Honeythorn (Honeythorn, #1)

by Marina Vivancos

Milan frowned. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.” Raphael rested his hands, still holding his utensils, on the table. “I know that I have been remiss in showing you, but this is your home too. You cannot impose in your own home.”

“Do you want a family?” Raphael choked on what he had been chewing, needing a few gulps of water and some coughing to finally be able to speak. Milan looked on in amusement. “I—yes,” he managed eventually. “I always imagined a big family, not having had one growing up. But, of course, I would never force you, if you didn’t want to.”

Gently, he pushed it through the bond. It was difficult to describe how the bond felt. A little like how one knows someone dear is standing next to you without looking, but inside. A strange awareness of their person, echoes of their emotions like heat from skin. Milan used that awareness to tell Raphael something—that he would never hurt him. That he cared about him. That he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him.

“Oh,” Raphael gasped a small, small noise, but it hit Milan with force, how much wonder there was in it, as if Raphael had never felt anything like it. As if he had never felt loved like that. Raphael’s hand tightened around his. For a long moment, there was silence. “Thank you,” Raphael whispered. Milan squeezed his hand. They fell asleep close, facing each other.

He stepped closer and Milan instinctively flinched back. Raphael’s expression crumpled with hurt and confusion, but Milan was speechless. He just—he couldn’t seem to make his mind move. “What is it?” Raphael asked a little desperately, when it suddenly seemed to dawn on him, probably due to the fact that Milan could barely take his eyes off his hands.

Immediately, Raphael yanked his gloves off, opening the front door and throwing the gloves out harshly. The sight was so ridiculous that it snapped Milan out of whatever it had been that took over him. “Wait! Don’t do that. They’re perfectly good gloves. It’s cold, you can—” “No,” Raphael interrupted. He stepped towards Milan and then faltered, unsure. “Please. I don’t—I can’t see you with that expression again. Not aimed towards me.”

“All right. Let’s warm each other’s hands, then,” he said, lifting his arm towards Raphael even though it was shaking slightly. Raphael’s eyes widened, but after a moment of hesitation, he stepped forwards and took Milan’s hand, bare skin against bare skin. They had been doing it for so many weeks now, and yet this moment felt different, a spark of something warm igniting.

“I’m only jesting. However, how about a dance to make up for it?” Milan’s eyes widened. Surely, that was a bit bold. He felt Raphael stiffen beside him, although he said nothing of the invitation.

“I met Jason during the last ball,” Milan felt the need to explain. “He has a book on an author I’m interested in that he offered to lend me.” “That’s very generous of him,” he said, eyes not leaving Milan’s face. “Yes, well…” He didn’t know why Jason’s offer to dance had shaken him so much. He just…things were going so well between Raphael and him. Milan didn’t want anything to spoil it.

For three more songs, they danced together. They said nothing, just looking at each other, each moment more intimate than the last. Milan was almost trembling by the time they stopped, mouth dry.

sipping slowly. “I’m guessing you accept fewer invitations to balls than you receive,” Milan ventured. Raphael snorted. “Many.” “You do not like them?” Milan expected an immediate ‘no’, but Raphael paused instead. “I haven’t, for a while. But I can’t say I dislike dancing with my husband.”

“How unfortunate. He obviously needs some sense beaten into him.” Raphael turned back to look at Edwin, who was spluttering incoherently. “Listen to me very closely, Edwin. Milan is more than capable of defending himself. But, as his husband, I will tell you now that if I ever hear you speak to him this way again, or even look at him askance, I will ruin your every prospect and reputation so severely, you would never recover, even if you went to the other side of the continent. Do I make myself quite clear?”

“I had a lovely evening,” Milan said softly. “So did I.” To Milan’s shock, Raphael took his hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing lightly. A shudder went through him. How a simple touch could ignite such heat, Milan couldn’t comprehend, but he couldn’t deny it, either.

Raphael did not let his hand go as they walked to Milan’s room. Even when they prepared separately for bed there was a tension in the air that was filled with a strange pleasure.

When they finally blew out the candles, in bed with their hands touching, Milan had the sense that, not even if their bodies were pressed together—and just the thought of that made him blush—the moment could not have been more intim...

“Good night, Husband,” Milan said softly. He heard Raphael shift closer until he could fee...

“It was worth it. That was all I knew. Despite how it ended, their lives were richer for having experienced it.” “And that’s why you like poetry? For having seen love and loss?”

“Yes. I like…how soft the words can make it seem, or how ardent. Something growing, or flowing, or eating you away. When I was young and foolish, I liked the idea of my soul being taken over by this feeling. Of course, once it happened…”

He read about love as if it were nature. As if it were a force that you would never want to escape. As if it were the mud and the trees and the wind and the moonlight that is cast down upon your naked body. As if it were the air you breathe and the blood that rises inside you. As if it were something beautiful, and giving, and all-encompassing. A catharsis, like screaming and crying and finally acknowledging your suffering. Something intimate. Something burning. Something warm.

Milan wished desperately at that moment to have the chance to make Raphael read them with conviction once again.

When it was done, when the echoes of Raphael’s voice inside Milan were starting to settle, Raphael closed the book gently, avoiding Milan’s eyes. If only Milan had met him years ago, before Jack. If only…

Milan got out of his chair, moving slowly towards Raphael, who was looking at him now. When he reached him, he took hold of Raphael’s hand gently and lifted it up to his lips as Raphael had done a few days ago. Milan felt the tremor that went through Raphael. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” Milan whispered against ...

It was not long ago that the clasp of their hands meant nothing but necessity. Now, as they walked together in the open air, Milan felt it was so much more.

Milan did. “Well, that’s why I’m here, Husband. To make sure you’re taking care of yourself.” Raphael smiled down at him. “I guess that’s why I’ve been feeling so well lately.” Milan smiled back. “And so it should be.”

Raphael stood up at once, smiling wide, and rushed to Milan to wrap him up in his arms. Milan laughed, hugging him just as tightly. “I knew you would. She would be a fool not to take you on.”

They took a step away from each other, still holding hands, and Raphael looked at Milan fondly as he babbled about the interview, and Bethany, and all the wonderful things in the workshop. When he was finished, Raphael squeezed his hands, his smile turning mischievous.

The sight made such a rush of fondness go through Milan that he could never manage to persuade Raphael to be a little stricter with them. It made him remember Raphael’s gentle hands upon a plant and wonder if there was not something growing inside Milan too, something warm and alive.

Raphael laughed, taking his hand and pulling him forwards. “And disappoint the pups?” Milan huffed, his breath blooming in front of him. “You like them more than me,” he complained. Raphael squeezed his hand. “I do not.”

Raphael, circling him so that the dogs would follow, but the sharp turn made him slip suddenly. He would have landed face first if it weren’t for Raphael’s arms around him, pressing him against his body. Milan looked up, a breathless laugh dying in his throat. Raphael was looking at him as if Milan were the only warm thing in the world, arms tightening around him.

Milan’s lungs weren’t quite working. Rain was dripping across both their faces and Milan watched the drops curve around Raphael’s cheekbones, collecting in his eyelashes before dropping down. Milan craned his neck and pressed his lips against Raphael’s.

It must have been a moment later, although Milan felt that entire ages had passed, when the yipping of the pups drew them away. Milan and Raphael looked at each other for a moment after they parted, Milan trembling with the force of that stare. Raphael cupped Milan’s cheek, water still pouring off them.

They said nothing as they paused outside their rooms, each one intending to go to their own for a bath. Raphael’s face was glowing with a light Milan had never seen before. With shy smiles, they parted.

“I wanted to…I don’t want to apologise, but I want to make sure that I was proper under the rain,” Raphael said with a strong, formal tone of voice. Milan stifled a laugh. “It was I who kissed you. Should I be the one checking if you are offended?” “I’m not offended,” Raphael said quickly. “Quite…quite the contrary. I am glad.”

“I was wondering if you will allow me to court you,” he said, a flush rising to his cheeks. Milan gaped. “Court me? But we are married.” “Yes, but…I would like to know you, your mind, and to be sure that you are with me because you are willing, because…”

“I appreciate the thought, Husband, but is that not what we have been doing these past months? I feel that I have gotten to know you better and that I have revealed myself to you in turn. I feel…accepted by you. I hope you feel the same.” “Yes. I…I am comfortable with you like I am with no other.”

“Sorry,” Raphael whispered. Milan frowned, brushing the back of his fingers across Raphael’s cheek gently. “What for, Husband?” There was a long pause. Raphael’s hands, still holding him tightly, did not seem to want Milan to go, so he stayed, and waited patiently for what Raphael had to say.

“I…you must know how much I desire you,” Raphael began quietly, blush deepening. “But…I fear that I might not please you. Sometimes I react strangely to touch.”

letting his forehead lay gently against Milan’s. “Sometimes, I think you are not real,” he whispered. Milan framed Raphael’s face with his hands, holding him close. “I am quite real.” Raphael grabbed one of Milan’s hands, turning his head to press a kiss against his palm. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Husband. It takes no effort to be kind to you.” Milan vowed that, whatever happened, he would not let this man be taken advantage of again.

Sometimes, when they had not seen each other all day, Milan would pull Raphael into a kiss, and they would stand by the entrance of their home very close together, sharing warmth and smiles, and Milan felt he had everything he had wished this would be.

Milan thought back on the days when he had hated and feared Raphael and wondered at how far his feelings for his husband had come. Milan knew that Katarina was suspicious of the change, but perhaps it was because she had never experienced a bond. Milan knew Raphael, and he could not deny what his heart felt for him.

“Do I have a bit of chocolate there too?” Milan whispered. “Yes.” Raphael looked at him steadily before leaning down and kissing Milan softly where his fingers had just been. “And here,” he said, kissing him again. “And here.”

He could feel Raphael—all of him. The fire of his lust and affection. Milan trembled. It was unbearably beautiful to feel cared for like that. To know, beyond any doubt, that someone was feeling such warmth for you, and wanted you to feel it too.

“If we’re going too fast—if you want something else…” Raphael shook his head. “This is…I didn’t know it was supposed to feel like this.” Raphael looked at Milan with wonder in his face. “I can feel you inside me. I can feel…it has never felt like this.”

A light brightened and burst within Milan. He kissed Raphael softly, wanting to convey in that touch everything he knew the bond was already saying, but their mouths could not stay gentle for long.

He had seen it before, of course, but it had been different then. Raphael had been a stranger, and now he was…Raphael. His husband. His bonded. The man he loved.

Raphael whispered. Milan wanted to reach into his own chest and take hold of the bond, wanted to press it even deeper, if that was possible. To bathe and revel in it, to have it like this forever, it felt so good.

“Let me look at you. Just for a moment longer,” Raphael said softly, reverently.

Milan dozed as their heartbeats calmed. He could hear Raphael’s, or maybe feel it—the happiness inside him wasn’t just his. “Can we stay here forever?” Milan asked quietly. Raphael held him tightly. “Yes.”

Milan had a perfectly good time and was glad to be making more friends, but his thoughts would stray to Raphael often. Perhaps he was being ridiculous, but he felt smitten, giddy with having someone safe to return to at the end of the day.