“I suppose so,” George sighed. He shifted his body on the pallet, making room for Theo. "This is actually surprisingly comfortable.”
Theo strode over to the window to extinguish the lantern the landlord had left there. He felt a strange wave of relief when the flame winked out and soft darkness shrouded the attic. Now he couldn't see how alluring George looked, lying there in nothing but his drawers—and George couldn't see Theo’s reaction to him.
He carefully picked his way back to the pallet. The weather had cleared a little since their arrival, and now weak moonlight shimmered through the small window. It wasn’t enough to see anything beyond vague shapes in the darkness of the attic, but he could navigate the main obstacles in his way. When he reached the bottom of the pallet, he fumbled around on the floor for the pile of blankets the innkeeper had left for them. Tossing one at George, he said, "Here. I know you said you’re warm, but you’ll soon get cold when you’re lying still.” Grabbing another for himself, he lay down, settling onto his back and shaking out the blanket to cover his body.
At last, they were lying quietly side by side, silent but for their soft breaths which sounded oddly loud in the darkness.
"Are you tired?” George whispered after a minute of that heavy silence. "I ought to be, but I find I’m not.”
“You’re right—you ought to be tired,” Theo said repressively. “It’s been a long day. Go to sleep.”
There was a pause—then George chuckled and turned on his side to face Theo. “You’re being very stern. You're reminding me of my old house master at St. Dominic’s, Mr. Simpkins. Do you remember him?”
“Simpkins?” Theo said, outraged, turning onto his own side. He did remember. Simpkins had been a rather decrepit and tetchy Latin master.
“Only in terms of your sternness,” George added, laughter in his voice. Theo could just about make out the outline of him, and the gleam of his eyes in the darkness. “You don’t look like him,” George added.
“I should bloody well hope not!”
George laughed. “Are you really so vain about your looks?”
“I’m not being vain!” Theo protested. “But Simpkins was eighty if he was a day. Worse, he was pigeon-chested and had brown teeth.”
George chuckled. “I know—and his breath! But don’t worry, Theo, your breath is much nicer. At least, it was when we…” He trailed off, and the silence hung heavily between them.
Theo tried to think of something to say, something that would break this odd tension, but before he could find words, George spoke again.
“You said we could do it again,” he said softly. “If I wanted to.”
Theo’s heart began to race. “And do you?”
By way of answer, George edged closer and set his hand on Theo’s bare chest.
Theo croaked, “I thought you didn’t want this.”
“It’s not a lack of wanting,” George whispered. “I’m afraid of becoming attached. You wouldn’t want that and?—”
“George—”
George spoke over him, determinedly. “—and I don’t either. But the trouble is, every night this week, when I’ve found myself alone in my bedchamber, my mind has gone straight to what we did at Redford’s. I get so worked up, I have to stroke myself till I spend.”
Theo swallowed against a moan.
“The difference tonight,” George continued, “is that I’m not alone.”
“And what about after tonight?” Theo asked quietly.
“Tomorrow, we go back to normal,” George replied softly.
“Just as though nothing happened? Is that what you want?”
“Yes.” George whispered. They were so close now that Theo could feel the warmth of George’s breath against his lips. He inched closer still and ducked his head, skating his lips along the sharp line of George’s jaw, towards his ear.
“All right,” he breathed shakily. “We’ll leave our secrets in this room.”
“Yes,” George whispered again, moaning when Theo grazed the curve of his ear with his lips.
“Is there something particular you'd like?” Theo murmured, smiling helplessly when George tilted his head to the side, making more room for him.
