Feeling like a bit of a freak and a loser, he squared his shoulders and marched across the flat to unlock and open the door.
Art burst into the warmest, kindest smile Graeme had ever seen as soon as they were face to face and their eyes met. “Hi,” he said, radiating wonderfulness.
Graeme burst into tears.
“Hey, hey,” Art said, immediately concerned. He stepped into the flat and closed the door behind him as Graeme retreated a few steps, covering his face with both hands as his tears spilled uncontrollably. “None of that, now,” Art said, following andthrowing his arms around Graeme to pull him into a comforting embrace. “No tears. At least, not for me. I’m not a fan.”
“I’m sorry,” Graeme sobbed, hiding his face against Art’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to walk in on you. I didn’t mean to run away and stay away. I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Of course you don’t,” Art said, stroking Graeme’s side, then running his fingers through Graeme’s hair. “Your life hasn’t prepared you for this. Not at all.”
It was such a relief that Art understood immediately and didn’t seem to mind or judge at all that Graeme cried harder. He was a man and shouldn’t have been crying to begin with, but it was even worse to cry because someone was being kind to him.
“That looks like a lovely couch,” Art said, muscling Graeme slightly to move him toward it. “Why don’t you and I have a seat and a cuddle and talk all about the big, scary sex thing.”
Graeme laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Art was wonderful and beautiful and compassionate on top of being the sexiest man alive. He moved obediently to the couch and sat with him, fighting like mad to stop his tears when Art took one of his hands in both of his.
“Do you have any tissue?” Art asked.
He had some somewhere in the flat, probably on his bedside table, but he didn’t care about it at the moment. He sniffled and wiped his face on his arm, which wasn’t particularly effective, since he was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt.
It turned out there was a box of tissue on the side table. Art twisted to pull one from the box, then did the honors of wiping Graeme’s face himself…which kept Graeme’s tears flowing instead of stopping them.
“I can’t stop crying when you’re being so kind to me,” he said wetly.
“Yes, it sucks how kindness when we’re feeling down just makes us cry more,” Art said, wiping the last of Graeme’s tears, then holding the tissue over his nose. “Blow.”
That was the perfect injection of ridiculousness. Graeme laughed and took the tissue from Art, blowing his nose himself instead of letting his friend do it for him. He didn’t really feel better for his burst of emotion. For a long moment, he couldn’t so much as look at Art. But he squeezed Art’s hand like his life depended on it.
It must have been five minutes before either of them spoke.
“If I had known you were eating yourself up so badly over this I would have come sooner,” Art said, perfectly serious for a change.
Graeme dragged his eyes up from the spot on the floor he’d been staring at and looked right into Art’s eyes. Feeling so vulnerable was not the sweet and intimate emotion he’d always thought it would be. It kind of made him miserable.
“I think I love you,” he forced himself to say, even though it made him feel like a pit had opened up under him.
Art smiled sympathetically. He raised one hand to brush his fingers through Graeme’s hair and trailed his fingers down Graeme’s hot and still damp cheek. “I love you, too,” he said.
Graeme’s heart started to swell and flop and do all sorts of mad things. “I think I love Ryan, too,” he whispered the verboten truth.
Art’s smile grew warmer. “So do I.”
Graeme swallowed and shook his head. “How does that even work?”
“Well,” Art said slowly, like he was lecturing one of his students after class because of their poor performance, “It’s human nature to want to form close bonds with other humans. We’ve been doing it since before recorded history. Some argue that our instinct to bind ourselves together in emotionalconnections is for procreative reasons and the survival of the species. Others say it’s how we have protected ourselves and enabled our tribes to hunt larger game or cultivate more produce.”
“We’re not going to procreate,” Graeme said, trying to breathe and be steadier. “And we’re living in twenty-first-century London, not the wilderness.”
“True,” Art said with a nod, “but humans are packed full of old instincts that may or may not apply to the modern world. I personally think that it’s human nature to seek connection. And pleasure, but we’ll get there when we get there.”
Graeme’s face heated. He was already there, but he appreciated Art’s slow approach.
“There have been numerous cultures throughout history that have practiced polygamy and polyamory,” he said, making Graeme’s insides squirm. “Isn’t your own Bible filled with stories of men with multiple wives and concubines?”
“It is,” Graeme said. “But those are men with multiple wives.”
“And what was Jesus up to with all his disciples, including the one he loved?” Art asked.
