Page 22 of Over the Emerald Valley
“No one, not with such skill as you possess. A temple priest once, but only as needed to heal an injury.”
“My, how you’ve been deprived. I shall endeavor to make up for it.”
“That’s kind of you, but your hands must be getting tired.”
They were, though Temaj wanted to keep touching him regardless. “That doesn’t matter.”
Solon’s eyes blinked open. “Of course it matters.” He lifted his hand from his stomach and stilled Temaj’s fingers. “Rest now. You’ve helped me tremendously. I feel much better.”
Well, touching Solon was nice while it lasted. “You should have some water before you sleep. It flushes the muscles, helps them stay loose.” Temaj rose from the bed to fetch a cup.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Even Solon’s voice was more relaxed, sleepy and soft.
“Oh, I picked up a bit here and there. It’s not hard. You just think of what would feel good to you, then do that to someone else. With some practice, I learned to ease the knots.” He handed the cup to Solon, who drank without complaint.
Temaj watched his throat work as he swallowed. Even his throat was lovely. “How’s your headache?”
“Gone. You have magic in your fingers.”
Temaj couldn’t help himself. He smirked, cocked a hip out, and batted his eyelashes. “That’s not the only place I have magic.”
Solon took the teasing in stride. “I’m sure of it, plucky. Come to bed. I owe you a story.”
A thrill of excitement raced up Temaj’s spine. There was so much he’d love to know, so many places he’d like to see through Solon’s eyes. But the man was exhausted and obviously needed to rest.
Temaj climbed back into his spot. “How would you like it if I told you one instead? A bedtime story for sleepy generals, and you can save yours for tomorrow night?”
“Is this your way of securing another night in my rooms?”
A low laugh trickled from Temaj’s throat. “No, I don’t think so. My place is secure enough, isn’t it?”
“Such confidence, but you’re right. You may stay with me if you like. I just don’t understand why you’d want to.”
“You really can’t fathom your own appeal?”
Solon treated him to a shy smile. “Stop.”
Temaj frowned. “And so uncomfortable with anything resembling a compliment. What happened to you that made you think of yourself as anything less than intensely desirable?”
Silence yawned between them, a chasm born of two different worlds, and in that space, Temaj had second thoughts about his question and whatever terrible memory it might have stirred in Solon.
“Never mind. Whoever he was, he wasn’t worthy of your spit. I offered a story, and I aim to deliver. May I?” Temaj shifted closer, using his body to suggest how he’d like to cuddle without overstepping.
“I suppose you may. You’ll end up there as you’re sleeping anyway, if last night was any indication.”
“That’s no kind of invitation. If you don’t want to snuggle, just say so, and I’ll try not to molest you in your sleep.”
“I…” Solon rolled to face him. “Forgive me. I’m unaccustomed to sharing a bed.”
“And also polite conversation, apparently.”
“And also that.” Solon lifted his arm, leaving space for Temaj to nestle closer. “Please make yourself comfortable. I slept well with you by my side last night. Let’s hope for a repeat.”
“Now that”—Temaj sidled in, tucking his body against Solon’s and laying his head on the man’s chest—“is a much nicer invitation. I knew you had it in you.”
Solon settled on his back and wrapped an arm around Temaj’s waist.
Skin to skin like this, under the comforting weight of the bedsheets and curled together, Temaj could almost be content not to be getting laid.
