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That was what he needed to think about: a warm cup of tea and whatever tin of soup James decided to heat up. He needed to think about going to sleep with James by his side and knowing that when he woke up, James would still be there. He could spend all of tomorrow in the pair of James’s pajamas that Leo had claimed as his own, watching James grumble over the cryptic crossword as they drank milky tea.
The more Leo thought about it, the less he liked it. Leo had read this detective story and he had seen the film and knew that when you made the heirs gather together, they immediately started putting exotic poisons into one another’s tea. They simply couldn’t help themselves.
James was a grown man and could handle his own mind’s idiosyncrasies, but if Leo could do anything to help, then he’d make it his business to do so.
“How very thrilling,” he said instead of dragging James out of the house and taking him someplace safe.
As soon as they were outside and at a comfortable distance from the house, Leo spoke. “Get out of there. Come with me. Say you long to see Susan. We’ll have you engaged to my imaginary sister before the night is out.”
“You’ll probably have to bunk with me. Cousin Martha is already short on room.” “You say that as if it’ll put me off,” Leo said, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”
1948.
Isnt it 47?
James wanted to admit that he had been stupid with worry, for the past hour and the past fortnight. He wanted to admit that he didn’t know these people anymore, if he ever had, and that he didn’t want to be with them.
“Oh Christ—no, don’t stop, that feels nice. Anyway, I’m viewing all these encounters as first aid. Because otherwise I couldn’t make myself fuck a man who really needs sleep. No, Leo, why did you take your mouth away, damn you?”
“Now go to sleep,” James said, kissing Leo’s temple. “You like to take care of me,” Leo said. “If you’re only figuring that out now, you must be a terrible spy.”
They had spent enough nights together, enough mornings together, that it was no longer practical to count them (it was thirty-two).
Leo doubted he had ever been cuddled in his life before he met James. He certainly hadn’t known that he wanted any such thing. When James touched him like this, he felt—Christ, he felt safe. And it didn’t make any sense. Leo’s career—hell, his life—depended on his ability to assess danger and seek safety, and he knew perfectly well that there was no possible peril that James could protect him from with a blanket and a strong forearm.
it seemed completely fantastical that a person like Leo came to James not only once, not only twice, but again and again. It was as if some rare bird had alighted on James’s finger—it would be mad to expect it to become a regular occurrence.
“Are you jealous?” asked Leo, with obvious interest. James took a moment to consider. “Just a little.” He paused and adjusted his own muffler, then turned to tighten Leo’s.
“I like you so much that I feel certain you shouldn’t allow it. Somebody, at least, ought to stop me.” “That,” James said, before brushing his lips across Leo’s, “is one of the stupidest things you’ve ever said.”
Before James disappeared up the stairs, he paused for a moment, looking at Leo. He often did this before taking his leave, in that fleeting space of time when a man might kiss a girlfriend or his wife.
Leo shut the door and began doing up the rest of James’s buttons.
Leo did up the top button of James’s shirt and slid his hands to James’s shoulders, unwilling to stop touching him.
All day he had been wearing a pair of trousers and a jumper that belonged to James, and James wondered if Leo knew that James always got a bit of a thrill seeing him in clothing he had borrowed—or outright stolen—from James.
Dinner was, as Leo had promised, a very tasty beef stew, but it was rendered infinitely more palatable by virtue of Leo’s presence on the other side of the table.
if it were possible, I’d have had you at the registrar’s office weeks ago.” James could almost hear Leo’s blush.
Leo stared at him. “Am I that obvious? How lowering.” “Every time you come across a photograph of me in one of Cora’s books, you ask her for it. If you were trying to be subtle, you should work on your impressions.” Leo took the photograph, gave it another glance, and carefully placed it in his jacket pocket. “I like tangible evidence that I didn’t conjure you up,” he said.
“The trouble is that I love you,” he said. “And it’s ruined me for gainful employment.”
“If you’ll excuse the tautology, if you weren’t who and what you are, then your head wouldn’t be on that pillow next to mine.”
What I do know is that I love you, every last dangerous and dishonest inch of you, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“If you want,” James said, so casually, as if he didn’t know Leo was standing a few inches away from him slowly losing his mind.
“Our sofa is too small for both of us to fit on comfortably.” It was true. If one of them tried to stretch out, somebody’s feet were always under the other’s thighs or on their lap. And if they both wanted to lie down, it was a shambles—they had to be on top of one another, Leo’s face tucked into the heat of James’s neck. “I like the sofa,” Leo said. “I like how it is.” “I do too. I just thought—” “If we get another, we should get one just the same size.” “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
