Page 19 of As Many Stars
Cam glanced at the bedroom’s painted ceiling, at blue-and-white flowers and flourishes, and muttered, “Oh, to be twenty-eight again…” but got back to getting naked, grinning.
He was spectacular everywhere. Large and thick and well-made, a thoroughly powerful man. Blake, who’d seen it, wanted it again, even more so if that were possible. Ashley, who had not seen it, made a tiny wordless sound.
Blake said, “Really? Wait, have you never—”
“I’m not a virgin!” Ash’s cheeks were pink. “I mean, not exactly…well, twice…I was lonely and you were gone…mostly hands, though! Er…between my thighs, once, he wanted to—to finish like that…”
“When?Who?”
“It doesn’t matter, it wasn’t—”
“Who was it?”
“The senior lecturer in Etruscan art,” Ash admitted. “Only two nights. And I was tipsy, both times. We both were. A lot of wine at supper…a holiday supper, one of those nights, and there was so much brandy…He wasn’t you. Either of you.”
“Wait, though.” Cam, naked and strong and unselfconscious about it, came over to Ash. Touched his chin, made him look up, the way he’d done for Blake. Ashley and Cam were closer in height, Blake noticed; he himself was the shortest, though more densely muscled than Ash’s willowy prettiness.
Cam said, eyes searching Ash’s face, “You were tipsy, you said. Brandy. You went back to his rooms? And he wanted to touch you?”
“I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“Did he hurt you, at all?”
“No.” Ash put his hand over Cam’s, against his cheek. “No, nothing like that. It was quick, and clumsy, but he wanted it to feel nice for me too. I didn’t entirely know what I was doing, and I’ll admit I still don’t know much, really, but it felt good.”
Cam made a dissatisfied grumble. “Useless great fool, then. Him, not you. Not showing you how good you could feel. Taking advantage.”
“Unfair,” Ash objected, “I did know what I wanted.” He was breathing faster, obviously aroused now, from the lift of his chest, the line of his cock under clothing.
“Hmm. Well. We’ll be taking care of you much better, in a bit.” Cam moved the hand. “You’re not sleeping naked, though. Staying warm. Gowns.”
“Oh no,” Ash said. “Please. More unfair. I’d like to feel you everywhere.”
“If I get a vote,” Blake began, from the bed.
Both of them swung his way, and chorused, “You’re recovering!”
He gave up, at that.
They settled for Cam naked, brawny and reliable, arms around them both as they cuddled up against him; Ashley and Blake were not, after some complaining on Ash’s part, naked, but nightgowns could be pulled up and teased aside, and bareskin could be found by exploring fingers.
Blake wanted to touch. To explore. He couldn’t. Too much reverence. Incredulity in his hands, his palms. Trembling.
But Ash leaned over Cam to kiss him, another of those starlight kisses; Cam joined them, kissing both of them, and then easing them down into being held, cradled against himself. That reality, the sensation of it, banished the incredulity. This was true. This was happening, in the pretty daydream bedroom, in a world where they’d so improbably found each other again.
Cam held them both very tightly. Ash turned out to be a quiet sleeper, albeit one who tended to curl up and become a ball of stolen blankets and sheets. Blake stayed awake for an uncounted while, only marveling.
The first morning they woke up together was also a marvel. And the next. And the next.
Ash read them bits of translation work, on drowsy afternoons; some of those poems were indeed astonishingly filthy. Even Blake felt his eyebrows go up. Cam just laughed and said, “Was that a suggestion, then, about how best to fuck you? When you’re better, mind.”
Cam had some appointments—he was still consulting for the Duchess of Straithern—and so was out of the house for hours at a time, working. He always came home to them, though; he moved out of the hotel, and into the townhouse, and none of them commented, until Ash offered shyly, “I’m so glad you’re here; this house was so empty, and now it’s so full, with both of you,” and beamed at them both.
Blake himself did not go home, at first because Cam said he shouldn’t be moved and then because the subject somehow never came up.
He knew it should. He knew this dream could not last. But if they were letting him stay, he was just selfish enough to take as much as he could. To hold the golden moments close,while he was allowed.
He knew they cared about him. He wasn’t sure why they did, but he accepted that much as true. Ash and Cam fussed over him, and sat with him when they had time, and made him drink Cam’s terrible tinctures. They were tender with him, and Blake caught them both looking at him with a kind of awful gratitude, when they thought he was asleep. The way they might look at a rescuer, a protector, a savior.
