“No,” cried Thomas, in quite specific frustration, “I was trying to tell you sounds like ‘heart.’”
“And the cravat thing?”
“‘Choke,’ of course. ‘Choke.’”
Micha digested this. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Not as ridiculous as ‘ear cravat.’”
“Well, you’re an idiot.”
“No, you’re an idiot.”
They glared. Then laughed. And Micha shoved Thomas up against the wall and kissed him. “Artichoke my arse,” he muttered, when his mouth was not otherwise occupied.
Thomas made a soft, tender sound and rubbed his cheek against Micha’s.
“And,” added Micha, “you just called me a cabbage.”
“I should not have said that.”
Their breath mingled in the scant space between their mouths, like a sigh of mutual longing.
“I’ll forgive you.” It was impossible for even Micha to sound harsh at such a moment. He dipped his head, and they kissed again, as gentle as summer rain, as though they lived in a world without time.
“Oh.” Micha drew back, just enough for words to slip through. “I forgot. I have something for you.”
“Hmm?” Thomas blinked love-dazedly at him.
“For Christmas. A gift.”
That, at least, seemed to break the sensual haze. “Micha, really, there was no need.”
“I wanted to. Here.” Micha stepped away and picked up his sketchbook. He slid a page free from the very back and handed it to Thomas.
Thomas, who had peeled himself away from the wall, looked at the drawing, froze, and turned a deep shade of scarlet. He swallowed and, if possible, went even redder. “You ... you seem to have given me a naked picture. Of myself. For Christmas. I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, ‘thank you’ has quite a tradition behind it.”
“Yes but—oh but—it’s lovely, skilfully done, but ... I surely do not look like that?”
“You did and you do.” Micha slid his arms around Thomas’s waist from behind, resting his chin lightly on his shoulder, and Thomas leaned instinctively into the embrace. They looked together at Micha’s handiwork: Thomas, half-naked, sprawled on a bed of gold-red leaves, head thrown back, eyes closed, utterly lost to a profound and private ecstasy.
Thomas gave a shy, uncertain laugh. “You have been most generous with my ... proportions.”
“I enjoyed drawing them. Your beautiful cock.” Micha’s own stirred in memory and reaction, and Thomas’s body pushed back against him. “That,” he went on, desire deepening in his voice, “was when I first knew for certain I was in love with you.”
Thomas stroked his fingers over the lines, as though he was imagining Micha’s hands drawing them, and Micha’s hands touching him. “Because of my ... beautiful cock?”
“Hah. No. Because of everything you are.”
“Thank you.” Thomas’s head fell back against Micha’s shoulder, and Micha slid a caressing hand about his exposed throat. Thomas moaned, sweetly helpless, and his pulse jumped beneath Micha’s palm. Micha leaned down and claimed his lover’s mouth, and they kissed, body straining to body, the vulnerable curve of Thomas’s neck pressed without hesitation against Micha’s palm so that he felt every quivering breath before he tasted it.
With his spare hand he caught the drawing before Thomas’s fingers entirely forgot their purpose and released it. Thomas murmured a largely incoherent apology which Micha kissed away as he tossed the page onto a nearby table. He fumbled with the fastenings on Thomas’s waistcoat and then the shirt underneath, dragging aside silk and cotton until he met skin. Thomas’s chest heaved beneath his hand and Micha slid downwards, over slender crests of bone and muscle, planes of velvet. Lower still, beneath the fine worsted of Thomas’s trousers, to the solid heat of his cock through his drawers. Thomas made a rough, exquisite sound, his hips thrusting gracelessly, his mouth slackening against Micha’s.
Micha broke the kiss and turned his head. He wanted to see Thomas’s face, the unabashed yearning, the pleasure burning in his half-closed eyes. The man looked as he had in the woods, as he did in the picture, lost and fearless, stripped to the truth of himself. Micha had wanted him then, and he wanted him now, but this time tenderness was woven through the instinct to possess like a glimmer of gold. He tormented Thomas with the lightest of caresses until Thomas was moaning softly, twisting against him, his hands clawing at Micha’s hips.
“Oh Micha, please.”
