Chapter 14 #2
It turned out there was a box of tissue on the side table. Art twisted to pull one from the box, then did the honors of wiping Graeme’s face himself…which kept Graeme’s tears flowing instead of stopping them.
“I can’t stop crying when you’re being so kind to me,” he said wetly.
“Yes, it sucks how kindness when we’re feeling down just makes us cry more,” Art said, wiping the last of Graeme’s tears, then holding the tissue over his nose. “Blow.”
That was the perfect injection of ridiculousness.
Graeme laughed and took the tissue from Art, blowing his nose himself instead of letting his friend do it for him.
He didn’t really feel better for his burst of emotion.
For a long moment, he couldn’t so much as look at Art.
But he squeezed Art’s hand like his life depended on it.
It must have been five minutes before either of them spoke.
“If I had known you were eating yourself up so badly over this I would have come sooner,” Art said, perfectly serious for a change.
Graeme dragged his eyes up from the spot on the floor he’d been staring at and looked right into Art’s eyes. Feeling so vulnerable was not the sweet and intimate emotion he’d always thought it would be. It kind of made him miserable.
“I think I love you,” he forced himself to say, even though it made him feel like a pit had opened up under him.
Art smiled sympathetically. He raised one hand to brush his fingers through Graeme’s hair and trailed his fingers down Graeme’s hot and still damp cheek. “I love you, too,” he said.
Graeme’s heart started to swell and flop and do all sorts of mad things. “I think I love Ryan, too,” he whispered the verboten truth.
Art’s smile grew warmer. “So do I.”
Graeme swallowed and shook his head. “How does that even work?”
“Well,” Art said slowly, like he was lecturing one of his students after class because of their poor performance, “It’s human nature to want to form close bonds with other humans.
We’ve been doing it since before recorded history.
Some argue that our instinct to bind ourselves together in emotional connections is for procreative reasons and the survival of the species.
Others say it’s how we have protected ourselves and enabled our tribes to hunt larger game or cultivate more produce. ”
“We’re not going to procreate,” Graeme said, trying to breathe and be steadier. “And we’re living in twenty-first-century London, not the wilderness.”
“True,” Art said with a nod, “but humans are packed full of old instincts that may or may not apply to the modern world. I personally think that it’s human nature to seek connection. And pleasure, but we’ll get there when we get there.”
Graeme’s face heated. He was already there, but he appreciated Art’s slow approach.
“There have been numerous cultures throughout history that have practiced polygamy and polyamory,” he said, making Graeme’s insides squirm. “Isn’t your own Bible filled with stories of men with multiple wives and concubines?”
“It is,” Graeme said. “But those are men with multiple wives.”
“And what was Jesus up to with all his disciples, including the one he loved?” Art asked.
Despite all his efforts to disconnect from his past and embrace his future, it still felt like shocking sacrilege to suggest Jesus was anything less than pure.
And yet, the Bible had all sorts of other stories about men who were awfully close with other men.
He’d always suspected there’d been something going on with David and Jonathan.
“Outside of the Bible, there have been more cultures that support polygamy than I can count. Even in the modern world. Certain Muslim sects, for example. Tribes in Africa and Asia and elsewhere. And for those who don’t want to be all colonial and arrogant and misogynistic about non-western cultures, do you have any idea how thriving the poly scene is right now? ”
The way Art grinned and teased him with a sparkle in his eyes made Graeme want to smile with him. He knew poly was a thing logically, but you didn’t just snap your fingers and override decades of conservative indoctrination.
“I ran away instead of staying to talk things out with you and Ryan,” he said, getting to the heart of why he felt so horrible.
Art shifted to lift one leg and rest it across Graeme’s legs, snuggling closer to him.
“Darling,” he said, teasing and hot and wicked as he stroked the stubbly side of Graeme’s face.
“We all get overwhelmed sometimes. But if you must know, having you watch is what pushed me over the edge. This might surprise you, but I am a shameless exhibitionist who gets off on people watching him get railed.”
Graeme laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”
“It doesn’t?” Art faked shock.
Graeme laughed harder, but there was a kernel of sadness under the growing ease of his troubles melting away. He lowered his head slightly and said, “I could never be as free as you are. Or as Ryan is.”
“No one could ever be as free as I am,” Art said. He moved again, straddling Graeme’s legs and sliding his hands down to the hem of Graeme’s t-shirt, then up over the bare skin of his chest. “I’m as free as a bird.”
His palms reached Graeme’s nipples, and he rubbed them until they were warm and tingly.
He leaned in to capture Graeme’s mouth in a kiss as well.
It was soft and close-lipped at first, then he swept his tongue along the seam of Graeme’s lips.
When Graeme parted his lips, Art thrust in, kissing him with enough sensuality to short-circuit Graeme’s brain.
Graeme wasn’t entirely certain how he’d gotten there, but in a flash he was hot and hard and deeply willing to do whatever Art wanted him to do. The force of his desire was so intense that he shook slightly as he gripped Art’s hips, holding on for dear life.
As quickly as it had started, though, Art stopped and rocked back. He was pink-faced and panting, and the front of his ever-present khakis was tented, but instead of going for it, he withdrew his hands from Graeme’s shirt and rested them on his shoulders instead.
“No,” Art said, catching his breath. “Not now. You’re not ready.”
Graeme wanted to beg to differ. He was so ready that he was worried a wet spot might form on the front of his sweatpants.
“I see that sparkle in your eyes, young man, but you are not ready,” Art said, as if he could read Graeme’s mind.
“I want to be ready,” Graeme said, feeling sheepish. “I liked being with Ryan in Cornwall. I…I’m starting to wrap my head around both of you and…and I think I would be ready to be with you, if you want me.”
Art made a sound of desire and frustration deep in his throat. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. I didn’t come here to advance your sexual education. I came here, on behalf of me and Ryan, to make sure you’re alright.”
“What if I don’t know if I’m alright?” Graeme asked in a whisper. “How can I know?”
He felt like he might cry again.
Art slid off him and dropped to his knees on the floor between Graeme’s parted legs.
He took Graeme’s hands and looked earnestly up at him.
“I know this is a lot for you,” he said, running his thumb over Graeme’s knuckles.
“For your sake and for ours, you can’t rush into something you’re not ready for.
I can’t speak for Ryan completely, and things are still developing between the two of us, but I would rather ease into something deep and lasting than rush into something fun that might break if we’re not gentle with it. ”
Graeme’s brow went up. “Are you saying that you want a…a relationship with me…and Ryan?”
Art’s impish grin came back with force. “Absolutely,” he said. “I’ve always struggled with commitment to just one man, but two? That’s more my speed.”
Graeme blew out a breath. “I never imagined myself in a relationship with even one man. Then I had one and it was a disaster.”
“Damien didn’t deserve you,” Art said, leaning in, hooking a hand behind Graeme’s neck, and kissing him. “Trust me when I say I deserve you,” he added with a wink.
Graeme laughed. He was still confused and uncertain, he still had a lifetime of believing the exact opposite of what was in front of him, but a blossom of happiness and fulfillment was starting to unfurl inside him.
“Now, come on,” Art said, standing and offering his hand to Graeme. “Our boy Ryan has an impossible fashion show to put together and zero time to do it in. We need to be there to support him every step of the way.”
Graeme stood with Art’s help, but gasped. “I can’t. I have a garden to design.”
“Come again?” Art said, tilting his head to the side.
“Mrs. St. Ives from Penwith Grange,” Graeme said, clutching the sides of his head.
“She heard me say her gardens need improvement when we were there, and now she wants to meet with me to discuss designs and possibly hire me to redo her gardens, too. This is a chance of a lifetime and a way to take my garden design business to the next level.”
Art stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Leave it to the two of you to find yourselves in outstanding and impossible situations for improving your businesses, all at the same time.”
“What are we going to do?” Graeme asked, feeling so much younger than he was.
Fortunately, serious Art was confident and decisive.
“We’re going to do the best we can to support each other,” he said, pulling Graeme back into his arms. “We’re going to band together, the three of us, to get the fashion show where it needs to be, to fight off the evil specters of Giorgio Esposito and Dean Renfer—”
“Dean who?” Graeme asked.
“Never mind about him or about me right now,” Art said. “You and Ryan are the ones with deadlines. First and foremost, we need to help each other get all the fancy fashion and garden designs done. We’ll deal with our little triad once we have two seconds to stop and breathe.”
Graeme suspected Art had his own challenge that he hadn’t shared yet. But he was right. There were gigantic fish on the table to fry at the moment, and they needed to work together without getting tied up in relationship drama to get everything done.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m willing to help wherever and however I can. But we will need to deal with us eventually.”
“Oh, we’ll deal with us, alright,” Art said, lust lighting his eyes.
Graeme laughed and went all wiggly inside. He was running headlong into the wildest part of his life yet.