‘I can’t—I have to—’ he heard himself say, and the words came out in his own language. Distantly he heard Laurent answer him in Veretian, even as he felt Laurent begin to spill, the pulsing jerk of his body, the first wet stripe of it, hot as blood. Laurent came beneath him, and he tried to experience all of it, tried to hold on, but his body was too close to its own release, and he did as he was bid in Laurent’s fractured voice, and emptied himself inside.
CHAPTER 20
Every now and again, Laurent shifted against him without waking.
Damen lay in the warmth beside him and felt the soft golden hair against his neck, the slight weight of Laurent in the places where their bodies touched.
Outside, the shift on the battlements was changing and servants were up, tending fires and stirring pots. Outside, the day was beginning, and all the things related to the day, sentries and hostlers and men rising and arming themselves to fight. He could hear the distant shout of a hail in some courtyard; closer to, the sound of a door slamming.
Just a little longer, he thought, and it might have been a mundane wish to drowse in bed except for the ache in his chest. He felt the passing of time like a growing pressure. He was aware of each moment because it was one fewer that he had left.
Sleeping beside Damen, there was a newly physical aspect revealed in Laurent: the taut waist, the upper body musculature of a swordsman, the exposed angle of his Adam’s apple. Laurent looked like what he was: a young man. When laced into his clothing, Laurent’s dangerous grace lent him an almost androgynous quality. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that it was rare to associate Laurent with a physical body at all: you were always dealing with a mind. Even when fighting in battle, driving his horse to some impossible feat, the body was under the control of the mind.
Damen knew his body now. He knew the surprise that gentle attention could draw from him. He knew his lazy, dangerous assurance, his hesitancies . . . his sweet, tender hesitancies. He knew the way that he made love, a combination of explicit knowledge and almost shy reticences.
Stirring drowsily, Laurent shifted a fraction closer and made a soft, unthinking sound of pleasure that Damen was going to remember for the rest of his life.
And then Laurent was blinking sleepily, and Damen was watching Laurent grow aware of his surroundings and come awake in his arms.
He wasn’t sure how it would be, but when Laurent saw who was beside him, he smiled, the expression a little shy but completely genuine. Damen, who hadn’t been expecting it, felt the single painful beat of his heart. He’d never thought Laurent could look like that at anyone.
‘It’s morning,’ said Laurent. ‘We slept?’
‘We slept,’ said Damen.
They were gazing at one another. He held himself still as Laurent reached out and touched the plane of his chest. Despite the rising sun they were kissing, slow, fantastic kisses, the wonderful drift of hands. Their legs tangled together. He ignored the feeling inside him and closed his eyes.
‘Your inclination appears to be much as it was last night.’
Damen found himself saying, ‘You talk the same in bed,’ and the words came out sounding like he felt: helplessly charmed.
‘Can you think of a better way of putting it?’
‘I want you,’ said Damen.
‘You’ve had me,’ said Laurent. ‘Twice. I can still feel the . . . sensation of it.’
Laurent shifted, just so. Damen buried his face in Laurent’s neck and groaned, and there was laughter too, and something akin to happiness that hurt as it pushed at the inside of his chest.
‘Stop it. You will not be able to walk,’ said Damen.
‘I’d welcome the chance to walk,’ said Laurent. ‘I have to ride a horse.’
‘Is it . . . ? I tried to . . . I wouldn’t—’
‘I like the way it feels,’ said Laurent. ‘I liked the way it felt. You’re a generous, giving lover, and I feel—’ Laurent broke off, and gave a shaky laugh at his own words. ‘I feel like the Vaskian tribe, in the body of one person. I suppose it is often like this?’
‘No,’ said Damen. ‘No, it’s—’ It’s never like this. The idea that Laurent might find this with someone else hurt him.
‘Does that betray my inexperience? You know my reputation. Once every ten years.’
‘I can’t,’ said Damen. ‘I can’t have this for just one night.’
‘One night and one morning,’ said Laurent, and this time it was Damen who found himself pushed down onto the bed.
* * *
He dozed, after, drifting in the early sunlight, and woke to an empty bed.