The Kingdoms

by Natasha Pulley

‘Why doesn’t that count?’ Fred said indignantly. ‘You’re not married to him.’ ‘Add bodily peril to the list, Fred,’ Joe said, beginning to suspect it wasn’t him Kite wanted to dodge.

‘I know a goose joke! What do French geese say?’ ‘Fred!’ Joe hissed. Fred was busy writing on Kite’s logbook. When he held it up, it said, HONQUE. Joe choked, because he hadn’t expected to laugh. ‘Right, good, mate, now fuck off before someone kills you and I’ll be out in a second.’

‘We can’t have a handsome man with a grudge in a room alone with a senior officer, it’s a nightmare.’ Joe was knocked sideways. He’d expected Kite to call bullshit, but not this.

Kite inclined his head without looking back and pressed his hands over his face. His breathing was irregular. Joe realised, feeling slow, that for the entire conversation Kite had been crying.

Jem made a soft sound against his hair to make him look up and then touched his lips to Kite’s temple, then his mouth, just ghosts of kisses, before he rested their heads together. Until right then, Kite had always thought of a kiss as a definitive thing, but he couldn’t tell what Jem meant by it. He didn’t dare ask in case it meant nothing at all.

‘No,’ Kite said again, and smiled so that he wouldn’t look miserable. He’d requested to be transferred to the Belleisle because he’d hoped that his psyche, always lazy and suggestible, wouldn’t be up to staying in love with someone it hadn’t seen for years. It had turned out to be a lot more determined than he’d thought.

Kite sat still at first and couldn’t speak, because his throat had closed, then went round to him and hugged him. Jem kissed him once, very soft, and paralysing until he did it again and Kite got back enough control over the nerves in his hands to pull him nearer. After a second, Jem locked the carriage door and lifted Kite into his lap so they could sit chest to chest, his hand over the tattoo as though he wanted to rub it out.

When Kite cried, Joe’s whole chest hurt. Joe pulled him close, and even that didn’t feel near enough. He kissed him once, very softly, for permission, then again when Kite leaned up to him, cradling the nape of his neck where the bones were fragile. His fingertips already knew the pattern of the burn scars.

‘Can I do something new on your other arm?’ Kite hesitated. Joe caught his hands. ‘I’m not leaving again. You’re not going to get rid of me now. And the twins have adopted you.’ ‘All right,’ Kite said, but not like he believed it. Joe decided it didn’t matter. There was all the time in the world to make him believe it.