Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
The last of the autumn leaves tumble down, and the walk through Polling Woods becomes a trial of mud and water.
Ky has a hot bath waiting for him every evening he comes back from the university, and there are more such evenings than he’d like.
The Season is beginning, and there are university events that even Ethram cannot avoid.
On one such night, Ethram carries half his outfit in a case and gets dressed in his office, because the woods path is far too muddy for any other option.
He takes a carriage home after, and it’s late enough that Ky should have been abed hours ago.
He’s not at all surprised to see the cottage door opening before he’s closed the gate behind him.
The cottage is glowing with a dim warmth, and Ky is wearing his favourite jumper, the one that smells of smoke and beeswax. He brushes the rain off Ethram’s cheeks, cradling his head for a tea-warm kiss. “Welcome home, dear heart,” he says.
Ethram lets his coat and outer robes fall to the floor. He’ll pick them up later, when he can be bothered.
“You look very fine tonight.”
“I was trying to appear untouchable.”
Ky laughs, low. “You failed,” he says, and tugs him in. “All I want to do is touch you.”
“Well,” says Ethram, slipping his cold hands under Ky’s jumper. “You may.”
Ky pulls him through the doorway. “Come here. Let me help you with that,” he murmurs. “You are beautiful.”
Ethram leans back a way in order to pull at his neckcloth. “I think that rich, coming from you. I’m nothing more than ordinary.”
“Not to me.” Ky brushes a fingertip down his nose, across his cheek.
“Your eyes are lovely. Your mind is vicious. Your mouth is a gift.” He sits Ethram down on the edge of the bed and kneels at his feet.
His fingers make deft work of the bootlaces.
“You were kind to me even when you feared me. I loved you before spring stirred the soil.”
“I loved you by summer.”
Ky smiles, sliding Ethram’s trousers up to hook the silk edge of his socks. “It was earlier, dear heart.”
“Was it?”
“Mm. I know such things.”
“I’m sure you do. What were you, god of lovers?”
“I certainly celebrated love,” he says, low amusement in his voice. He lifts Ethram’s bare foot, folds his leg up, and leans in to press a gentle kiss to his ankle.
It has no business sending such a shiver across Ethram’s skin.
“Do you trust me, love?”
Ethram watches his fingers unlace his second boot. Snub, pearly nails, a little like claws. He loves the feel of those nails against his skin. “You know I do.”
Ky glances up. He searches Ethram’s face, and perhaps he finds what he’s looking for, because he smiles. There is moonlight in his eyes. “In all the years, I would never tire of you.”
You would, Ethram wants to say. There is nothing I can ever be that would be enough to keep your interest.
But as if he has heard those words anyway, Ky’s smile turns soft at the edges. “You’re cold,” he says, cupping his hands over Ethram’s bared foot. He’s warm. He’s always warm, no matter how chill the air outside is.
“It’s almost winter.” Ethram reaches out to brush his fingers over Ky’s hair. It sends his fingers tingling like nettle-stings. Ky’s aether is close to the surface tonight. “Are you offering to warm me up?”
“Always, my heart.” He sits up on his knees. He’s tall enough that he is level with Ethram when he does, pushing Ethram’s thighs apart to make room for himself. “Where should I start?”
“Here,” Ethram says, and leans forwards to kiss him.
It’s gentle at first, and yes, warm, and then sharp teeth catch the edge of his lip.
Just a glimmer of sharpness, there and gone.
A thrill shoots through him. If he was dishonest, he’d say it was fear.
If he’s honest, it’s something very different.
Ky peels his damp clothes from him, pushes him down against the sheets. When he spreads his hand against Ethram’s back, Ethram feels entirely caught.
The rain whispers against the window, sending shadows to dance in the aetherlamp's light. The faint golden light sets Ky glowing. Moonlight hair, moonlight eyes. Skin the colour of winter rushes, pale as sand. Ethram buries his face in the sheets, tasting the linen and flax, all the cold in his body slowly consumed by the heat in Ky’s.
Not even the waters of the Gardens feels as good against his skin as Ky does. Ky kisses the back of his neck. His hands skim down Ethram’s sides, back up. Shivers dance after, turning all his breaths to ripples.
“Ky,” he says, but Ky only smiles against his skin.
“Yes, my heart?” He bites gently at his shoulder.
“Don’t leave me.”
“Never,” he says, and it’s an empty whisper of a sound. He wraps a hand around Ethram’s arm, slots his fingers against those silvery marks. “Not while I have a choice.”
The rain falls on, the light shifting across the bed, and all else ceases to exist. Even Ethram, except in the places against Ky’s mouth, against his palms, against his body.
That is all that exists—their bodies, together, and Ky over him.
The way the teeth at his neck press sharper than they should.
The way the hold at his wrist matches his marks perfectly.
The way he belongs, for this moment, entirely to Ky. And Ky belongs to him.
“Stay with me,” Ky says, a damp breath of a command against Ethram’s skin.
Ethram wants to bite him. He wants to beg him. He wants this to end, and he wants it to go on forever, endless, never be anything else but this moment.
“Ky,” he says.
“I’m here,” says Ky, pressing close. His voice is low and soft and sinful, breaking at the edges. “I’m right here.”
He’s here. He is his. He doesn’t know how to demand more than that. “Ky.”
“Is that the only word left in your mind?”
It’s not. It’s not even the whole of a word. His Ky. His storm. He wants the whole of him. Would plead for it. Demand it, even. Demand everything from him.
And so he does.
It spills from his tongue. A name. A whisper of a sound. It echoes in ripples across the room.
Even the rain stops. There is heart-still silence, and the room flares with nettle-sharp burning, and then Ethram knows only the blissful nothing of his thoughts all quiet, all silent, without a single shadow left among them.
A hand is at his face, tracing down his jaw. He opens his eyes, though he doesn’t remember closing them.
“Ethram,” says Ky, and he is looking down with the same look he gives an unruly elderberry cane. He traces his fingers back up. “You reckless man.”
Ethram smiles, and somehow, it stops Ky’s next words in his mouth. “Kyrillos.” He likes the way it calls all the aether in Ky to the surface, makes his eyes shine. Makes the moonlight come from within, as if there is a shining lake at the heart of him. He is beautiful.
“Did you have to say it then?” says Ky, all suffering.
“I wasn’t thinking,” Ethram says. “Not of anything but you. That was your fault.”
“I suppose it was.” Ky is as he was, but he is different too. His hair shines a little more. His edges blur into the shadows. He is taller than he was. He has his name back, and he is still looking at Ethram like Ethram is all that matters in the world.
“Kyrillos.”
“Yes, my heart?”
“I know it now. I don’t think I’ll forget it again.”
“I should hope not, after that,” Ky says, his smile crooking into something very warm and very human. “Sleep,” he says. “I’ll be here when you wake.”
For now, thinks Ethram, but he’s too tired, too pleasantly weary, for the thought to have any sting.
For now, he’s here. For now, he’ll stay.