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The children were allowed to stay up later than usual, because who was going to report them to DICOMY now? Linus? Linus, with Lucy asleep on his lap, little hands curled trustingly against his collar, with Sal leaning against his side with his own lap full of Theodore, with Talia holding his hand and glowering at him as if daring him to ever take it away from her again? The very idea was ridiculous.
Only a cruel man would send the children away from Linus just now, when they finally had him back. Only a cruel man would even want to. Only a cruel man would want to banish them all, just for a moment, and say: You kissed me back. It was a chaste kiss, but you must have known it came from all my longing and fire. You danced with me. Am I wrong to want more?
Arthur closed his eyes, and remembered Linus's lips moving with clumsy, inexperienced affection over his chin and nose and cheeks, and the joy curled like fire in his soul. Linus was back.
Eventually Linus said, officiously, that it was far past any of their bedtimes, even Sal's, and routine was good for children’s health. The bedtime ritual took longer than usual, and Arthur kept to himself and didn't try to overhear what the children asked Linus when he went in to them, or what he said, or if any of them were kissed goodnight. Instead, Arthur went to the kitchen and washed the dishes, his heart and soul upstairs with the man saying goodnight. Burning.
"Hi, Arthur. I made up the guest house bed."
Arthur didn't have to turn to know Zoe was leaning against the door. He looked at the dried soap on his forearms. The remains of little bubbles that had popped on his skin left shining trails, like infinitesimally small snails had crawled in tiny circles on his forearms. Perhaps he should have worn washing up gloves. His skin was red; he must have run the water scalding hot, and not even noticed. He reached for a towel. "That was kind of you."
"Please tell me it was a wasted effort," said Zoe.
She'd made up the guest bed the first time Helen had stayed on the island for the night, and never again. Arthur suspected the bed had never been used. He'd said nothing about the tightly wound spring of jealousy at the thought, because he wasn't sure that acknowledging it wouldn't release it, and then he didn't know what would happen. It was Linus's bed, he had thought first, irrationally, when Zoe asked if Helen could stay, as if letting anyone else sleep there meant Linus would never return. He couldn't bear the thought of looking out his window and seeing a light there and knowing it wasn't Linus. When there were no lights, he'd almost felt worse, with jealousy unbecoming of a friend, when Helen and Zoe alike had done so much for them. They deserved happiness.
He’d spent too much time thinking about that bed, and Linus in it, and that was his own problem.
"Zoe, he let me kiss him once, in forgiveness." Arthur could see his reflection in the window above the sink. In the kitchen light, his broken nose stuck out prominently, like a misaligned beak. "And don't pretend to be surprised, because I knew you were watching. Besides, there's Lucy to think of." He picked up a dish towel and wiped his arms. "I have no expectations of Linus. He's back and he's staying, and that's all we could ever want."
"We." She snorted. "The children and me, yes, we wanted him back. What do you want, Arthur?"
"I have what I want. I asked him to stay, and he said yes. For all of us. I don't think I've ever seen the children so happy."
"Men! You're useless, the lot of you. I hate you all." He couldn't tell if she was laughing or angry. When she had come back from the ferry, she'd asked him point-blank if he'd told Linus he wanted him to stay. When he said he'd asked him to stay for the children, she had been so furious with him she could barely speak, and he couldn't understand her rage. She'd hugged him anyway, her wings curling protectively around him as she told him he was stupid, so stupid that she'd never forgive him.
"I asked him to stay for me, too," he'd said.
"First?" When he was silent, she had half-laughed, half-sobbed against his shoulder. "Men. Useless. I hate you all," she had said, just as she did now.
What had she actually expected him to do? Arthur rolled his cuffs back down, refusing to remember the thoughts that had gone through his own head when they had kissed and danced to silent music. The children, after all, had been watching. So had Zoe. And Linus... His dear, his precious Linus deserved to settle back into his own skin and routine and not be pressured for things he might not ever want to give.
"At least offer to walk him over," Zoe said, sighing, just as Linus cleared his throat behind them, as if unsure of his welcome still.
Zoe turned and slipped away, wings trailing behind her, although she paused to deposit a kiss on Linus's cheek on the way.
Linus’s attention seemed caught on Arthur's hands where they were red from the water. His own hands were immaculate, nails clipped and buffed. When he'd arrived on the island, his hair had been a mess, bald spots showing when he took off his helmet, his scent thick and musky with sweat, his shirt damp when Arthur had pulled him close. Linus had showered before dinner, and his clothes were crisp and neat and buttoned-up and he smelled discreetly of some ferny fougre and Arthur didn't know which Linus pulled harder at his heart.
"Ready to go to bed?" Arthur asked, and then bit down on his own lip in chagrin as Linus's face flooded with scarlet. Poor man. As if he thought Arthur was putting conditions on him coming back. "I just mean... well, Zoe is right. You never know what you will stumble across on the way there. I've heard there are cannibals out at night, looking for a hearty feast." Without thinking about it, his eyes flickered to Linus's round belly, which looked less round than when he'd left, as if the man had been off his food for the last month. Fretting. Arthur frowned in disapproval and guilt.
Linus's gaze flicked away, his expression odd. "Well, I don't want anyone to starve, but I really can’t oblige them tonight. I promised to help Talia do some digging tomorrow. Lucy is going to be on hand in case we dig so deep we accidentally open a hidden passage to Hell and need someone to command the demon armies and send them away, or take over the Earth, however the mood strikes him. Chauncey said he'd rather not."
"Well, we can't risk letting Talia down. I suppose I'll have to personally protect you against the cannibals." Arthur held his hand out, still clammy from the washing up water despite his best attempts, and Linus's fingers curled into his. For a sudden, mad moment, Arthur wanted to push him up against the kitchen counter, kiss him properly this time, claim his mouth and push his tongue deep. Greedily his hands with the alluring softness at his sides, his spare tire as he'd called it, part his own thin thighs and bracket Linus's soft ones and kiss him, kiss him until there was no doubt Linus was his.
Linus gave another nervous little cough. Arthur pushed the wanting down and smiled at him, letting his fondness and happiness and contentment show rather than the almost angry possessiveness, and Linus's shoulders visibly relaxed at the smile. So there it was; friendliness reassured, passion made Linus anxious He could live with that.
Asking Linus to stay had been the most Arthur had ever asked for since he asked for the orphanage to be turned over to him, and in both cases, he had been asking for the children as well as himself, which meant he had been justified. Linus had agreed to stay the second time, and that was remarkable, a miracle, and if Arthur was greedy, if Arthur asked for too much, then he couldn't blame anyone but himself if he lost what he had. Lost it for the children and Zoe as well.
"You must be exhausted," he said, gently. "I can't believe you walked so far to return to us, you incomparable man."
Linus was pink again, but with pleasure, not fear. "I couldn't stand the thought of being away from you all longer than I had to." You all. Arthur wasn't a fool, he knew he had his own place in Linus’s heart there that was all his own. Linus hadn't kissed Zoe all over her face like that, or at least Arthur would have been very surprised if he had. There was something there between Arthur and Linus that he could nurture and let grow. But Linus hadn't said he couldn't stand being away from him alone, and Arthur had made a similar mistake with him before, hearing "the children love you with all their hearts, how could they not?" as "I love you with all my heart, how could I not?" and he wasn't going to mess up be expecting too much again.
"We couldn't stand you being away, either." No, that was cowardly. "I couldn't stand it. Not knowing if I'd ever see you again." He dared to let his free hand up, trace down the lovely curve of Linus's cheek, linger at the softness of his jaw meeting his chin where there was no line to trace at all, just freshly shaved softness and the faint shadow of a gently doubled chin. Arthur wanted to kiss it, wanted to delicately rake his teeth over it and taste the skin with his tongue. He satisfied himself with letting his fingertips linger there, just for a moment. "Not knowing if I'd ever hear from you again, know if you were safe, if you were well."
"I didn't dare write to you. Not until I could tell you that you were safe." Linus laughed aloud, giddily. "Then I just jumped on a train."
"You did, you darling man. Thank you."
"Besides, you didn't write to me either. I was lonely. I didn't... I didn't expect... I wanted to know how the children were doing."
The children. Of course that didn't hurt. Arthur would be frantic about the children in Linus's place. Perfectly natural. "I didn't know your address."
"Oh!" Linus looked surprised, and then chagrined, and Arthur chuckled. Intelligent people, he often found, could be amusingly lacking in common sense.
"And I didn't want to write to you at DICOMY, in case they thought there was anything... improper between us." He left unspoken the question, except for a gentle lilt at the end. It was not the time to admit he desperately wanted something improper to be between them. That had been part of it; the other was that he was worried that once he started writing the floodgates would open and he would pour out his sorrow and grief and the raw fiery wantingness he kept and frighten Linus away beyond any chance of another visit, losing any hope of seeing him again. It would be all too easy to curse himself with his own unwanted fire.
Linus, unexpectedly, looked annoyed, but not with him. "Werner asked me if you were romantically involved with Zoe."
"I'm not." He squeezed Linus's hand. "I can absolutely assure you of that, if you ever thought otherwise."
"Oh, of course not. But I think he wanted me to think that you were." Linus's lips were parted slightly, expectantly, and it was hard not to kiss him, hard not to say aloud I don't want anyone but you and oh, I want you so much.
"It sounds like something he would do," he said, and noted the way Linus relaxed at the contempt in his voice. Sweet silly man, to think Arthur would possibly prefer the man Charles had become to the man Linus was. He squeezed Linus's hand. "Let's go, my darling." He could allow himself endearments, at least, and the way Linus seemed to clamp his lips shut as if to stop too much pleasure bursting through was delicious. The man wanted so much to be loved, and Arthur had so much love to give him.
He could allow himself hand-holding as well, all the way back to the guest house. His fingers curled into Linus's in a mirror of the curl of possessiveness in his heart, mine, mine, you're not leaving me ever again, and it was all he could do to force the greed down before he pushed Linus against a tree. They had so much to talk about, but they were both quiet, only the breeze in Zoe and Phee's trees and the feral scrambles through bushes ahead of them of Calliope, rendered fey by night time, to break the silence. When Linus let go of his hand to step onto the tiny porch and fumble the door open, it was all Arthur could do to release his grip. He missed the hand in his immediately.
Linus turned once the door was open and stood by it. Arthur hadn't drawn away, and they were standing too close for politeness, so close that Arthur would only have to lean slightly forward and the comforting spread of Linus's belly would be against his own. Arthur chewed on his lip to avoid saying: Invite me in, ask me to stay with you a while, ask me to your bed. He looked away so Linus couldn't find incriminating evidence of his thoughts in his eyes, couldn't see into the back of the brain with those perceptive eyes and somehow read that Arthur’s mind was filled with vivid images of pushing Linus through the door, crushing his mouth with kisses, sliding his hand between them to see if Linus wanted him just as much. Wouldn’t think to look down and see Arthur’s shameful state of half-hardness.
"Can I..." Linus's voice drifted away, and Arthur knew what he wanted him to ask, but Linus didn't finish it.
"Good night, my dear," Arthur said. "I'm so very glad you're staying."
"So am I," Linus whispered, and there was something in his tone that made Arthur clench his hands at his sides to prevent himself from, reaching out too eagerly and fiercely. "Arthur, do you... we... do we kiss goodnight? Is that something we do now?`"
The ache exploded in joy. "Yes. Yes, you darling man. I'll kiss you goodnight and good morning and good ten o'clock if you like." I'll drown you in kisses, I'll devour you with them, I'll kiss your mouth and your neck and fall on my knees before you and kiss you there too, I'll kiss you until you are mine entirely and will never be anything else, said the flames, but Arthur the man was gentle and undemanding and Linus was safe with him. He smiled and kissed Linus's nose, because it was there and he could.
Linus reached up and cupped the back of Arthur's neck, awkwardly, as if not sure where to put his hand, and said, with disarming frankness, "I've always wondered what it would be like, to have someone to kiss good night."
Protectiveness roared up in Arthur like flames, and in their heat the phoenix screamed possessiveness, but all Arthur said was, lightly, "Then let's find out."
The touch of Linus's lips was fragile and slightly dry and cracked with sunburn, pressed somewhat awkwardly and tenderly to his own. There was no real reason why such gentle pleasure should send the carefully controlled desire in the pit of Arthur's stomach into something that flamed so hard he was half surprised Linus didn't flinch from the burn, but it was somehow the most erotic thing imaginable. Arthur moved his lips carefully, tugging gently at Arthur's own, and Linus made a small, happy noise against his mouth, as if surprised and delighted. Arthur clenched his fists harder, until the nails cut into his palms, to stop himself chasing the noise with a driving wet tongue like the over-excited teenager he had never actually been. DICOMY boarding schools weren't much for their gay dating scene.
He laid his forehead against Arthur's and tried to steady his breath. "Goodnight, my sweetest of sweet loves."
"The things you call me," Linus said, sounding dazed. His breath was heavy.
"All true." Had the man never even imagined having such things said to him? The thought made Arthur's heart ache, and for some reason, the possessiveness raged even more strongly. If no one else had seen Linus for what he was, then Arthur would, Arthur would love and protect and... take...
He pulled away, feeling his mouth curve in a gentle smile, the smile he had learned long ago that calmed people, that kept things safe. "Sweet dreams, dear Linus."
"Sweet dreams, de-dear Arthur." It was dark, but Arthur could swear Linus was blushing as he stumbled over the endearment.
Arthur smiled all the way back to the main house, and the phoenix was quiet in his breast all the way until he rolled into bed. "I have everything I want," he told himself. "Everything I've ever dreamed of. And he deserves to be happy. I'll make him happy, and one day he will be confident enough to call me 'dear' without stammering. That's all I want."
It was at least partly a lie, as the weight of the swelling between his legs told him, but it was a sweet enough lie. The happiness of having Linus back, to stay, of having kissed him---twice!---wrapped him in its arms and lulled him to sleep. "Thank you for coming back to me, my love," he whispered into the pillow, and fancied Linus heard.
Once upon a time, Arthur Parnassus had lost the art of wanting things for himself.
When he was a child, there had been a lot of things he wanted, wanted desperately and fervently. To be able to eat food until he was completely filled up, until his belly ached with repletion and he felt sick with repletion. To wear clothes that actually fit. To see the smile from the girl who scooped cherry ice cream for him, when the orphanage took its charge to town and paraded them in a display of how well cared for they were, how happy, how there were absolutely no dark secrets on the island. Escape. Oh, how he wanted escape.
Most of all, he wanted someone to come to the orphanage and see him, really see him, and instead of being afraid, to say: Arthur is lovely and kind and brave and I want him. To take him away and want him and need him and absolutely drench him with affection. To be able to stretch his wings and have someone look at them and say: how beautiful.
He settled for an orphanage boarding school where things weren't quite as bad. For the fierce secret loyalty of companions in suffering. For facing his fears and wanting to make a difference for others. For making a sanctuary for those others. It was safer to want things for other people, because then he had a reason to fight for them, and that one lone attempt with the letter to get what he wanted for himself had been disaster. It was safer not to want anything for himself, and focus on others.
Arthur kept his rebellions small and hopefully below notice; he structured the children's lives according to the RULES AND REGULATIONS, despite wondering just how many algebra lessons Talia was expected to endure in the coming decades, but allowed the children a couple of hours free every evening, adventures on Saturdays. He did his paperwork correctly. He never complained when the funding was directed away from things that he might want for the orphanage and towards paying off the village. He accepted, and did his best, and put the children first, and joy crept into his life, as if it was rewarding him for his lack of acqusitiveness.
He received precious things, priceless beyond all measure, when he stopped asking for anything for himself. His treasures were all the more precious for not expecting them and not having demanded them. The first time a small, traumatised gnome slipped her tiny hand into his, reaching instinctively to him for comfort; that was a present he still took out and admired at times. The first time Phee had dared to actually be rude to him, not out of defiance but out of the normal preteen knowledge that there might be consequences but they wouldn't be anything she couldn't deal with, and that Arthur would love her anyway, was a secret gift to file away in his heart forever. The sight of am ancient, powerful sprite during her first driving lesson, bending her head to the steering wheel because she was laughing so much after having driven off the dirt road for the third time, then lifting her exquisite head and saying, with eyes full of tears of hilarity, "I am so very glad you are my friend, Arthur Parnussus." A younger sprite letting her pugnacious attitude drop for a moment and saying, "You won't send me away, will you?" with no suspicion in her voice, but trust. The gnome asking for a magazine subscription, because even if he said no, she wouldn't be punished for asking. And there would be other children, now he had proved he could care for the girls.
Arthur knew the reason his life was filled with joy was that he had learned to live for others, and without expectation. Wanting was pain and emptiness and need. Better to let the universe drop shining gifts into his lap, and give what he could to others, and appreciate everything he was given.
Then Charles Warner arrived, and Arthur discovered again the aching, terrible chasm that was wanting all over again. Everything he had assumed was not possible for him opened up suddenly as wild dreams: love, the fierce driving need of sex, the intoxicating thoughts of forever and together and he wants me, only me. Charles listened to Arthur’s dreams and told him he was brave and beautiful and that they could do this together. He kissed Arthur for the first time on the beach, sand under bare feet as the wind raged, and taught him what the fire of pleasure was, too, hot and sweaty in the sand. Charles made the future open before him, like a blazing pink dawn.
Zoe tried to warn Arthur about Charles Werner, and then said Arthur was a stupid man and what was the point of men, really? He'd smiled and patted her shoulder and not listened in the slightest. Because Charles had taught him how to want again, and for once Arthur thought he could have what he wanted.
By the time Charles left, having gotten everything he needed from the island project, Arthur had learned his lesson well enough. Phee and Talia had been hurt and put at risk, because Arthur had wanted too much for himself. That was unacceptable. He would not let it happen again. He had everything he needed, a best friend in Zoe like he had craved all his life, the children who desperately needed his love and care, the island as they sanctuary away from all the cruelty of the mainland. Learning and adventuring and growing and love, even if it was a different kind of love than what he had thought he felt when Charles kissed him. Wanting anything more could only lead to discontentment and disaster. The boys came to join the girls, and that would be more than enough.
Then he saw a man on the tiny porch of the guest house. Prim and buttoned-up and thoroughly ordinary looking, with an officious manner and kind eyes, pale with terror but instinctively acting to put himself between danger he feared and the children.
Arthur knew better than to want, no matter how tight and constricted his chest suddenly felt, no matter how he felt the flames rush up inside him at the sight of that trembling courage. The heat he felt was just protectiveness. Mr. Baker from the Department made him feel protective, even though Mr. Baker held in his plump hands the power to destroy them all. For all his power over them, Mr. Baker was scared of Lucy, and Mr. Baker was all soft curves, almost edgeless, as if he couldn’t hurt a soul. Arthur had the ridiculously overwhelming urge to hug him, to say: we are friends here, you are welcome among us. Let us not be dangers to each other. Let us be friends and love each other.
That had nothing to do with wanting Mr. Baker for himself, of course. That was to do with making Mr. Baker understand that the island was a place of refuge and comfort from the world and absolutely needed to be protected. If it was also to become a place of refuge and comfort for Mr. Baker, then that was all to the good as well.
Arthur wondered if Mr. Baker knew the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled politely, and that a dimple winked on his chin, like a secret sign that humor lurked under his formal exterior. It seemed like an important thing to know about oneself. Perhaps Arthur could tell him, one day. Perhaps, one day, Arthur would know his guest well enough to justify the strange ache of protective sadness he felt when Mr. Baker determinedly ignored the scalloped potatoes and cream and pastries that Zoe had intended to soften an inspector's heart. It was unbearable, to watch him not looking at them, because wanting them was too much. Arthyur felt a strong twinge of companionship.
If Arthur remembered the dimples again when he woke in the night from a half-conscious dream of feeding Mr Baker all the cream and sugar he could possibly imagine, finding himself in sleepy hardness, that was nothing but the unconscious ramblings of an overstressed mind and a body long deprived of intimacy.
He went to fetch Mr Baker for lunch the next morning, and found himself unobserved and able to observe. It would be rude to observe. He would do nothing of the kind, he told himself sternly. What would the children think if they knew he was spying on what he was careful to refer to as their guest?
He leaned against the tree and watched the figure in the garden, ridiculous in loafers and tie, face red with heat, bending over, finger held out admonishingly. He felt a presence behind him, cool and serene. "I think Mr. Baker’s having a conversation with his cat," he told Zoe, who knew everything that happened on the island without him telling her anyway. He tried not to laugh aloud with sheer delight. "I think he's lecturing his cat."
"I don't think the cat is taking much notice."
"Of course not. She's a cat." He couldn't repress a chuckle as Calliope strutted off, tail high in the air with disdain, and Mr Baker from the Department looked after her with what looked like frustration but had a fond quirk about it even at this distance. The cat was frankly ghastyl, and Arthur wanted to love it. It was bad-tempered and unaffectionate towards everyone except Sal, and Mr. Baker had brought it with him, carefully, in a cage. The children had said he had been terribly worried when she ran away. "Look at him. Every heartless monster Charles could have sent to expect us, and he chose Mr. Baker*. It's wonderful." He's *wonderful, Arthur thought, and he wasn't thinking of Charles.
"I don't think it could have been out of Charles's kindness." Zoe's voice was tight. "To us or to Mr. Baker."
"How could Charles not see who he was sending?"
"Charles didn't see a lot of things." He didn't have to look at her to know what her expression was like. "This man could still have the children taken away from us. Do you think he would?" She didn't mention that Mr. Baker could also make things very dangerous and difficult for an unregistered sprite. They both knew that.
Arthur remembered the way Mr Baker had thrust the children behind him. "Not if we can make him understand. We will."
"Or he will disappear into the forest and never come out, and the trees will make sure no one traces his footsteps," Zoe said, because somehow Arthur had managed to surround himself with people who made dark threats at the drop of the hat, and had the power to bring them to fruition. He supposed a sensible man would fear them.
"I don't want any harm to come to him." The silly man should be wearing a hat. His hair was thinning and his scalp would burn. Perhaps Arthur could find one in the house for him, and perhaps Mr. Baker would be slightly flustered and pompous, and it was ridiculous to feel a small prickle of excitement at the thought of seeing that.
"What do you want, Arthur?"
"As long as the children and this place and you are safe and happy, I have everything I want already," he said. Then, because his best defense was always asking questions, he added, "Is there nothing you want?"
"Yes, there is," Zoe said, but she didn't say what.
They watched together as Mr. Baker headed back to the guest house, and Arthur couldn't explain away the pang he felt when the door closed. Best not, he thought, stalk the representative of DICOMY. He sighed. "I'll send Chauncey to fetch him." And then delicately, because they didn't really talk strategy, not aloud and admitting that was what they were doing, "He seems to like Chauncey."
"Yes," Zoe agreed in tones that suggested that Mr. Baker had better like Chauncey or the idea of losing him in the forest would recur again, and they went back to the house together.
Linus Baker was a gift, he thought. All Arthur’s studied optimism and calmness, all his cheering speeches to the children, had been useless at two a.m the night before. Knowing what the stranger coming might mean, what might be taken from him and, worst of all, what it might mean to the children and Zoe. He'd imagined many things of the caseworker. A charmer like Charles, with hardness behind the loveliness. Someone severe and austere and hateful. Someone who was just there to do a job. He had hoped beyond hope it would be one of the better types of caseworkers, someone who hadn't forgotten what it was like to care about children, someone who hadn't entirely given up on hope and substituted routine for caring, one who couldn't spend an entire month with the children and then send them to one of the schools Arthur had been trapped in.
He had looked at the plump, sweating man on the veranda, wearing his tight tie and button-down shirt, and thought: a gift. Someone who was officious and genuinely wanted to help the children. Someone scared but courageous. He could work with that. Linus Baker was a gift to the island, to the children, to hope.
It was less rational for Arthur to think of him as a gift to himself, but a month with Mr Baker, Arthur thought, remembering that first sight of him, might indeed be a gift, or at least had the potential to be one.
Zoe gave him a hard look after they sent Chauncey to fetch the visitor. "Perhaps it was a mistake," she said, "to let you hide away from the village so long, and meet so few people of your own age."
She handed him a glass of water, and he raised an inquiring eyebrow as he took it. “What’s this for?”
Her inhuman eyes glittered more than usual. "I just thought perhaps you were feeling thirsty."
"You," he told her, "are a terrible sprite."
"You," she said, and her voice was playful, but there was a note of warning in it, a note of concern he couldn't ignore or resent, "can't possibly fall in love at first sight with every caseworker who ever visits the orphanage. I'm personally requesting a lady inspector next time."
"Good. You might actually stand a chance of meeting someone yourself," he said, and went into lunch before she could form a response. He had no intention of falling in love with Linus Baker. But perhaps, just perhaps, he might enjoy their time together. Perhaps, if DICOMY hadn't managed to take the quirk of humor from Mr Baker's intelligent mouth or the softness from his heart, they might even be friends. Perhaps Arthur could reach him, and make him understand.
If not the the children could, and would. The children could do anything.
Then Mr. Baker had stayed for one of Lucy's sessions, and afterwards they had talked and argued and Arthur had remembered, for a few precious hours, how to want. To want to stretch his arms around the warm forgiving bulk of the man, to kiss that frustratingly, deliciously stubborn mouth, to win an argument with his tongue in a decidedly less noisy manner than their debating.
Yes, that would be a great idea. Try to seduce the caseworker. That wouldn't send his good, rule-abiding, prim Linus---he couldn't be Mr. Baker to Arthur, he just couldn't---rushing back to the mainland to demand the children be saved from their lecherous orphanage master. Wouldn't smash the delicate edifice of friendship, as shining and fragile as spun sugar, to pieces, because in his heart Arthur was grasping and avaricious and not content enough with the treasures he'd been given, he always wanted more.
Zoe was right to call him thirsty, he told himself, when Linus had returned to the guest house. That was all it was. One lover, when Arthur had been young and naive, was not much to sustain anyone, but it was the route he had chosen and his life was more beautiful than he could ever imagine. The rest was just, well, a biological thing to deal with. Which he would, and move on.
There were some things that, as a single adult man with a house full of children of varying ages, and one particularly vulnerable but unchildishly knowing one sleeping in his wardrobe, that had to be relegated to perfunctory, private moments. It was a mere physical restoring of well being, a way of shedding the tension that slowly grew, and seemed much faster over the last few days, if he wanted to admit it to himself. Arthur stood under the pounding hot water, braced against the shower wall with one hand, legs spread and hips thrust backwards, as he fell into a familiar fantasy.
It was a safe scenario, anonymous and effective, divorced from heartbreak or risk. Someone was standing behind him, reaching around him---his free hand wrapped around himself with just the right amount of pressure, feeling himself slowly fill and grow to fill his grip---and preparing to take him. No real emotion, no real intimacy, none of the things he had learned not to expect, but the imaginary anticipation of being fucked, the slick wet friction of his own hand sliding and twisting up and down his length, efficiently jerking himself off. Wash the evidence down the drain, shut off that side of his self, go back to being a father.
For some reason, it wasn't working. His hand pumped in the same motions as always, but his cock remained only half-hard, and his mind wandered as his stokes became more languorous. It had been a very worthwhile evening, not just for his own entertainment but for more proof that Linus could be reasonable, that he could be made to understand. He was adorable, even if he had atrocious, practically criminal ideas about Kant. He'd leaned forward, one finger raised to make a point like the most adorably precious professor ever, and then smugly tucked his chin in when he thought he'd made it. He'd forgotten to suck in his stomach or correct his posture and he'd made the most delicious little roll of fat between chin and neck, and Arthur wondered if he knew that it made the dimple appear in the bottom right corner of his chin.
Arthur's hand sped up, the burning he had been chasing returning. He wondered what it would feel like to press the tip of his little finger into that dimple, irrational thought that it was. He could hardly go around sticking his finger into the chins of case-workers who could destroy him. But it would be worth it, almost, to see Linus's lips part with outraged surprise, huff his breath, and then...
...what would it feel like if Arthur kissed Linus?
His eyes squeezed tight and his head threw back and he was coming, coming harder than he had in a very long time, long shuddering twitches that must be spreading streaks of white on the tiles, biting his lip not to make too much sound, although his own gasping breaths were loud in his ears. He tried to fight his mental way back to the usual anonymous fantasy, but all he could see was the way Linus titled his head back to meet his gaze when they were close to each other, almost as if he was waiting for Arthur's mouth to bear down on his, to taste the sweetness of his lips and press his tongue inside and pull all that soft bulk into his arms and God how could he still be coming, how did he still have pleasure to spill? The water was literally sizzling as his flames flickered and still his cock twitched in his hands.
Afterwards he rinsed himself off. This was not a complication he had expected or wanted, not after Charles.
He was quite aware of the trouble he was in. Linus would be here for a month, and Arthur had to concentrate on the children, letting him understand the children and their value and that they were safe and happy and had hope. He would have to face Linus the next morning, face that innocent and law-abiding man and know he'd jerked off to the thought of his dimple. Appalling. Arthur was appalling to have done such a thing. He was smiling despite of himself, because it seemed that thinking of Linus made him smile no matter the circumstances, and all in all, this was a very bad idea.
He went and stood naked in front of the mirror. A skinny, awkward thing, like the plucked bird he was. His calves were long and lean but his thighs were oddly heavy and muscular above them. Disproportionate. Knobbly knees and elbows and ribs showing. His hair was greying and wild. Perhaps he should have had it cut and his grey hairs fixed before the case worker arrived, but trips to the village were unnerving and unpleasant, and after all, Linus was here for the children, not him. He had to remember that. And no barber could fix the long, broken nose or make him gracefully tall and slender instead of a lanky bobbly thing. He was, he knew, no picture of masculine beauty.
Linus had spoken of there being too much of his own size. There had been a kind of courageous defiance when he talked about it, the same he showed with Lucy. It had made Arthur ache with pity and a slight heat, the desire to tell him that he was perfectly sized for himself, soft and comforting and, if he could only drop that reserve, perfect for the children he cared for to hug. Perfect for Arthur to hug. Linus clearly though of himself as no picture of masculine beauty either. Perhaps he wouldn't expect beauty from Arthur. Perhaps Arthur could be enough for him, as Linus would be enough for Arthur, and...
No. Linus wouldn't expect anything of Arthur except compliance with his investigation. He was here for one month and to see how this home was run, not to pick up a relationship with magical person, even if his tastes ran the way of bony men and not bonny women. Arthur was not going to be a fool like that a second time. Time to maintain some distance.
He hoped, still, that Linus didn't have a wife somewhere, in his suitcase or not. Or a husband. He was almost sure that Calliope was not in fact Linus's wife, because Sal would have noticed. In any case, the pleasure of orgasm still relaxing him and the force of his desire abated for now, he could mentally relegate any thoughts of what could have been with Linus to the sweet realm of what-might-have-beens and treasure the gift of friendship he had been given.
Then he saw Linus dressed in adventuring gear, his neckline open to show a soft fat neck flashing white and the delectable curves of his knees revealed between socks and shorts, and God, his knees had dimples too, and Arthur was undone. The phoenix screamed triumph, and Arthur burned.
Arthur and Linus kissed good morning as well, in this new world. Linus came back to the house very early to deliver Chauncey, who had turned up under his bed again, and perhaps, just perhaps, because he wanted to see Arthur as much as Arthur wanted to see him. They ran into each other at the bottom of the stairs. Arthur was still mussed up and sleepy and with his mouth full of the taste of toothpaste, almost as if he had spent much longer than usual brushing his teeth in the anticipation of more kisses. Not that he would expect them.
He came forward eagerly to take Linus's hand. Linus's head tilted back ever so shyly, as if he wanted a kiss and was too nervous just to ask, and it was so sweet, so endearing, and so unbearably arousing that Arthur thought he could combust on the spot. Instead, he dropped a tender kiss on the beloved mouth, lingering just long enough to wordlessly press "I love you" against it. He didn't try to feed Linus the lingering taste of his toothpaste with his tongue, even though the idea occurred to him. For a start, Chauncey was still there . So instead, Arthur pulled back, and could hear the wondering and sunshine in his voice as he said, "You're still here."
"Yes," Linus said, the same wonder echoed back in his voice, in his expression, and Arthur pulled him into a hug. God, he was so soft, and so solid, and so real. Arthur pressed his head down against his shoulder and held him as if the world was trying to rip him away.
"Why don't you just marry him if you love him so much?" asked Lucy, siding down the banisters, which Chauncey had considerately slicked with salt water for him.
Linus gave a very good impression of a strawberry, and Arthur laughed and kissed his cheek and tried very much not to look as that was exactly what he had dreamed himself off to sleep thinking about. Too soon, when their relationship was so fragile-new. Too much to want. He hugged Linus tighter and said, "We should go into breakfast, but I don't want to let go of you even for a moment," he confessed.
"Is it all right?" Linus asked.
"Is what all right, my love?"
Linus seemed to be having difficulty finding the words, which was unusual enough, given his quick, sharp tongue, that Arthur tensed a little. "The hug. I haven't had much practise and I know... I'm too big, and my gut gets in the way...." Less the sweet red of a strawberry now, and more the flaming red of embarrassment. Arthur pulled him closer, crushed their bodies tighter together, feeling the springy firmness of Linus's belly, wrapped his arms even tighter to feel the cushioned warmth of his back.
"You are the most accomplished and gratifying hugger I have ever had the pleasure of hugging, so you must have a certain amount of natural talent," Arthur told him firmly. "But if you require more cuddling practice, then I will be most honoured to offer my services for drills at any time."
"I suppose my softness must be good for something," Linus sighed, but the dimple was back when Arthur pulled away just to check. He kissed it.
"It's good for a great many things," he said, surprised at the roughness in his own voice. "But cuddling, yes, you are perfect for that." The children had left the passage way, probably deeply embarrassed by all this middle-aged affection in the hall, so he said, "Really, has no one ever taught you that?"
"My mother wasn't much of a cuddler." There was something behind the words that would hurt if dragged out into the light. "The children, of course, seem to like to snuggle up to me, but it wasn’t proper. I couldn’t risk any chance of being accused of inappropriate behaviour. Calliope is... not a cuddler, except with Sal."
And were there no others? Arthur thought, but did not ask. It was all too obvious, really. Protectiveness and possessiveness spread their wings, and he kissed Linus again, too hard for romance, more a crush of ownership. Careful, careful. He softened the kiss.
"Let's get some breakfast," he said. "I gather Talia has a hard day planned from you, from what I overheard her discussing with Phee."
Linus groaned, and went in ahead of him. Arthur hesitated just a moment behind him. He had been selfish. Thinking of what he wanted in terms of his own desires and not of Linus. The precious, beautiful man who had never learned how perfect he was.
And the solution dropped into Arthur's lap, unasked and unexpected. Linus deserved better than being jumped on the porch to the guest house. He deserved to be courted, to be made to know just how treasured he was. And surely, then, it was alright to want him, if it was just in the ways Linus wanted to receive?
Arthur was quietly resigned to not getting much of Linus to himself for the next few days. After all, the children had lost him too, the children had dealt with their own feelings of rejection. The children deserved to fuss over him or scold him or force him to make it up to them with hard labour or cling to him, just as they chose. Arthur had declared a holiday, knowing it was useless to expect to get any work done, and Linus had offered his opinion that a day off now and then left people refreshed and happy and willing to work, and ignored all the rolling of eyes that resulted. Ignoring Chauncey's eyes rolling took a certain degree of talented stolidity that Arthur admired very much.
Eventually, the children had chosen the beach and swimming as an activity for their day off. Well, Chauncey had. Talia had been on board once Zoe suggested digging for treasure, and the rest had been swept along into a fierce discussion of whether or not pirate kings buried their treasure surrounded by the bodies of the dead pirates who had been unfortunate enough to dig the holes, so they could tell no one of the location.
"Dead men tell no tales," Linus agreed, happily entering into the spirit of things in a way that warmed Arthur's heart. He sat back, watching, grateful for all the love around them.
"I could make them talk if I tried," Lucy contributed. "Only they might not be very easy to understand if their tongues have rotted away. Still, I'll give it a go."
"You can only do your best," Phee agreed, although Sal was looking a little uncertain now and Theodore was squirming on his shoulders.
"But I wanted to swim," said Chauncey, his tentacles twisting in distress, although Arthur wasn't sure if it was at the thought of missing out on his swim or having to listen to dead pirates.
"What's the point of making them talk anyway? We would have already found the treasure," Sal pointed out.
"Linus, you'll swim with me, won't you?" Chauncey turned imploring appendages on him.
Linus looked uncomfortable. "I don't know how to swim. I told you, I'd never seen the sea before I came here, and public pools are... I don't like going there."
The children turned their mind to the problem. "Oh, Zoe won't let you drown," Lucy said cheerfully. "Probably. And if she does, then I can practice making dead men talk." He looked just a trifle anxious. "I don't mean I want you to be dead. I like you alive. But I'd like you anyway if you were dead. You could live under my bed, like Chauncey, and I'd take you out and talk to you." He slipped his little hand into the crook of Linus's elbow.
Linus had blenched only a little. "That's very kind of you. But I'd prefer not to drown. I wouldn't be able to help Talia dig if I was dead."
"Oh, I bet I---" Lucy started, but Arthur decided there had been enough talk of corpse reanimation for one breakfast.
"I won't let you drown," he said, smiling at Linus. "You can hold onto me as much as you like." Linus met his gaze, but there was no echoing smile, let alone any signs of flirtation.
"I don't own any swim trunks." There was a heaviness behind the words that spoke of things unsaid, and Arthur wished he could reach for his hand, but they were sitting in their usual places, at either end of the table. Like parents.
"That's all right," Lucy said easily. "You can swim naked." He lifted the gaze of his big, innocent six-year-old eyes, not a hint of redness about them, to Linus's face, just as Linus hastily took a sip of tea. "Arthur would like that, wouldn't you, Arthur?"
Sal buried his face in his hands as the tea sprayed on the table. Arthur couldn’t tell if he was laughing or horrified.
"There's no need for public nakedness just yet," Arthur said. Apart from anything else, they were still not forever free of DICOMY, and he wasn't sure swimming naked around the children would be any good for their reputation, even though... No. he was not having images of Linus naked in his head while they sat at the breakfast table with Zoey and the children. "I could---" He caught Linus's expression, and the slight shake of Zoe's head, and felt stupid. Linus couldn't get into his trunks, although that was an ill-phrased sentiment too that he was glad he hadn't spoken aloud. "Do you have any suitable boxers?" And that was bad, too, the thought of Linus shining and slippery with sea water, the wet fabric clinging to him in a way that would leave practically nothing hidden. Would a man like him wear white cotton? He would, Arthur was suddenly sure of it. Or grey. It would probably go transparent with water. Was Linus furred with hair, or was it sparse and even non existent, all soft skin? And this train of thought had all been a terrible mistake.
"No," Linus said firmly. "Paddling is all I can manage."
Chauncey quivered with disappointment. "I swim naked," he pointed out plaintively. "I'm always naked on the island."
"That's different," Linus said firmly. "I'm an adult."
"We'll go shopping for swim trunks next time we go to the mainland," Zoe promised. She swept a critical eye over Linus's skin, which was returning to its usual pallor now the rush of blood was paling. "And a sun protective t-shirt," she said, and Linus relaxed still further, though there was still an anxiety about the way he held his fork that Arthur didn't quite like, the thumb bending in too sharply, the prongs stabbing into the yolk of a fried egg.
He took advantage of clearing the table to wrap his arms around Linus from behind and whisper in his ear, "Zoe really wouldn't let you drown, but if you are afraid of swimming, then don't let the children pressure you. Chauncey will be quite happy playing in the shallows."
Linus's lips pressed together, unhappy. "It's not that." He gave a slight shrug. "I mean, you knew what you were signing up for, but it's quite another thing to be hit with it under bright sunshine all at once."
Arthur blinked as it fell into place. "Oh, my dear. My beautiful dear." There were children all around, but he could be excused, he thought, for pressing his lips to Arthur's ear just for one extra kiss. "I won't rush you into anything, but you have nothing at all to worry about."
"You're so handsome," Linus said helplessly. "I don't understand---I know you care for me---"
"You silly, beautiful man," Arthur said, and kissed his ear again before releasing him. His blood was pounding in his own ears, and it was after breakfast and they were clearing the table and it was no fit moment to show Arthur just how much he cared. Later. Later, when he was sure it was what Linus wanted. Then he'd rip Linus's adorable, prissy shirt right off him and kiss all over that soft chest, suck bruises into the curve of his stomach. "You're the only one I want." Forever, he wanted to add, but it was too much and too soon. He reluctantly released Linus and pretended he hadn't noticed Phee giggling in the corner at their display.
The beach day was all Arthur could ever have wished. Linus with his sleeves rolled up to show the quite devastating insides of his forearms. The water warm enough still, despite the dying of the summer, as it lapped around his calves. Linus was called away almost constantly by the children, but that was all right, too; it gave Arthur time to watch him, edges of his rolled-up slacks wet with sea water, bare feet encrusted with sand, pink with heat and exertion and happy and just there, there to stay. "The world is better for having you in it," he whispered in Linus's ear when he did manage to steal a hug. "My life is complete for having you."
Linus's arms were very tight around him, and he was starting to say something, when small arms were thrown around both their legs. "Linus is very nice to hug," said Talia, as Arthur obligingly hoisted her up into the cuddle.
"He's perfect to cuddle," he agreed.
"That's because he's round like me," Talia explained. "We're all soft and bouncy."
Linus's cheeks reddened, and Arthur rushed to fill the awkward gap. "Are you telling me I'm too bony to cuddle?"
Talia reflected. "No. You're still nice to hug. What do you think, Linus?"
"Very nice indeed." He held them both, his---well, Linus was right, Talia was his daughter, he might as well think the word, older than him though she was---and his... What was he? More than friends, certainly, because friends didn't kiss like that. Boyfriend? The word felt strange in his mind, like it belonged to a different kind of man, the kind who dated and played the field and then settled down, not one who had somehow had the perfect man tumble from heaven in his forties. Lover? That seemed too much to dare, at least yet.
Talia bored of the situation and slid down and ran off to dig among the drift-weed, and still Arthur couldn't bear to let go. "How is your cuddling drill coming along?" he asked softly.
"I could hold you forever." It was an unusually direct thing for Linus to say, and Arthur rewarded him with a kiss. Oh, all right, he admitted to himself, a reward for himself as well, he wanted to kiss him, wanted to kiss him more intently than the tender pressing of lips he gave him, but they were under the sunshine and Zoe and the children were there and Arthur would take what he was given.
"I suppose there are some advantages to my size."
"I assure you there are," Arthur said, and then because he was the one with his back turned to the others, he gave into the irresistible temptation to slide his hands down and squeeze full cheeks.
The reaction was instantaneous. Linus leapt away from him, half-stumbling in his anxiety to get away. His chest rose and fell with his hard breathing, and his expressive face was rigid with terror.
Ah. So that answered that.
Artur smiled without showing any of his sadness, or least he hoped. "You're everything I want, no matter what that entails."
"Thank you," said Linus, his distress clear, and escaped back to the children. Arthur watched him and was happy. He was happy. He had everything he needed, and it was ridiculous to burn for more.
In a way, it was easier once he knew. He teased Linus and argued with him and they touched, oh, they touched. The man must have been touch-starved, the way he responded to a hand in his, being pulled into an embrace, lips on his forehead or ear or cheek or chin. He kissed Arthur, too, and while the kisses became less clumsy with experience they lost none of their eagerness. Arthur was loved, oh how he was loved, and Linus allowed him to shower him with affection. The possessive phoenix was soothed with every press of lips, every curve of their bodies together.
If Arthur ached in the night, if he resorted to a second shower for the day more often than usual, then that was nothing to do with anyone but himself. He could fill his dreams with images of passion, and his days with affection and companionship and watching his cherished, his darling Linus blossom through the days of love and work and parenthood. he had---he had nearly everything he could want, and the wanting left was almost as pleasurable as it was torture. Maybe it was good to learn again it want, without expectation of having, at least when he was so replete with happiness otherwise.
Christmas came, with garlands of paper about the house, with Zoe taking small groups of excited children on secretive trips to the mainland. There was still not much in the way of pocket money, even with funds redirected from villager silence back to the children, and Linus was not exactly going to be paid by DICOMY for the work he was doing while shut up alone in his room. Still, the children were creative with what they could afford, and Arthur had been sworn to silence about a little patch in the forest, hemmed about with impassable vines whenever Linus was nearby until the presentation. A place that that would blaze with yellow flowers in spring, where a bench stood near a saltwater pond full of fish dreaming under the ice, and a carefully handmade warm bed for a cat to curl up in, decorated with only the best buttons.
"Everyone needs a place to be themselves all alone," Sal said, when the children showed it to him.
"He has the guest house."
Sal shrugged his big shoulders. "For now. But what if we need it for an actual guest?" Sal grinned, and Arthur smiled back, and tried not to let the boy know the mixture of longing and trepidation the thought caused. Linus was no longer a guest. But there was no spare room in the main house, which meant...
He didn't know himself what to give Linus. He dreamed that the right answer was a ring, a simple silver one hidden in his pocket, but Christmas, he thought, was not the time to risk a serious rejection.
Linus seemed to have been having a similar problem, because on Christmas morning, after he had cooed over his retreat, with actual tears of joys in his darling eyes, he pulled Arthur close, hands clasped together. "I don't have anything for you, dearest." Dearest. The endearment was a hard-won treasure, and cherished all the more for that. Linus used loving names so readily now. "Nothing I could afford seemed good enough for you` and what you have done for me."
"You are everything I could ever want. My greatest gift," Arthur said, and meant it.
"But isn't there anything you want?" Linus was looking at him with sweetness and earnestness, and Arthur shut his eyes against the rush of everything he wanted and would not ask for.
"Spend the night with me," Arthur said, before his thoughts caught up. Linus's shoulders stiffened. "I don't mean---I'm not asking---Lucy's in the next room anyway, and---" He was making it worse. "I want to fall asleep in your arms, and have you near me when I wake. So that I end and start my day with you."
Linus looked away, and then swallowed, the motion of his Adam's apple visible in his soft neck. "The guest house seems very far away sometimes. Considering the snow."
"Yes. Oh, yes, far too far, my darling," Arthur said. They hugged tight for a moment, until the children became bored and tugged Linus away to admire his bench again.
Family bedtime was early that day, with children over-excited and over-fed drooping sleepily despite their protests. Arthur and Linus got them tucked away as a team, then smiled at each other in the passage way. There was a nervous line between Linus's eyebrows, and Arthur tried to kiss it away, chastely soothing him, trying to communicate his lack of expectations. "Do you like to read in bed?"
"Yes. I usually do."
"There's a lamp on each side." Arthur kissed his forehead again. "Come to bed, my sweet."
Linus changed in the bathroom while Arthur pulled on his own shorts and t-shirt. It took a moment to fully take in Linus in pyjamas, monogrammed and pristine and perfect, the buttons curving over his belly just so. He bent awkwardly to add his own book to the piles on the side of the bed he was taking, and Arthur's mouth was dry watching the pants drawn tighter over his plump seat as he bent. He dragged his attention. "Come here."
Linus climbed anxiously in, arranging covers, and they stared at each other in the limelight. "I'm not sure..." Linus began carefully, and Arthur kissed his nose, because the tip of Linus's nose always seemed in need of a kiss.
"Lucy tells me I snore. I'm sorry about that."
"I have no idea if I snore or not," Linus admitted.
"Let's find out." They stared awkwardly at each other for a moment, then Linus turned away and switched off the lamp on his side, so Arthur followed suit.
The darkness made it easier to claw his way over onto a shoulder, feeling the arm held out to help him on his way, to wrap his own arm across a soft flannel expanse and snuggle in tight. "Merry Christmas, my love."
"Merry Christmas," Linus echoed, and kissed the top of his head. "The merriest Christmas I've ever had."
"And the best present I could ever have," Arthur murmured.
It was only when he was drifting off to sleep that he realised he had inadvertently lied, because just as the warm snuggly darkness took him, Linus whispered into his hair, "I love you more than life, my Arthur." And that was the most precious present he had ever been given.
The first thing he thought when he awoke, warmer and more content than he had ever felt in his life, was, Linus said he loved me. Arthur knew he did, of course he knew, but Linus had never said the words aloud, and now Arthur could hug them to his heart. There was a fat shoulder under his cheek, and a heavy arm around his back, cuddling him close, and under his hand was the texture of warm skin and coarse hair and a pebbled nipple, his fingers rubbing drowsily at it... Oh. It seemed his hand had, seeking warmth and skin, made its way between the buttons of Linus's top, knocking one open, to lie against his chest. Hopefully Linus wasn't offended by the inadvertent groping. From his breathing, he was awake.
Sleepily Arthur withdrew his hand and sat up, ready to apologise and soothe if necessary. The blanket lifted with his movement, and he glanced down to see Linus with his top half-buttoned and an unmistakable jut at the crotch of his pants, his eyes wide and anguished.
The handle to the door of Lucy's room turned, and Arthur crashed back into the bed, quilt dropping.
"Are you two going to stay in bed all day?" Lucy demanded.
"Quite possibly," groaned Linus, turning into the pillow. "In fact, I don't think I'm ever going to emerge, ever." He pulled another pillow over his head.
"I told you that you drank too much egg-nog," Lucy said dispassionately. "Now people from DICOMY are going to come and see that I'm raised by alcoholics and try to take me away, and I'll have to turn them all into wax effigies and melt them so that no one can find their remains."
"Nothing of the kind. You’re not Nero," said Arthur, somehow managing to be crisp despite the thoughts and emotions competing in his head. "But for goodness' sake let us sleep in."
"I should be the one needing extra sleep, the way you two snore," grumbled Lucy. "Can I eat leftover cake for breakfast?"
Linus didn't seem to be in a state to tell him that a regular, healthy breakfast was the best start to the day, so Arthur said, recklessly, "Go tell the others you can eat anything you like." He'd regret it when they were all full enough of sugar to hit the ceiling, but... no, perhaps he wouldn't regret it at all.
Lucy gleefully escaped, and Arthur followed him just long enough to lock the door firmly after him. "Linus, my dear."
"I'm sorry."
Arthur sat on the bed next to him, trying to understand. He passed his hand gently over the thin hair, soothing. "Please tell me what you're sorry for."
"I know you didn't want me like that. You were very clear when you invited me to sleep over. It's just... you're so warm, and your hand..."
"My darling idiot. Whatever made you think I don't want you?"
Linus rolled over and looked up at him. "Of course you don't. You never... you've never even kissed me with your mouth open."
"No," Arthur said blankly. "No, I haven't."
"And I... well, look at me."
"I do. Every day."
"It's all right. I don't need..."
Arthur decided words were not enough. he took Linus's face between his hands, like he had the first time, and this time he kissed him as he wanted to, deep and wet and demanding. Linus made a little surprised noise of delight and surprise, and his head titled back, arms coming around Arthur, and for a moment Arthur thought he was going to be dragged back into the bed. But then Linus pulled away.
"You don't have to force myself. I have enough. You want me to stay, and you care for me..."
"I love you. I love you with all my heart. I'm desperately in love with you."
"Arthur." Linus's face was so full of raw emotion that it made the flames burst inside of Arthur.
"If you think I ever have to force myself..."
"But you don't want me that way!" Linus burst out and oh, Arthur was a fool, he was the worst fool ever to exist, but he could make it right, he could make it so delightfully right. "And I understand, I'm not exactly..."
"Do you know how many nights I've lain awake wishing to show you just exactly how much I want you?" Arthur interrupted. "My darling. Oh, my darling. My beautiful darling." He punctuated it with kisses, on Linus's face and oh, at last, that neck that had tormented him, the softness of his jaw, lifting his head to press his tongue inside the dimple and feel the unshaved morning roughness of skin.
"But—"
"Feel," Arthur instructed, and pressed against Linus's thigh. The intention was to show him he was already half-hard and straining, but Linus's thigh was so deliciously soft and sturdy that pleasure shot through him. He could feel flames flickering at the edge of his vision, but the phoenix wouldn't be damped and he groaned, pressing harder. "Linus... God I didn't think you wanted me."
"How could I not?" Linus's astonishment was so frank that Arthur laughed despite himself.
"Oh, my love. We can talk all we want about how stupid we've been are, but later..."
"Later," Linus agreed, and hesitated. "I don't really know what to do."
"Let me show you," Arthur suggested.
It turned out that monogrammed pants opened very nicely with a buttoned flap, and that the smothered noises Linus made as he was engulfed by a fire-hot mouth were flames and brilliance and love, and the discovery, Arthur could without being touched, except for the bitter salt spilling down his throat behind his aching, stretched lips. “I love you,” he whispered against the heavy curve of Linus’s belly. “I want you so much. All of you.”
"My darling," said Linus, as his breathing slowed. "My darling. Arthur. Keep me forever."
"Always." Arthur slid up the bed and decided to be selfish for once. "Always, always. Because you're mine," and he couldn't tell the hungry, demanding phoenix from the rest of himself anymore, and he didn't care in the slightest.
Zoe had announced that post-Christmas cleanup was none of her business as she was heading to the mainland to meet the rest of Helen's family for Boxing Day, hopefully not Marty, but she would check the area for rocks. She paused and hugged Arthur on the way to the ferry.
"Did you get everything you wanted for Christmas?" she asked, in tones that let Arthur knew Lucy had informed everyone of where Linus had spent the night.
He fiddled in his pocket, where the silver ring was secreted. "Almost," he said, and his heart was full of the joy of wanting without fear. "Almost."
She smiled at him, and he went back to Linus, practicing terms for him in his mind. Boyfriend. Lover. Partner.
And then, what he truly wanted: husband.
It was a nice thing, he thought, to want.