Chapter 2 #3
“Yes, of course.” March made his way to the door, but as Hawk began to pass him, he stopped him short.
His brows were pulled low over his eyes, considering him closely, yet again.
It must have been the twentieth time since they entered the room.
But the weight of this look was different from the others.
Had March changed his mind on whether or not Hawk passed?
He’d said Hawk did good beneath the Truth spell, but his ability to get fucked certainly wasn’t the only consideration Sutaire had for its adame. Neither knew when the candle went out. Perhaps Hawk wasn’t worth the risk of lying about it—
But then March kissed him.
Held onto his chin, keeping Hawk still while March licked against his teeth, and breathed in the same air for a minute, then two. And just as Hawk’s knees went weak, March stopped. Stepped away. And wiped his mouth with one hand. Now it was Hawk’s turn to ask, “What was that for?”
March grinned his charming little grin and motioned for him to follow as he strode through the corridor to breakfast. “Nothing. Welcome to Sutaire, sweet Hawk.”
Hawk’s room had an unusual shape, situated in a corner overlooking the autumn-streaked garden courtyard at the center of Sutaire’s vine-covered limestone facade.
The one window stood tall in the corner, opened to freshen the air before he moved in.
As the sun set, the temperature dropped, and Hawk tried to close the panes, but found the winding mechanism—a small iron handle he was meant to spin—completely stuck.
Nevermind. He’d sleep with it open. This was his final night at this schedule, where he’d get to rest with the moon heavy above. Starting tomorrow, he’d begin a new routine that meant he’d go to bed no earlier than six in the morning. Most of Sutaire turned to rest closer to eleven.
But as he settled against the goosefeather bed, the chill grew more intense, and Hawk looked out the window to see fat shining snow flurries. It’d held off until he had a safe bed, this weather. But it had not yet waited for him to fix his window.
His breath came in small clouds. He huddled beneath his coat, beneath a blanket, for as long as he could stand.
At midnight, hands and feet numb, he had to leave—to at least warm himself by one of the many fireplaces that filled Sutaire’s interior.
He didn’t want to interrupt any business, so Hawk moved silently and quickly down the hall, heart racing like he was breaking a rule no one had told him about.
He’d already broken one, most likely, with the candle and March.
He peered inside an open doorway. Beyond it, the lounge room where he’d met Angel sat empty, and the fireplace clicked and snapped, flames beckoning him inside.
He settled on a floor cushion before it and exhaled his relief.
He rubbed his hands, and his feet, and a bone-deep exhaustion tugged at him.
“Hawk?”
He gasped awake. Bleary, confused; Hawk had no recollection of falling asleep. He sniffed, rubbing at his face, as he looked up at March crouched at one side.
March tilted his head. “Why aren’t you in your room?”
Hawk trembled as his mind fished for the explanation. The broken window latch. The chill. The—the accidental sleep. All he managed to say was, “I’m sorry.”
March’s mouth twitched like he may smile, but he contained it, and stood up. “Come with me.”
Hawk scrambled to his feet, nearly falling over the cushion he’d slept upon, and matched March’s brisk pace down a corridor, up two flights of stairs, and to one of the towers that framed the Sutaire building. March pushed open a door and held it for Hawk to pass through.
Inside, Hawk found a bedroom with subtly gold embossed wallpaper and matching velvet drapes, and a big overstuffed bed with a number of blankets piled on top.
A candle swung in a holder suspended from the ceiling above, scented like bergamot, and he could hear the wind howling outside as the winter storm settled over the city.
“Is this your room?” Hawk asked.
“It is. It’s been mine for a decade now. Please, come rest.” He put a hand upon the small of Hawk’s back, and pushed him to the bed.
“March, I couldn’t impose. I’m sorry—I’ll go b—”
March’s hand pushed him more insistently at the bed as he said, “Share my bed with me. Act as if it’s a trial; like I’m a patron that’s requested such a thing from you.”
Hawk sat, sinking into the cushions and the blankets, and he sighed at how relievingly warm the covers were—a charcoal bed warmer must’ve been placed within shortly before their arrival.
March nodded, satisfied, before disappearing through another door at the far end of the room.
A bathroom, also lit with golden candlelight.
When he emerged, he wore only a pair of short thin pants, and Hawk busied himself by settling beneath the ample covers.
The bed dipped as March slid in at his side.
“Isn’t it early for you to sleep?” asked Hawk. He hadn’t a watch, but the sun had yet to rise.
“We’ve a big day tomorrow,” said March. “May as well get some rest beforehand.”
A silence fell, followed by March snapping his fingers, magically snuffing the candle above. Plunged into darkness, Hawk stared at the wooden beams above, and he was struck with this odd, cold feeling. No, not cold. He was toasty warm. But—
He’d laid at his husband’s side like this for many, many years, and felt terribly alone. Perhaps this is how he was always meant to feel. Even with someone at his side, someone handsome and worthy and kind. Hawk didn’t deserve him, or this bed.
And as his mind spiraled into those thoughts, a hand found his beneath the covers. He jumped, surprised, and March chuckled. He tugged Hawk over, closer, until they were slotted against one another, and March kissed the top of Hawk’s head.
“Are you alright?” asked March.
Hawk’s heart raced and he wondered if March could feel it against his ribcage, where Hawk hugged him around the middle, head resting upon his chest. He whispered, “Am I not going to keep you awake, pressed up against you like this?”
March sighed a pleasant sound and mumbled against Hawk’s hair, “No. It’s quite nice. I don’t get to rest this early most nights.”
And as Hawk began to circle the idea that he was keeping March busy. Making him sleep early, making him spend their next day doing whatever it was they had to do—
He fell asleep, again, without meaning to.
They were both hard when they woke up the next morning, having shifted in their sleep so that March’s massive cock slotted perfectly against Hawk’s ass.
Hawk wanted to push back against the feeling of it; lower his satin sleep shorts and invite March inside him again.
They could spend the late morning awakening with a gentle, sweaty, spooning fuck.
But Hawk pulled himself away, out of March’s arms, and locked himself inside the bathroom to bathe—cleaning himself inside and out with fingers that maybe lingered longer than they should have.
He controlled himself, and his thoughts, for the second time, and finished his routine by brushing his teeth with the second brush March had thoughtfully left for him.
He’d no clean clothes to wear and reluctantly cracked open the door to ask, “May I borrow something to don for this day?”
March, already dressed, opened the door with little concern of Hawk’s nudity.
He glanced him up and down—not erotically.
Well, at least Hawk didn’t think it was erotic, because March turned away to face his wardrobe and produced a purple tunic that was likely mid-thigh on him, but fell just past Hawk’s knees.
A pair of tights and Hawk’s old worn boots were delivered to March’s bedroom door. Hawk eyed the shoes.
“Are we going somewhere?” He thought they had a whole busy day ahead.
“We are.”
“But…”
March stepped into his own unbuckled, thigh-high boots, and began to work on the fastenings. “It’s my day off.”
Hawk chewed a lip as he tied each bootlace. “I see.” Was he meant to spend the day on his own, then? Perhaps Lovey would run through some rules with him. Then again—she was asleep. Was she not? Hawk took a deep breath, prepared to spend his day alone.
“I thought we could go to the theatre.”
Hawk stood tall at March’s still-taller side, and blinked behind damp blond bangs. “What?”
“Worry not; Sutaire has box seats. It costs us nothing to go.”
Hawk loathed how pathetic he sounded as he asked, “You want to spend your day off with me?”
“Well, of course. You’re new to the city. You’re new to Sutaire.” March offered Hawk a hand to take. “You’re new to me. Let me show you all there is to appreciate.”
Oh, Hawk certainly appreciated him. His heart raced yet again, for the hundredth time since they met, but this time, it felt like bliss. “Okay.”
The show was a beautiful tale of a woman warrior saving her kingdom from an encroaching darkness.
“I’ve never been to the theatre before,” he whispered, awed.
“What they do with the lights—it’s amazing.
” The stage had a storm raging on, magical strobes lighting the scene as if the actors faced true peril.
March leaned close and said, “You needn’t whisper. The box is muted; none can hear us but us.”
Hawk hummed in understanding. “That’s nice. To not interrupt anything happening on the stage while we talk.”
March slid a hand along the back of Hawk’s seat.
“It’s not really talking that’s the issue.
” Hawk turned a puzzled look to March and got a wry smile in response.
A smile he didn’t understand. March’s white grin flashed like one of the strobes on the stage.
“Some adame bring their patrons here. I suppose if you don’t know theatre, you wouldn’t know the tradition. ”