Arden was happy to indulge himself.
He was doing it right now. He looked his fill as they strolled through the meadow, the long grass brushing up over their knees—Arden’s knees, at any rate—and filled with wildflowers.
Arden had known that the river was there from the line of willows and osiers, but when they came upon it, he caught his breath at the broad, lazy ribbon of glinting silver with high banks and small, pebbly bays.
“Like it?” Beckett asked.
Arden had stopped at the sight of it; now, he tried to rush off. He didn’t get very far. Beckett held his hand firmly. “Yes,” he said. “I love it!”
“Decent fishing,” Beckett said. “Caught a couple of trout in there myself once or twice.”
Arden turned to walk backwards, pulling at Beckett. He liked that he couldn’t move him. He liked the sensation of straining to try anyway.
“Though,” Beckett continued, “not as like you’re probably imagining.”
“How am I imagining?” Arden gave a grunt and pulled harder. Beckett smiled. Arden grabbed his wrist with his free hand and used both to tug. He gotnowhere.
How delightful.
“Think it’s a fair guess to say you’re imagining me standing there, holding my rod, waiting for a bite,” Beckett said.
Arden bit his lip. He hadn’t been imagining Beckett and his rod, actually.
He was now.
“Hah,” Beckett said, a chuff of amusement that sent a thrill through Arden. “Saucy little thing, aren’t you?”
“I am not!”
“No? You’re not thinking about my cock, then?”
Arden stumbled.
“No. Of course you’re not. Anyway, not being a fine lord with time on his hands for that sort of fishing, I do it the old-fashioned way.”
“What’s…? How else can you catch a fish? Oh. A net?”
“Could use a net, I s’pose. I tickle them.”
Arden stopped dead. Beckett bumped into him and kept walking, slinging an arm around Arden’s waist and keeping him upright as he propelled him backwards. “Tickle them?” Arden said with disbelief. “The fish?”
“Yeah.” Beckett skimmed his hands up Arden’s sides to feather over his ribs. “Like this.”
Arden shrieked and writhed.
Beckett’s eyes flew comically wide, then narrowed with delight. “That’s quite a reaction, ain’t it?”
“Beckett!Beckett!”
He did it again, digging his fingers in this time.
Arden surprised them both by twisting free. They stared at each other for a second before Arden yelped and set off running.
Beckett had him in two strides, and hefted him clean off his feet.
“Don’t tickle me!” Arden yelled happily. “I hate it!”
Beckett set him down and turned him around by the hips. “I think you like it,” he said, and set his hands flat to Arden’s ribs. He tensed his fingers teasingly.
