Chapter 17 #2
“I’m not sure I know what that means,” Graeme said, staring down at his hands, which were now folded in front of him, almost like he was praying for everything to work out.
Art felt safe enough to reach over and take one of his hands, squeezing it, eyes still on the road.
“It means that as long as the three of us are open and unfailingly honest with each other at all times, as long as we work hard to support each other and put ‘us’ ahead of you or me or any one of us, we’ll be together for a long, long time to come. ”
“Do you believe that relationships can last a lifetime these days?” Graeme asked, still painfully vulnerable.
“Yes,” Art said, which came as a surprise to himself as much as anyone. “And do you know what else?”
“What?” Graeme asked, looking at him like he had all the answers in the universe.
“I think the three of us are endgame,” Art said, risking a quick glance at Graeme and a smile before driving demanded his attention. “Yeah, yeah, I know that in the grander scheme of things we all just met, but it feels like we’ve been together forever. It feels like we will be together forever.”
“I think so, too,” Graeme whispered, so adorable he made Art want to pull over to the side of the road, jump in the back seat with him, and hump until they were both empty.
They couldn’t do any of that, of course.
They were still at the beginning of what was bound to be a mad couple of days.
But at least he and Graeme had a few hours of peace and rambling conversation to enjoy as they drove through the south of England toward Cornwall and Penwith Grange.
It made the almost five-hour drive far more enjoyable than Art would have thought it would be.
It was well into evening by the time they pulled into Penwith’s parking lot.
“This place is lovely,” Art said, getting out of the car and fetching his overnight bag from the back seat.
“You should have seen it back in July, when the roses were blooming,” Graeme said, grabbing his things as well.
“If we have time, you’ll have to give me a tour,” Art said, smiling and taking Graeme’s hand as they walked into the vast, quaint estate.
They were met by Mrs. St. Ives almost at once in the entry hall-turned-lobby.
“There you are,” the stately, older woman said, pressing a hand to her heart. To Art, she looked like the perfect mid-century matron, but one with energy and brightness surrounding her. She took one look at Art and Graeme’s hands entwined and said, “I thought you were dating the other one.”
Graeme shot a worried look at Art and let go of his hand. “I…erm…oh.”
There was something about Mrs. St. Ives that Art liked at once, something that told him the old firecracker was more than met the eye. So against what probably should have been his better judgement, he said, “He is dating the other one. So am I. It’s all very modern and verboten.”
Graeme’s face lost all its color. He looked like he might murder Art. Or throw up. Until Mrs. St. Ives burst into laughter. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not, but I had a friend just like you back in the sixties.”
Art turned to Graeme with a shit-eating grin. “Never underestimate a wily, old woman with a vast house and gardens that need redoing,” he said, then winked.
“I wish I had more time to entertain the two of you,” Mrs. St. Ives went on laughing. “But I have an engagement later this evening. So let’s get right down to it.”
Just like Art knew it would, Graeme’s meeting about garden design went perfectly.
Mrs. St. Ives was impressed by the work Graeme had put into his designs and the variety of ideas she had to choose from.
Art sat in as they met in one of the gardens, beaming with pride in his boyfriend, but when Ryan rang, he excused himself so he could take the call.
“How’s it going?” Ryan asked, sounding tense, a load of talking and party sounds going on behind him.
“Splendidly,” Art said. “Mrs. St. Ives is a treasure, and I can tell she adores Graeme.”
“Who doesn’t adore Graeme?” Ryan asked.
“I certainly do,” Art went on, glancing back at Graeme as he gestured enthusiastically around the garden while painting a verbal picture of what he had in mind for Mrs. St. Ives. “I’m head over heels for our boy,” he added.
Ryan hummed. “Me, too,” he said. A moment later, he was tense and anxious again as he said, “I love you, too, you know.”
“Yes, darling, I know,” Art said, beaming and giddy. It was going to be so much fun to play with two men who still hadn’t quite wrapped their heads around the concept of loving more than one person at a time. “How are things on your end?” he asked, shifting the conversation for now.
Ryan sighed. “As good as they can be, I guess. I’m at a big party right now with a lot of huge names, trying to drum up some interest in my show tomorrow.”
“And?” Art asked, hopeful for him.
“And Giorgio is here, too,” Ryan said, his voice darker. “I can’t shake the feeling that he’s going around talking to all the people I just spoke to, telling them the exact opposite of what I’ve just said.”
“Bastard,” Art said. “He’s only doing all this because he sees you as a threat. That puts you in a powerful position. Use it.”
Art’s comment was met with silence for a moment before Ryan said, “I love you so much,” in a deep voice. “As soon as you get back here and this is all done, I’m going to ride your arse like it’s going out of style.”
Art laughed loud enough to draw Graeme’s and Mrs. St. Ives’s attention.
“Darling,” he purred back down the line.
“I cannot wait. We’ll throw Graeme into the mix while we’re at it.
Granted, it will take me a few months and a bit of work with dildoes of increasing girth to loosen up enough to take both of you at the same time, but we’ll get there in the end. ”
“You are a heathen and a whore,” Ryan said in reply with all the affection in the world.
“But there are more ways for the three of us to enjoy each other together than you risking tearing a very important muscle. I’m not changing your diapers every day if you overdo it and break something permanently. ”
It was nothing to laugh about, but Art laughed anyhow. “Alright,” he said. “You go have fun with your little fashion friends. Our sweetie pie is just about done with his meeting, and I plan to pound him into the mattress later tonight.”
“Lucky devil,” Ryan growled. “Be gentle with him.”
“Oh, I will,” Art said, catching Graeme’s eye across the garden and wiggling his eyebrows.
About fifteen minutes later, once the meeting was done and Mrs. St. Ives had rushed off to whatever engagement she had, Graeme asked, “How is Ryan doing?”
They were still in the garden. Mrs. St. Ives hadn’t given Graeme a definitive answer about whether she would hire him or not yet, but she’d reacted enthusiastically to Graeme’s proposals.
She’d comped their stay for the night and told the kitchen to expect them in the dining room for supper at around seven, which dampened any hope Art had of convincing Graeme to leave for London after dark.
That left plenty of time for Art and Graeme to stroll through the gardens in the twilight, enjoying the late-summer blooms and each other.
“Ryan is hanging in there,” Art said, pausing to admire a particularly promising view. “He’s at a party, trying to schmooze his way into recognition, but he thinks Giorgio is attempting to thwart him around every corner.”
“I feel terrible about staying here instead of going to him,” Graeme said, bristling with concern. “He might need us. He definitely needs us. But until I have this job in the bag, I feel like I have to do everything Mrs. St. Ives says.”
Art smiled fondly and turned so he was facing Graeme.
He clasped his hands around Graeme’s slightly stubbly face and leaned in to kiss his lips lightly.
“You are too good, baby. Ryan is doing alright for now. And at the moment, there isn’t much we can do to help him.
He knows we’re thinking of him, and we’ll be there for him tomorrow. ”
“I guess that’s all we can do,” Graeme said, letting out a breath.
“Oh, there’s definitely more we can do than that,” Art said, full of mischief.
“There is?” Graeme asked.
Art slipped one arm around his waist and tugged him close. “There definitely is. We can get up to no good and have a juicy story to tell him once the dust has settled and we’re all together again.”
He leaned in to kiss Graeme, tenderly at first, then with increasing passion. In no time, he was devouring Graeme’s mouth with all the hunger that had grown in the last few weeks of denial.
“We’re outside, in public,” Graeme reminded him breathlessly.
“Then let’s go back inside and wear ourselves out thoroughly before supper,” Art said.
It was another sign of how far Graeme had come over the summer that he didn’t protest. All he did was grin as Art took his hand and pulled him quickly back to the house.
They hadn’t had time to check in before Graeme’s meeting, but it appeared as though Mrs. St. Ives really had taken care of everything.
They were handed a room key with very little fuss, and within minutes, they were upstairs, safely tucked away in a beautifully decorated room with a view of the gardens.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Graeme said nervously as they tossed their bags aside and started to undress. “It’s been so long since I was with Damien, and I have this weird feeling that I can’t shake like the things we did weren’t normal.”
Art stopped halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, a rush of lust knocking him sideways. “Did you do kinky things?” he asked, heart hammering hopefully.
“I don’t think so,” Graeme said, pink from his face down to his chest as he tugged his shirt off. “I mean, we did all the things in a lot of positions, but it doesn’t feel real to me now.”