Chapter 29 #2
Is he expecting me to mock him about that? I feel a flash of shame that he thinks I would ever use something like that against him.
“I suppose you think that’s pathetic,” he continues.
My shame peaks and my words pour out of me before I have a chance to stop and consider them.
“I don’t think that’s pathetic at all, Harry.
It’s the most ridiculous, heteronormative viewpoint that equates penetration to sex.
Lots of gay couples never do anal, and that’s fine.
We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. ”
I suddenly replay my words and realize I’ve mentioned the word couple in a context he could think applies to us, so I stumble on.
“I get so sick of the way the world tries to think there’s only one way of doing something. As long as there’s consent, it’s about what works for the two people—or more than two people if that’s your jam. It’s no one else’s business.”
“If it’s something you want to partake in, then I would like to try,” Harry says, lifting his blue eyes to mine. “With you.”
Fuck. This has gone from me trying to unsettle Harry to being unsettled myself.
Harry frowns at whatever he sees on my face. I feel myself flush.
There’s no place to hide from Harry out here while I struggle to process the complexity of my feelings for him. He’s always here. We spend nearly all day, every day together.
I concentrate on eating my stew, trying to regain control of my emotions.
“So…do you have a preference for which way around?” I ask finally. “Because I’m like our multitool. Ultimately versatile.”
Harry seems determined to reexamine the fabric of the quilt, a blush trekking up his cheeks. “Well, it would be prudent to have the person who knows what they’re doing in the driver’s seat to begin with, so to speak.”
I don’t even take up all the amazing innuendo opportunities that the driving-sex metaphors allow because I’m too busy trying to recover from my shock.
How does this man, who is so steadfast and stable, still manage to surprise me?
Logistics. I need to keep this to logistics.
“I don’t think there are any lube or condoms in the survival kit,” I say.
“It’s another thing they forgot. We really should complain to the makers when we get home,” Harry says.
Home.
It’s a word that has so much meaning tied up in it.
I try not to think about home much, about how the world is still going on without us. London feels so far away right now.
I blow out a breath. “Regarding the no condoms thing, I test regularly, and I haven’t been with anyone since my last test,” I say.
Harry looks up at me wordlessly.
“I trust you, Toby,” he says finally.
I have to break away from that blue-eyed stare because it causes another commotion in my chest, and I don’t believe it’s a good idea to upset the organ that lies in my chest when we are so far from medical help. I concentrate on finishing up my bowl of stew.
Harry takes the empty bowl from me and stands, returning it to the kitchen. He puts it in the bucket we use for our dirty dishes. “I…um…obviously don’t get tested regularly, but the last test I had showed no issues,” Harry says.
His words remind me of how he denied himself for so long. It’s unbelievable, really. Especially as I’m now intimately familiar with how much Harry enjoys sex.
Curiosity bubbles up inside me, and I have to ask. “Do you think your sexuality would hurt you politically?”
Harry’s back stiffens. There’s silence for a few heartbeats before he answers me.
“Yes. Maybe it wouldn’t be overt, but we still have a strong Christian element among the base of the Conservative Party. I don’t think I would have been elected the leader if I was living as an openly gay man.”
“What about now?”
“What do you mean, now?”
“I mean, if the truth came out now that you’re already the leader.”
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking me what the response would be if my party and the public discovered I’d concealed an essential part of myself for the last twelve years?”
Harry’s question is the definition of rhetorical.
Because we both know exactly what would happen.
Anyone with leadership aspirations inside his party would use the truth as a weapon to challenge him to become leader.
In our parliamentary democracy, voters choose the party they want in power.
Then, the party members decide the ranking of the politicians within the party.
Which means your colleagues are always your biggest threat.
“It’s a shame because you really are good at gay stuff,” I say the words lightly in an attempt to change the mood.
“I’ll take that compliment,” Harry says as he finishes wiping the bench. “Anyway, I better go and check the trap lines. We can have fried fish for dinner, along with the remains of the stew.”
“I think I’ll spend my afternoon chopping firewood.”
Harry grabs the oilskin coat off the hook by the door, then throws a grin at me. “You know what they say, Toby. Chop with care, or splinters you’ll bear.”
“You, of all people, should know how good I am at handling wood,” I reply.
Harry chuckles as he leaves.
After Harry’s footsteps move off the porch, I haul myself out of bed and get dressed.
Our conversation has left me unsettled. I don’t want to dwell on the impossibility of Harry ever being openly gay.
The rabbit skin Harry was carefully sewing for me catches my eye as I leave the cabin.
As I make my way to the wood-chopping block, I can’t get the thought of Harry making a fur lining for my boots out of my mind.
It’s part of a pattern I’ve started to notice. Like how Harry always puts a little more food on my plate, even if it means a smaller portion for him. Or how he’ll throw an extra log on the fire if he notices me shivering, even if he doesn’t appear cold himself.
He does all these small things for me without expecting anything in return.
But I really want to do something for him now.
My gaze falls to the sauna. We haven’t used it because we’ve been focused on stockpiling wood for winter.
But we now have enough wood to make a beaver consider early retirement, so I think we can spare some. Especially if I’m productive in the next few hours.
Imagining Harry’s face when he sees the sauna keeps me chopping wood furiously, even as my arms begin to ache.
As I chop, the weather begins to turn.
I wipe the first splatter of rain off my face. Rain is no longer a threat to us now that we have proper coats and a cabin to retreat to, knowing we can dry our clothes in front of the fire.
But it means Harry will potentially cut his walk short, so it’s definitely time to set up the sauna.
I grab an armful of wood and kindling and hustle inside the sauna. I arrange the logs inside the firebox like I’m trying to win a game of Tetris, then I strike a match. The flames leap to life, eagerly devouring the dry wood.
I scoot outside to fill up the water bucket from the lake.
When I get back inside, I spot a small vial of pine essential oil on a shelf, and I can’t resist adding a few drops to the water bucket. The sharp, clean scent of pine fills the air. It’s like being wrapped in a hug from a friendly forest.
Not that the aroma of pine is a particular novelty to us at the moment, but I’ll take what I can get.
I head inside the cabin and grab two fresh, clean towels, which I place inside the sauna on one of the benches.
The sauna is already starting to heat up, but it feels like it is still missing something.
I head back outside to find the wind is whipping up now, the trees swaying and creaking like ancient dancers.
There’s no chance of finding flowers in late October, so instead, I quickly gather a few sprigs of lingonberries and juniper and arrange them artfully inside the sauna entrance.
As I step back out into the growing storm, Harry emerges from the forest, his coat pulled tight against the wind.
“What’s going on?” Harry’s gaze flicks past me to the smoke coming from the sauna chimney.
“Well, I figure we can’t have the Nordic wilderness experience without having a sauna, right?”
He blinks at me. “You set up the sauna?”
“Yeah. I mean, if it’s something you want to do. We don’t have to.” I feel weirdly, absurdly self-conscious as Harry’s gaze moves from the sauna back to me.
“The prospect of sharing a sauna with you is rather appealing,” he says.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s get naked then.”
We head into the cabin, where we set a record for clothes removal. But I’m at the door when I notice Harry has stopped to rummage in one of the cupboards.
“What are you…?” I trail off when I see him straighten, clutching some Vaseline.
His cheeks flush. “I thought we should maybe be prepared for all eventualities,” he says. “And due to the lack of foresight from the makers of the survival kit, we have to improvise.”
My heart starts to beat faster. “It’s always good to be prepared.”
By the time we re-emerge from the cabin naked, the rain is pelting down, and we get saturated in the short dash to the sauna.
But it doesn’t matter because the wonderful warmth awaits us, the scent of pine and the crackle of the fire creating a cocoon of coziness.
Harry takes in the berries and fresh towels, and his eyes soften.
“Thank you,” he says.
For some reason, watching him examine my setup makes me feel exposed. I hope he interprets the flush of my cheeks as the result of the heat and steam.
“I know a way you can thank me,” I say.
Harry’s hands find my hips, pulling me close. His lips trail along my jaw, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, “I think I have a few ideas myself.”
“So you want to follow through on our conversation from lunchtime?” I gasp.
Harry’s eyes heat almost as much as the air around us. “Well, we are already naked. It seems pertinent not to waste this opportunity.”
“You are so lucky that multi-syllable words turn me on,” I say as I close the distance between us to kiss him again.