It turns out Harry can’t handle anything at all. Especially if it involves love.
He loses an indeterminate amount of time staring at the tear-blurred shapes of dead leaves as they flutter down from the ghostly, skeletal birch trees onto the grey surface of the pond. The worst part is knowing he has to continue. That he’ll be expected to be happy at Christmas, and glad for the spring. But this is his season, the dead end of autumn, when the life fades from all things. The season when he began to love, and when he said farewell to it a year later.
Although, if he’s honest with himself, he thinks he started to love Iain a lot earlier.
Harry shuts his eyes and feels more fat tears squeeze out. The moss is cool against his forehead and keeps at bay the sharp pain in his head. He wonders what it would be like to die here. To just give up, to surrender to eternal sleep. He doesn’t really want to die, he wouldn’t want to put Annie or any other of his people through the trouble of finding his body. But the idea of it is a comfort. Vanishing. Dissipating like the low mist on the water. Not having to put on a brave face any more.
He’s not really surprised when he looks up and sees a vision of Iain rising up out of the water like a forest god, tiny autumn-gold birch leaves on his shoulders like a mantle of state; in his hair like a crown. Iain is naked, and Harry’s traitor mind immediately looks down to his sex soft against his leg, at the drops of water caught in the dark hair there, glinting like jewels.
Maybe he is already dying, and this is what heaven is.
Then Iain touches him – cool, wet fingers tipping up his jaw, a thumb brushing along his cheekbone – and Harry shivers, somewhere between terror and longing.
It isn’t a hallucination.
Iain is here.
Unless I’ve gone completely mad, Harry thinks.
Iain gets down on one knee, all thick, taut muscle, firm from the cold water.
Iain’s face is inches from him as he kneels on the stone, his hands framing Harry’s cheeks. ‘Did someone hurt you?’ Iain growls, soft and low. ‘Tell me. Tell me and I will kill them.’
Harry makes an ungainly snorting sound and throws his hands over Iain’s arms. Feels the heat of his body as it burns through the chill of the water on his skin. Feels the hardness of the muscles that shift slightly under his palms as Iain’s thumbs brush his tears away so gently. ‘What are you doing here?’ Harry stutters out.
A soft smirk tugs at the edges of Iain’s mouth. ‘Stopped to wash on my way to see you. You don’t think I ever ceased loving you, did I? Although I was sure you no longer wanted me. That is, until Arundel had a word with me. Took me quite to task, if we’re being honest, and—’
Harry surges forwards, a whimper escaping his lips just before he presses them against Iain’s. He feels the hollow wasteland inside him explode into riotous spring as Iain makes a startled noise in return, and slides a hand around the back of his neck.
Iain’s lips are so soft. And he’s so good at this, so confident, tilting his head so they fit together perfectly, nipping at Harry’s lips. Kissing him, feeling his tongue slip between them, makes Harry blaze into joy. He wants nothing more than to taste Iain forever, chase these jolts of ecstasy that come from such a simple act – lips moving against each other – for the rest of his life.
Iain moans into his mouth, ‘God’s breath, Harry, I’ve missed you so much. I hate court. I hate it. There’s always someone watching me. I can never relax. I’m still many months away from finishing what I have to do, but all I want is you.’ His kiss turns into one of those Iain kisses that’s mostly a smile pressed against Harry’s lips, and he murmurs, ‘So I ditched my guards and sneaked away.’
Harry’s eyes rake down Iain’s body, hard and strong with muscle, and adorned with scattered leaves as if Nature herself would jewel him. He feels like he is drowning in desire.
‘I missed you so much I wanted to die,’ Harry says, as he puts his hands along the broad planes of Iain’s back and hauls him in close for another kiss, and this is what kissing should be, this is how it is meant to feel, and every kiss Harry has had was just practice for this, the real thing. ‘I am so sorry. I was going to explain. I didn’t think I had any option, and Alys—’
‘I like her,’ Iain says. ‘Arundel tricked both of us into coming to dinner on the same day.’ He snorts a laugh into Harry’s neck. ‘Served finger food. Hid all the sharp objects. We spent an afternoon sniping viciously at each other across the Earl’s table.’ Iain sighs. ‘And then she made me laugh. I see what you love in her.’
‘No,’ Harry says. ‘I love only you. I adore her.’
Iain hums, and tilts his head. ‘I can’t promise I won’t have tantrums,’ he says.
‘I hear they’re a royal prerogative,’ Harry replies. He tries to sound witty but it comes out weak, watery.
Iain takes Harry’s face in his hands again and looks at him, really looks at him. ‘God’s blood, Harry.’
Harry flinches, ahead of what Iain will say next. But Iain remains silent. He pulls Harry into his arms, wraps his legs around him, until Harry is surrounded by
