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He said, “I have no idea what that would accomplish in terms of the two of them teaming up to conquer the world. They will, someday. Forces of nature. And I ought to know, talking to the land and all. Or I used to. No, it’s all right, I simply…” He waved a hand, vaguely; tucked himself back into being held. It felt good. “I needed to not have to see my family, for a while.”
“So only a normal headache, then.”
“I think so.”
Oliver ran a hand over his hair, flicked a star-pin out of the way, got back to petting. “Do you want to come down for dinner?”
“No, but I should.” He sighed. “I should do a lot, I suspect. Apologize to Rae for worrying her—if I even did—and finish those notes on aqueducts and the rivers and how they’ll feel about it, and in the morning find out why the printers are asking whether they can bring on some of my other cousins as apprentices, something about magical ink and printed moving pictures…”
“You’d like moving pictures.”
“I probably will. I’ll get up in a minute.” He was so tired.
“No, don’t.” Oliver tipped their heads together. “I’ll ring for Lyle or whoever’s around, and they can tell everyone else that you’re tired. Everyone understands.”
“They shouldn’t have to. It’s been half a year.” He heard the edge to his own words, the unhappiness. “I should be used to…”
“Being injured.” Oliver’s voice was steady in the way of someone carefully controlling emotions. “You are, though. I’m sorry, and I hate it, and I hate knowing you’re hurting because of me, and I wish I could make that go away. Or never have happened. But you can’t just get up and smile when you’re in pain. It’ll make it all worse. And you just said you’d be honest with me. And also that new book of erotic folk tales arrived from the printers this morning. I put it on our bed. You know, if you want to get into bed.”
“You know,” Tir said into his collarbone, muffled, “sometimes I wish we hadn’t been friends for years, first, and you didn’t know me too well, so that you know the right thing to say…”
Oliver laughed.
“All right.” He held up both arms, let Ollie pull him up from the window and over to bed. “I’ll lie down. I should do some work, though. At least send that message over to the printers. And ask…oh, my cousin Beryl, he likes being useful and he’s good at negotiations…to go and talk to some rivers.”
“You can,” Oliver said, “if he comes up here, and if you let him deliver the message for you, and also you let me make you some of that headache tea, and we both eat something.”
“Fair. Could you…” Sitting on the bed, he caught Oliver’s hand. “First, if you’re going to stay up here with me, you also get some work done. I don’t want to distract you, and I know the earth and stone and mining question is important.”
Oliver sighed, but nodded.
“Second…” He took a breath, let it out. “Could you help undo my hair? I like it, it’s pretty, it’s just…it’s so formal. And the jewels keep catching light, and it’s sharp. And…I like you playing with my hair.”
Oliver’s expression, then, made him glad he’d asked. Brighter than the sun, clear as dawn. “Yes. Tir. Of course I can. I love that, too.”
* * * *
In the morning, Oliver woke him with tiny kisses, whisper-soft, undemanding. A nuzzle, a breath. Oliver wanted him—Tir could feel the arousal, the shape of his husband’s desire pressed against his hip—but did not ask.
That was just being far too protective; so Tir rolled them both over, landed on top, and rocked their hips together. Pointedly.
“Oh,” Ollie said. “Oh, Tir—you—”
“I want you,” Tir told him, “and I want to taste you, and I want to feel you, all of you, and I’m very good at sex,” which made Oliver start laughing around the answer of “Yes, you are, yes—!”
Tir slid down and applied himself diligently to the task of getting Ollie right there, at the brink, full and trembling and ready; all of Oliver’s words turned into tiny moans and gasps of yes, and more, and Tir’s name. Tir kissed his tip one last time, and slid back up and got them both in hand, himself atop Oliver, moving together, harder and faster until the fierce quick radiance swept across them both, wild and shuddering.
He kissed Oliver’s open mouth, with some satisfaction.
“Oh sweet stars,” Oliver said, “I love you.”
“I know you do,” Tir agreed. “I love you too.”
The morning was beautiful, cool and rainy and drenched in mist like small diamonds, strewn across green leaves and grey castle stone and bobbing indigo roses. Tir met with the printers, and sent Beryl out to speak to rivers, and only felt a small twinge of heartbreak at his own inadequacy.
He didn’t regret his choices. How could he, when his life overflowed with joy?
He was tired, and he was willing to admit to it. They went to bed early, and Oliver held him, and Tir let himself be held.
