“Stay,” he says.
“I’ll be right back,” James promises, heaving himself up with regret.
He stands, naked as the day he was born, and thoroughly unembarrassed. It’s a new, heady feeling, and he lets himself bask in it while he orients himself to the room he completely ignored when he snuck inside. It’s a lovely shade of blue, and somehow already messy. Pride tingles through him—partly his doing.
He spots the wash basin on the far dresser and strides over, quickly cleaning himself up before dipping another cloth and returning to the bed. Bobby’s still sprawled on his stomach, but he’s raised his chest to watch James return.
James can’t help but feel a slight exhausted twitch between his legs at the sight of his...lover? Bobby is a gorgeous man, and now that he knows the feel of his muscles, the sounds of his mouth, the wonderful undulations of his body, he’s not quite sure how he’s going to remain proper for the rest of the week.
But they have the rest of the week, and isn’t that something?
He sits at Bobby’s hip and gently cleans him up, smiling as Bobby sighs and flops back to the mattress.
“God, you’re sweet. Hot and sweet. Never known that one before,” he mumbles into his pillow.
James laughs and lays the cloth over the hamper with his own, hopefully to dry by the fire before morning. He turns and watches Bobby crawl under the covers, the two of them staring at each other in the soft firelight.
“Come back to bed,” Bobby says, reaching out a hand.
He’ll have to wake early and slink back across the hallway to his own room, lest Bobby’s nosy staff find them entwined together like this. But he can’t ignore the pull of Bobby’s earnest expression, nor the want to be wrapped in his arms.
Bobby doesn’t disappoint, scooting to the middle of the bed so James can slip in beside him. Bobby gloms immediately on to James’ back, his strong, muscled arm sliding around James’ waist to pull him tight against Bobby’s stomach. His leg threadsthrough James’, providing a much-needed light stretch of his overused hips, and James turns into pudding.
“This is nice,” Bobby says, nuzzling the back of his head.
“Yeah,” James agrees. “It is.”
So nice he thinks he could stay right here forever, warm and comfortable and... something else he’s not ready to name. Something glowing and wonderful, but too much, too big, too soon.
The way Bobby’s broad hand rests, pressing on his stomach. The way his foot has wrapped around James’ ankle, his thigh between his legs, rubbing ever so slightly. The rise and fall of his chest against James’ back, easy and even and lazy.
He’s never felt this before, not with anyone, much less withBobby Mason, a man with whom he’s shared so much in such a small time. It scares him. But at the same time, there’s a fullness in his chest he can’t fight—a bright, burgeoning security. It pounds against his breastbone. He’s never felt this safe before.
And he’s certainly never been in bed with Bobby Mason falling asleep behind him, holding him tight and close.
He’s pretty sure he’s never going to be able to feel like this again, if it’s not with Bobby.
The thought should terrify him into leaving, but instead he closes his eyes and lets the warm rise and fall of Bobby behind him lull him into a deep, untroubled sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
Bobby
Bobby leans back on his hands, staring up at the beautifully blue sky. The picnic blanket is a little rough beneath his palms, and his body feels languorous and just the smallest bit sore. It’s a relatively perfect morning-after, and he rolls his neck, glancing sideways at James.
His legs are crossed and he’s dutifully knotting flowers together for Beth, who takes his strands to weave them into an elegant flower crown. Gwen and Meredith sit on either side of her, handing her leaves as requested, continuing to gossip a mile a minute.
James meets his eyes for a moment, a soft blush flaring up his throat before he looks back at his flowers. Bobby could stay here forever, replaying that little look in his mind. Otherwise, he’ll relive moments from last night, and that won’t do, as certain parts of his body would hardly behave.
Even the mere thought of what they got up to, again, when he woke for a drink of water in the middle of the night, has him shifting on the blanket, staring determinedly up at the single fluffy cloud lazing across the sky. He will not think about James naked, below him, inside—
He closes his eyes tight and then opens them, desperate to find something to do with his hands, and a better position tohide what... might become a problem. Blasted James is just sitting there, kissable and a little rumpled, with delicately knotted flowers in his talented hands.
God, how is Bobby going to survive seeing the man all buttoned up again? How will he ever face James on the street, or in their homes, or at the club, without just jumping him immediately, or having a very noticeable problem?
How are they even going to continue this once they’re no longer under the protection of his childhood home, with the buffer of laziness or alcohol or simply good humor to excuse any... friendliness? How are they ever going to hide this from the ton?
He doesn’t want to think about it, but finds that if he can’t dwell on memories of last night, there’s little stopping him from obsessing about the hows and whens and whats of their future, since it seems they suddenly have one.
