“What?”
“Ask me the same as your Dominic did.”
Ed watched the quick wetting of Pasha’s lower lip, and the thrum of the pulse at the base of his throat, cataloguing the honesty of his reactions before he quietly said, “What do you want, Pash?”
“You.”
The next part was easy like the grin that curved Ed’s lips. “You can take whatever you want.” Pasha could, he decided, while they were here with no cameras around them. He could take as much as he liked, and Ed wouldn’t stop him.
Pasha leaned in and then abruptly pulled back. “I can’t do it if you’re looking.”
Ed closed his eyes and held in a huff of laughter that he judged would be ill timed.
Pasha’s quick gust of breath against his lips was his only warning. His first attempt was off center, pressing at the far corner of Ed’s mouth rather than at the middle. “And I can’t do it if you’re smiling,” Pasha grumbled. “I bet Dominic fucking Dymond didn’t grin like some kind of clown.”
His second press was spot-on and soft, lingering when maybe Ed had expected him to stop fast. But Pasha only pulled back a little and said, “That’s better,” before coming back for more. That third kiss was a slow exploration Pasha started with the tip of his tongue. He clung when Ed parted his lips, encouraging him to deepen what he’d started. Ed felt the slide of Pasha’s fingers from where they’d rested at his hips. Like Ivy climbing the ancient wall behind them, Pasha traced an upward path, curling his hands around Ed’s shoulders before pushing his fingers into his hair. For someone who had initially hesitated, his grip on Ed was firm and steady. He exerted pressure, positioning Ed right where he wanted, like he’d described doing for the cameras, only here they were all alone.
Alone, with no reason for doing this than honest desire.
Ed tilted his head when Pasha kissed him like he had no doubts at all, allowing Ed to pull him much closer until their bodies aligned. When they finally pulled away to catch their breath, Pasha laughed—loud, genuine, and happy—startling a nearby blackbird into sudden flight.
Pasha looked at Ed like he was seeing him for the first time, and his “Hi,” was breathless.
Ed said nothing in return. Instead, he leaned in one more time and took up where Pasha had left off.
High above their heads, blackbird song soared unnoticed.
12
PASHA
Much later that evening, Pasha copied Ed by ducking to avoid an exposed roof beam at the top of a narrow staircase. He repeated the motion one more time before following him along the upstairs hallway. Most of the beams looked ancient—cracked by age and scored with numerals and carved letters that made no sense to him. Maybe the initials belonged to the carpenters who’d fitted these huge lengths of wood together. They’d done incredible work while converting this old stable block into a home, fashioning a structure that held up the roof with no visible bolts or nails.
Pasha reached up and traced letters gouged into a new beam that confirmed his suspicion. Its wood was pale in comparison, and the initialsEJBandDDwere carved neatly next to a perfect dovetail where two stretches of wood met. The timber was as warm under the palm of his hand as the smile Ed’s mum had waiting for him. She stood in the doorway of a room with a bundle of fabric tucked under one arm.
“It’s a little cramped up here, Pasha,” she said, sounding anxious for the first time that day. Then she struck the same unconscious pose he’d seen so many times already from Ed, herfrown flickering for only a couple of seconds before she squared her shoulders. Pasha had guessed the Army had taught Ed that stoicism. Seeing her stand at attention in the same way proved his backbone started at home. “I’d be lying if I said there’s a lot of space for you both.”
“Whatever you’ve got is bound to be an improvement on a train seat. Or I can crash on the sofa. I’ll do whatever’s easier for you.”
Behind him Ed pinched his arse in warning, and when his mum went into the bedroom, Ed whispered directly into his ear. “You’re not sleeping downstairs.” His breath induced shivers, and he slid a hand around Pasha’s belly, pulling him back half a step. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.” His grip tightened, only loosening when his mum popped her head out of the doorway.
“I said, ‘come and see for yourself.’” She stepped aside to allow Pasha entry.
Cardboard packing boxes lined the walls of Ed’s bedroom, wedged in to fit the slope of the ceiling. They filled the space between two single beds as well, one neatly made while the other was covered with more belongings.
“This whole floor used to be a storage area before we converted the stable block to live in,” Ed’s mum said. “Plenty of space up here for hay back then.” There were those rigid shoulders again. “But Ed’s stuff has taken over.”
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Pasha inclined his head toward the wall of boxes labeled with Ed’s name. “It’s very….” He theatrically sucked in a huge breath before edging between the boxes and the window. “It’s very angular. Where’s the camera? You’ll have the eight- to thirteen-year-old boys’ votes sewn up if they see your room’s like a scene from Minecraft.”
“Shut up.” Ed’s bitching didn’t have any heat behind it. “I couldn’t—” A pained expression crossed his normally even features before he recovered. “I didn’t get around to unpacking when I got back. Besides, I’ll want to leave pride of place for the winner’s trophy.”
If it weren’t for the waist-high cardboard wall between them and for Ed’s mum who still hovered at the doorway, Pasha would argue the point about exactly who’d be taking that heavy crystal prize home. He looked out the window rather than rise to the bait. The trees flanking the big house opposite left it half in shadow, but a couple of windows spilled light. “What about over there? Why are the two of you crammed in here when you’ve got that huge place to spread out in?”
“I rent it to tourists.” Ed’s mum inched around the containers to join him. “First I rented out the stable block. That’s why we converted it in the first place. Then I started renting out the house when Ed joined up. Seemed silly, me rattling about in there on my own. This place is fine when it’s just me. Now the big house is full all summer, and a few companies book it in the low season. They pay the best. I’d like it if we could attract lots more of them.”
“Companies rent it? What for?”
Ed answered for his mum. “Team building. Only it seems like some of the organizers don’t have the first clue what they’re doing. I had to go and rescue one group off the moor the week before the auditions. They got themselves lost, then they started fighting instead of using their compasses to find their way. Not exactly the bonding experience their bosses were after.”