub where they could sit in a garden outside. The relaxed atmosphere lowered Clive's defences and his mind went back to the day in Cambridge where he and Maurice had run out on the Dean. The weather had been very much like this, and they had felt so exhilarated about leaving the Dean standing there behind them and just getting away from the stuffy atmosphere of college. But with the memory, the pain returned, and Clive could feel a headache settling in the back of his head.

"Clive? Clive, are you listening?"

"Oh, yes dear, of course. You were saying?"

"We should leave soon, it's getting late. Do you feel all right? You look a bit tense."

"It's nothing dear, just a slight headache. I'm sure I will be fine soon." Clive smiled at her.

"You've probably been out in the sun for too long. We should go back to the hotel."

"No, it's such a fine day. Let's enjoy it while it lasts. I'm quite sure there are more places you would like to visit before we return?"

"Of course there are. I'm just a bit worried about you, you know that."

"I do, but I'll be all right. Why don't we leave now and go visit those places?" Clive smiled at Anne.

He let Anne guide them back to the hotel, and they went slowly, stopping whenever Anne thought there might be something interesting to see. Late in the afternoon clouds had started to gather and it became colder, and even Anne had had enough of sightseeing. When they returned to the hotel it started to rain heavily.

After dinner they had their coffee in the ballroom again. This time Clive was prepared, but he still found it hard to watch the young dancer. He was relieved when someone asked Anne to dance and he did not have to pretend to listen to her. One more day and one more night and then they could leave. Clive couldn't wait; it was hard enough, trying to act as if nothing had happened. He had noticed Anne's attentiveness and worrying, but did his best to act normal and was determined that she shouldn't notice anything.

The scandal surrounding Lord Risley's trial had left a deep impression on Clive. He could never let himself love another man again, and when he met Anne he knew she would be the right wife for him. She was all that he could ask for and sometimes he wished he could be a better husband. But his memory of Maurice still stood between them, and now that memory was looking at Clive from the dance floor. Clive couldn't keep his eyes away. He was a bit taller and slimmer than Maurice and he moved more gracefully, but the face was still the same. He remembered their first meeting and how his instinct had told him to secure their acquaintance. Maurice's eager and open approach to friendship had been a revelation. Later, when he revealed himself to Maurice, he had forced himself to bury any thoughts about anything carnal happening between them and he'd channelled the thoughts into a belief in platonic love. But seeing the dancer move, Clive now began to feel that it had kept him from expressing all of his love to Maurice. If only he could do it over again. Maybe…

"Clive?"

"Mmh? Yes… I'm sorry." Clive looked up at Anne.

"I think I would like to go up now, it's getting late."

"Of course. It's been a long day."

The next day they stayed indoors, in the lounge of the hotel, as the rain did not seem to want to stop. Anne met an old acquaintance from her school days, and they spent the afternoon together. Clive used the time to catch up with the news and later settled down with a book, but his mind kept returning to Maurice and the last two days. Rubbing his temples, he leaned back in the chair and stared blankly at the scene before him. His wife, her companion and several others, all being ever so nice and ever so proper. The game he'd learned to play. And I can't run away.

After dinner Clive felt restless. He couldn't keep Maurice out of his mind anymore and he was sure Anne would call him on his absent manner. He fidgeted with a silver coffee spoon, twisting it. Anne danced with him again. Tomorrow they would leave and Clive could not decide whether it would be his salvation or his downfall. No! It was wrong, he could never do it, but if he could, just touch…

By the end of the evening he somehow made it up to their room with Anne by his side. She kept asking him if he was all right, but what could he tell her? She finally let him be and started to gather their belongings as they would leave early the next day. Clive sat in the comfortable chair by the fireplace staring absently into the low fire. Maurice's face, his face, was the only thing Clive could really see. The sound of Anne in the background kept intruding, he felt restless and he had to get out. But he couldn't, not ever.

Then, a sudden impulse that took him by surprise, made him rise abruptly. Remembering Anne, he turned towards her; "Anne, I'm going for walk. I think some fresh air would do me good, clear my mind." A pitiful excuse, but he hoped she wouldn't worry too much.

"Yes… Yes dear. You do seem a bit drawn. But please come back soon, it's very late now."

Clive realised she was upset and turned to her. "Of course I will. Come here." He forced himself to relax and put his arm around her shoulders, embracing her lightly, and kissed her cheek. "I'll be all right. I just need a little bit of fresh air."

"I know you do. Please wake me up when you come back. I'd like to know that you came back safely.

"I will, I promise."

#

Once outside the hotel Clive walked aimlessly and his steps took him towards the beach. It was chilly and he was grateful that he had remembered to put on his heavy coat. It had stopped raining by now and the sky was fairly clear. The moon was almost full and cast a cold, sharp light on the beach. He took a deep breath and let the sounds of his surroundings wash over him. It was a still night and the crash of the waves were subdued enough to let him hear the murmured rumbling of the stones in the water. The air was fresh, but he caught the occasional tangy smell of seaweed. As he walked farther out on the beach he noticed a lone figure sitting down with his arms around his knees. Just as Clive turned to walk the other way the man turned his head and Clive froze.

"Hello," the man said.

"Hello," Clive said curtly. He recognised the dancer from the hotel and felt like running away, but his legs appeared to have made a different decision and slowly made him walk toward the sitting figure.

"Going for a walk?"

"Yes, needed a bit of air," Clive said.

"Me too. It's a good place to think, isn't it?"

"Yes… Yes, it is." Clive was taken aback by the familiarity of the tone. He glanced down at the other man who sat very still. His voice sounded flat and Clive noticed he had the look of someone who did not have anywhere else to go.

"I often come here to think. When things, well, you know how it is," the man said, still with that dead voice.

"I do?" The other man reminded him so much of Maurice and though he was still guarded towards him, Clive couldn't help feeling concerned.

"Yes." He turned towards Clive. "I know you. You're staying in the hotel. I've danced with your wife these last two evenings. And I've seen you look at me."

"You've…" Clive took a small step backwards.

"I know why you look at me. I've noticed."

"I don't, I'm not…" Clive started, but didn't know how to continue. If this man came to know too much, he could ruin him. He took another step back.

"Don't worry, I won't tell. It's nobody's business." His voice sounded bitter. Staring at Clive he said; "Sit. Sit down."

Feeling stunned, Clive sat down on the sand. It felt cold and he tucked his coat tighter around him. Several moments passed while neither said a word, but just sat there, staring out at the sea.

Clive finally broke the silence; "So you won't tell?" he whispered.

"No, I won't. It won't do any good to anyone. I'm like you, you see. I know what it feels like, to love…"

Clive let out a breath and his hands relaxed their vice-like grip on his knees. "No, yes… I'm sorry," he blurted out.

"For what?"

"I don't know. It's been such a long time." His voice trailed off. "I loved once." He turned his head and looked at the younger man; his neck and arms were tense and his strangled voice told Clive that he was barely holding back. He felt sympathy towards him and asked tentatively; "Tell me about your love? Who is… he?"

"Was." The other man buried his head in his knees. His voice was barely audible when he continued; "He was. He's been dead for almost a year."

"I'm sorry." Clive was at loss about what to do. He wished he could offer him sympathy but didn't know how and resorted to offering him a cigarette. "I'm sorry," he continued.

The man accepted his offer. "Thank you. Just being able to tell someone makes it a little better." He let Clive light the cigarette and dragged deeply at it. After letting out a puff of smoke he said, "My name is Oliver, by the way."

"Mine's Clive. Just in case my wife hasn't told you yet." He smiled at Oliver and raised an eyebrow, hoping to relieve a bit of the tension.

Oliver returned the gesture; "Oh, she did. She went on about you for quite a while."

"She would. She always likes to talk. Sometimes it's nice, fills out the silence."

"Well, she certainly does talk. But then, most of the ladies do. I guess they have a lot of silence to fill." He smiled ruefully. "At least they know how to do it."

"Do what?"

"Fill out the silences, smooth them over. Wish I could do that, but I always have to hold back, never tell anyone how I feel. You must know what it's like?"

"I'm beginning to see." Clive sighed, this was getting too close. He asked Oliver; "What was he like?"

"Like… I don't know." Oliver's gaze turned inward. "Jimmy was just Jimmy. He never cared much for what others thought, always laughed it off. Everybody liked him and no one dared to mess with him. You wouldn't have known just by looking at him, he was built like you, but he could put up a mean fight if he was provoked."

"What happened?" Clive was almost afraid to ask, but he felt Oliver wanted to talk.

"He took a job at the railways. Seemed safe enough, but then he…" Oliver's voice sounded strangled again, "he never noticed the wagon when he was out on the tracks. He was dead by the time they brought him in. I… I hope to God that it was over quickly, I couldn't bear…" Oliver's hand shook as he sucked hard on the cigarette.

Not thinking, Clive reached out for Oliver. Since he had sat down beside Oliver he had felt strangely numb. The shock of meeting him here, and Oliver's manners, had pushed Clive into a state were he could only react. Now he felt the need to hold onto something, even if it were only a gesture to comfort Oliver. But the touch reminded him of Maurice again and abruptly he let go.

Oliver pulled himself back and tried to shake off the thoughts of Jimmy. "Sorry. Shouldn't have lost myself. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I think so. I feel so sorry for you. But… but you look so much like Maurice. It's almost like he's here, right beside me."

Oliver looked at him; "Maurice?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I knew him once, at college, and later. And then," Clive had to choke out the words, "he left me and… then he died at the Somme. I still miss him so much and you don't know how much you look like him!" The memories crowded him and he fought to hold back the tears.

Hearing Clive's admission, Oliver suddenly realised why Clive had looked at him so. Slowly he reached out for Clive's hand, gingerly letting his fingertips stroke it. "Tell me," he said.

Clive looked up. How could he? What he and Maurice had shared could not be told, not really. Maurice had left him for Alec Scudder and Clive knew the betrayal was his. He almost didn't dare to think about the reason. Then Maurice was killed and Clive had felt lost forever when he was told. Now, to put it into words, to tell a stranger, was almost more than Clive could handle. "He was…" Clive whispered and looked away, his voice almost lost in the sound of the sea, "he was my love."

"And I look like him?"

"His face, his voice, his hands… You understand why I looked at you? Why I couldn't look away?"

"I do." Oliver gripped Clive's hands more tightly. "I do. It's all right. I know how you feel."

"You do? It's been almost fifteen years since I saw him last, twelve since he died. When I saw you it was as if he'd never been away from me. I don't think you do," he spat out.

Oliver was taken aback. Clive had turned in on himself and appeared to be lost to whatever Oliver could do to comfort him. As he put an arm around his shoulders he felt Clive tremble.

"I still want him so much. I almost never really held him, and now I only want to be with him. I don't understand. I feel him so close when you are here. I want to touch him. Do you know, I only kissed him once?" Clive sounded confused, like he'd lost something important, but couldn't understand why.

Oliver stroked Clive's back soothingly and pulled him closer until he held him in a tight embrace. Clive let him, but his trembling didn't ease; it almost seemed to grow the tighter he was held.

"Clive, look at me. Do I really look so much like Maurice?"

"Yes, just like him." Clive's world had reduced to feeling Oliver's arms around him, to looking into his face. "You even smell like him. If I didn't know better I wouldn't know where I was." Clive felt the ground give and he fought hard to keep his wits about him.

"Kiss me. Kiss your friend."

Clive lost it, grasped at Oliver and kissed him.

Feeling Clive's need, Oliver gave into the kiss. When Clive finally let go they were both out of breath.

"Clive…"

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," Clive tried to turn away, but Oliver held tight.

"No. It was all right. You're all right."

Clive relaxed slowly against Oliver. What he'd just done… He had just let himself go and it was all right. He was held close, Oliver held him, he was all right. Then, suddenly he realised his position. Held by another man! He fought against Oliver, pushing him back.

"Clive! Clive. It's only me. Nothing's wrong, not now, not here." Oliver reached out to Clive who was about to rise. When he took hold of his hands Clive got his senses back and relaxed a little. The physical connection held Clive, and Oliver continued to speak to him. Finally Clive was down on his knees again and back in their embrace. It was so long ago that Maurice had held him, Clive could hardly remember it, but their nearness kept reminding him. Once more his hands touched Oliver's body and face, but now they were taking their time, exploring the similarities and differences to Maurice as they mapped out the other man's body.

Clive felt light-headed. He had hardly ever let himself touch another man, much less known other physical expressions of love. His touch became light and questioning; his hands tentatively asking the other to respond. When Oliver raised his hands and stroked Clive's face and neck, he felt himself responding, and the touch became firmer and surer. Finally Clive had his hands around Oliver's face and leaned in to kiss him. This time it was all himself who wanted it. Oliver kept still and waited for him. As Clive leant in he felt something shift slightly within him. Part of the fear was gone and all he could think of right now was the taste of Maurice… and Oliver. In Clive's mind the two combined and what he felt was the closeness of another body. As they kissed their hands strayed and Clive clutched Oliver tightly.

The second kiss transcended what Clive had ever imagined kissing Maurice would feel like. And yet, to Clive's mind the kiss became something that could have been between them but never was, not until now.

After the kiss, as he held Oliver, he felt his body reacting to the closeness. Always he was betrayed by his body. He remembered that he had had to keep Maurice at a distance whenever he came too close. Back then he had felt distaste at the thought of any physical union between them, and whenever his body reacted as it did now, he had stayed away from Maurice until the thoughts had passed. Now, as he had grown older, the thought of sharing his body with another man felt less strange.

Oliver's hands started to explore, and Clive felt himself responding by leaning in and moving closer. He shyly let his own hands wander over Oliver, who now seemed lost in their touch. It felt so good, but what if someone came?

"Oliver, we should stop. I don't…"

Oliver opened his eyes and for a long moment he looked into Clive's. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he rose, and started to drag Clive along with him. Clive stumbled as he let Oliver drag him farther down the beach to an old beach cabin.

Everything happened so fast. Clive found himself inside with Oliver holding his wrists and pressing him up against a wall. He couldn't think or move, did not want to, and he let Oliver do what he wanted.

Again Oliver looked at him for a long moment, then let go and started to pull off Clive's coat. His own he had wrenched off as he dragged Clive into the cabin. They could hardly see each other in the darkness, and Oliver fumbled as he undid the buttons of Clive's shirt. He finally got the shirt open and put his hands and mouth on Clive's chest.

Clive's world shifted again. Oliver held him pinned to the wall, and because he couldn't move, he felt powerless, and the last of Clive's reticence left; he could give in and let go.

Then Oliver went farther down and when he started to open Clive's trousers, part of Clive's mind snapped back to reality. He tried to shake off the dizziness. "Oliver, what…?"

But Oliver acted too fast and took him into his mouth before he could continue - or even stop him. God, he was… this felt… Coherence fled him and it was all he could do to try to remain standing upright, leaning against the wall. Never this. Never…

It was over quickly and Clive was still shaking when he slowly slid down into a crouched position. He looked dizzily at Oliver who leaned against him, breathing heavily. Tentatively, Clive let his hand run through the other man's hair. It felt soft and smooth, and Oliver moved his head, trying to follow the hand, enticing it to keep touching him. Caught up in the moment, Oliver grabbed hold of his hand and moved it towards his groin. Clive, who was still not completely recovered, let it happen. Oliver somehow managed to open his trousers and Clive felt the heat as he touched him; his hand burned as Oliver tangled their fingers together and guided the strokes. When he came, Oliver tensed and let out a ragged sigh.

Oliver slumped against Clive's side, halfway leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath. "Clive, you all right?" he whispered.

"Yes." Clive was almost afraid to speak; reality was far away.

While his breathing returned to normal, Oliver cleaned their hands with a handkerchief. He leaned back and looked at Clive, who was buttoning up and readjusting his clothes. Clive could not quite manage to look Oliver in the eyes and busied himself with his clothing.

Oliver got up himself. "We'd better not return together. You go first, I'll be fine." He fidgeted with the lapel of his coat and as Clive turned to open the door he said, "Clive? Tomorrow night?"

"We are leaving tomorrow." Clive's voice was toneless. He stood for a moment, looking away. "Oliver?" Clive turned towards him. "I… Thank you."

"I wanted to. There's no need to thank me." Oliver lightly stroked his fingertips over Clive's lips and his voice was thick when he said; "Clive, do you know you look exactly like Jimmy?" He smiled sadly and pressed a quick kiss on Clive's lips. Before the surprised Clive had time to react, the other man was gone. Clive saw him running down the beach, but stopped himself before going after him. He had no more words to say. There was only the ghost of a kiss left on his lips and a feeling of release. And of love. Whether it was for Maurice or Oliver he did not know, but he felt calmer than he had done in a long time.