Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Laurel
Laurel wakes up to the tent shaking and shuffling while Beacon tries to slide his large body out from under the small flap without disturbing him.
It doesn’t work, but Laurel comforts himself by admiring Beacon’s ass as he crawls out.
He pretends to be asleep when Beacon glances back in to check on him, but he suspects his small smile gives him away.
Beacon lets him have this one, though, and after years of being denied or ridiculed at nearly every opportunity, that makes Laurel unreasonably happy.
The only disorienting thing about his new sleeping arrangement is that no matter how careful or permissive Beacon is, Laurel can’t manage to stay asleep as long as he did while at home in a proper bed.
He doesn’t mind it short term, though the exhaustion has been mounting.
Beacon has promised he’ll have time to sleep on the journey back to Dun Steorra and room to do so in their wagon.
He’s also assured Laurel that he does have a rather nice bed at his home—a single-occupant cottage inside the athletic compound located on Stehr’s Peak.
Soon to be two occupants sharing one main area and a washroom. Laurel can’t wait.
He might have slept in longer had it not been the last day of the Market.
Beacon did accompany him back to the workshop yesterday, and they were up half the night packing all Laurel’s supplies to continue his business.
Yes, his regulars will need to travel farther to see him in person, but Beacon’s team travels in and out of various territories for games, and he told Laurel that spouses are always welcome to travel with them.
And there will be next Midsummer, of course.
For now, Laurel is ready to say goodbye.
But first, he has to survive one more ceremony.
The final order of business before the Market officially closes is the blessing at the Shrine. Despite having lived so close to the Shrine all his life, Laurel has never held much interest in it. Beacon has a similar line of thought, but his parents feel differently.
Laurel doesn’t mind having to attend a sappy closing ceremony when it’s at the behest of his parents-in-law—the first time he’s had parents who seem to care about his doings.
After his immaculate performance at yesterday’s Championship Games, Beacon was awarded Best Individual Athletic Performance and Best Overall Athlete.
The winners were chosen via a combination of public votes and the judges’ ratings from each event—meaning despite Beacon’s general demeanor, he endeared himself enough to two weeks of crowds to win an overwhelming excess of votes.
Despite knowing nothing about the other competitors, Laurel confidently stated that no one deserved the awards more than Beacon.
His husband had scoffed, but his teammates had provided enthusiastic support.
Ever the grumpy one, Beacon told them all to piss off.
Except for Laurel. Laurel got a kiss, with a thank you pressed into his lips.
The stunt won them a chorus of boos and cheers; Beacon promised the assholes would get bored with heckling eventually, but Senta said it was unlikely, not when Beacon is so easy to rile.
Laurel is just happy to be along for the ride.
Quite literally, given the beating his ass took yesterday. Walking to the Shrine for the last time is going to be a challenge. He might actually accept a rickshaw for once. Or he’ll just make Beacon carry him on his back. The thought makes him giggle.
“Ah, so you are awake,” Beacon says from outside the tent.
“No, you’re wrong,” Laurel protests, rolling over to bury his face in the pillow. “I’m laughing in my sleep.”
Beacon pulls open the tent flap. “What could be so funny as to make you laugh in your sleep?”
“Watching the others gamble on how many innuendos Raibull can subject you to before you make him disappear on the way back to Dun Steorra.”
Beacon hums, somewhere between playful-annoyed (at Laurel) and regular-annoyed (at the rest of his team). “Get up. Unless you’re okay with us missing the ceremony and irritating my mother this soon after our wedding.”
“I am not.” Laurel fights his way out of the tent, shaking out his tangled hair. He usually braids it before bed, but last night he was exhausted. And distracted. He’s not sure he’ll ever get over how handsome his husband is, especially when he’s walking around in his small pants after washing up.
The athletic team is completely apathetic to nudity, but Laurel doesn’t mind. For a number of reasons.
The moment Laurel surfaces from being eaten by his own mess of hair, Beacon swoops in to give him a kiss. Before Laurel can lean in too far, though, he ducks out of range.
“It’s good you already know how to wash with a hose and a bucket, but I’m warning you to lower your standards further because the pumps in this campground are worse.” Beacon tosses Laurel a towel, eyes crinkling with amusement.
“Senta told me you all wash with cold spring water.”
Beacon’s amused expression grows into a grin. “She wasn’t lying, but we also have hot springs. And I’ll get a basin for you.”
Laurel deadpans, “Pure romance,” but he’s smiling too. “I can heat water with magic, so you should get a basin big enough to fit both of us.”
“At the same time?”
“Do you have enough room for something that size?”
Beacon laughs. “Perhaps if I knock out a wall.”
“We’ll keep it in mind.”
Laurel trails after Beacon toward the cubicles where everyone in the camp is doing their washing.
He finds that Beacon wasn’t lying about how wretched the little foot pumps are; Laurel huffs as he tries to get enough of a stream going to rinse off the soap.
He plans on putting his hair in a braid for the day and reminds himself he’ll need to get used to living rough for the journey to Stehr’s Peak.
When his confidence wobbles, all Laurel needs is Beacon taking over the pump to know he’s been set in the gentlest pair of callused hands possible to ensure he makes it through all the changes still intact.
Once Laurel has survived his first encounter with the pumps, he rushes to finish preparing.
Beacon was the lone, lucky soul from the traveling party to marry this Midsummer, meaning their usual morning departure will be delayed until he and Laurel can receive a blessing at the Shrine.
Donlan explained their attendance was mostly for appearances, somewhat sentimental, and the tiniest bit of Maura’s desire to gloat.
After all, Beacon was a livid mess who thought the engagement was going to be a disaster.
In his defense, so did Laurel.
Today, Beacon is in trousers, having packed his kilts away for the journey. Laurel, too, is in trousers, which he cuffed above his calves because they did not begin as his own. Hallie let him borrow a pair of hers after he’d shyly admitted he didn’t own any travel-friendly summer garments.
Either the rest of the travel party thinks Laurel doesn’t know they’re taking bets on how long it will be until he breaks down on the road, or they don’t care.
At the very least, Laurel knows it’s not a malicious gamble.
Beacon had assured him of this before storming off to threaten the ringleaders with some variety of torture or sabotage if they didn’t stop hassling his (quoth Hallie) “lovely little fella.”
Laurel doesn’t mind the teasing. It’s the first time he’s had people who cared enough to tease him. While Laurel’s body modifications are for his own pleasure, he enjoys the attention they draw. Growing up, being seen was a luxury.
In the end, even though Beacon eyes Laurel like he might insist upon the rickshaw, Laurel opts to walk with the rest of his family—his family! Just thinking the words makes his toes curl in his boots.
They arrive at the Shrine after the ceremony has begun, leaving them at the back of the crowd of other newlyweds and their witnesses.
Beacon bristles from impatience, so Donlan leaves him to be strong-armed by his mother while reassuring Laurel that once the initial prayers are complete, the rest will move quickly.
Which still leaves them waiting for the end of prayers that are being damned-near drowned out by the ambient noise.
While Laurel is doing his best not to send his thoughts into the rustling trees rather than strain to hear the elderly Shrine Guardian mumble, a whisper reaches his ears:
“Do you want me to get you a ring?”
Surprised, Laurel surreptitiously glances up at Beacon, who is looking steadfastly ahead. “A ring?”
“Yes. I can’t wear one because of my work, but I could get one for you.”
Laurel reaffixes his gaze toward the Shrine, curling his fingers tightly into his palms. His mother had worn her ring on the third finger of her dominant hand—the right.
But Laurel’s dominant hand is the left. Sensations via his prosthesis are different from the rest of his hand.
Muffled. Wearing Beacon’s ring on a finger that can’t feel the way the rest of his body can, something that is as much a part of him as it is a foreign object he can remove…
“What about a necklace instead?” Beacon cuts into the panicked noise filling Laurel’s head, breathy words resonating over the rustling tree branches and mumbling Shrine Guardian. “Or a bracelet?”
Slipping his hand into Beacon’s, Laurel muses, “A bracelet would be nice.” Beacon squeezes his hand, and they share a smile until Beacon’s mother pokes them both in the back to draw their attention.
Beacon’s father pointedly holds out a bundle of fresh flowers and herbs, and Laurel has to cover his mouth to hide a laugh when Beacon rolls his eyes before accepting it.