How Do I Love Thee? by 10th_letter [Reviews - 4]

A/N: The poem is Sonnet 43 from "Sonnets from the Portuguese" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. You've probably heard it before. We were discussing this one in my Victorian Literature class the other day and this fic idea popped in my head. Enjoy!

“Nick! I don’t believe you! How could you do this to me!” shouted Greg, storming into the apartment he and Nick shared, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

"Greg! I didn’t do anything!” shouted Nick, pounding his fist on the closed bedroom door.

“Bullshit, Stokes! I should’ve known you haven’t completely given up girls!”

“What!? Are you insane, Greg!? I would think YOU of all people would know I’m only on one side of the fence! You’re the reason I’ve been so happy lately! You’re the reason I was finally able to come out of the closet! You’re the reason I’d be willing to shout from the roof of the Bellagio that I’m a toe-tapping gay boy who loves sucking dick!”

“I saw the way you were looking at that blonde at the bar tonight! You were practically unhooking her bra with your eyes!”

“Greg! That’s not the case at all!”

“Oh? It’s not?”

Nick sighed and pressed his forehead against the still closed door. “Greg, honey, listen to me. I wasn’t hitting on her. I never would. I love you. Only you. I always have. And I always will.”

Nick heard Greg sniffling from behind the door and the sound of tissues being pulled from their box. “Really?”

“Yes. And, God, I can’t believe I’m doing this, but here goes,” Nick cleared his throat,

'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! – and if God choose,
I shall love thee better after death.'

There was silence for a while and, eventually, footsteps padded towards the door. Greg opened it, his eyes red from crying. “Wow. Do you really mean all that?”

Nick smiled, “Every word.”

Greg sniffled, “I’ve never had a boy recite poetry to me before.”

“Then you’ve been underappreciated for too long.” Nick wrapped his arms around Greg and embraced him.

“But I’m all snotty and shit.” Complained Greg.

“I don’t care.” Replied Nick, dipping Greg and kissing him passionately.
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