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The jolt came two and a half hours into the coach ride back to Arrandene. At least, once all this was over, Julius would have an excellent opportunity to say I told you so.
The Ricardians had gathered at Arrandene for the festive season. London was particularly uninviting in the winter, with its sour weather and dark, crowded streets, and they had all welcomed the chance to sink into Richard's peaceful establishment as though it were a hot bath. Dominic and his werewolf were sequestered in the library, when they weren't privately occupied elsewhere. Richard was likewise disinclined to leave his rooms, which Julius attributed acidly either to his advanced age or the charms of his ubiquitous valet. So, when the invitation to ring in the new year with Ash's friend Freddy had arrived, the party that had set off for a dose of society had comprised Ash, Harry, Julius and Francis.
It had proved more of a dose than Julius had bargained for. Their week at Freddy's family seat north of St Albans had been exuberant, to say the least, and Harry and Ash were still looking somewhat pale on the effects of it as they prepared to depart. Freddy's set were unanimously young, loud and careless, and he seemed to have about two dozen younger brothers, who raced through the halls adding to the general merriment by shrieking and shooting at people with slingshots. Francis's tolerance for ridiculous young brats apparently began and ended with Ash, and he was being even cooler than usual, with a snap in his voice that suggested the next person to irritate him was unlikely to survive the experience. In fact, they were all very ready to return to Arrandene's peace and privacy.
So, when they had gone outside that morning to find the world cold with frost under a leaden sky, and the first flakes of snow beginning to fall ghostlike around them, Julius had been the only one to voice an objection. He had been unanimously shouted down. It was barely a dusting of snow; the roads were good; the others were expecting them back today; the postillion, a man named Brown they had hired along with a chaise so as to not put Richard out of the use of his coach, had a wife and two girls who would be worried sick.
Julius, who was as weary of company as the rest of them, had allowed himself to be overruled. Now, as the chaise came to a sudden, shrieking halt, a single thought floated above his shock and alarm like smoke over a battlefield: Well, I did warn you.
'What the –' Francis began, over Ash's yelp. Harry had been dozing with his head on Julius's shoulder; he came back to consciousness with a silent, instant twitch that reminded Julius that his lover had a history of sudden awakenings.
'Out,' Julius said sharply into the confusion. The chaise was still upright, but it was sagging to one side, and if it went over altogether they'd have the devil of a time extricating themselves from the mess. 'Ash first. Go on, now.'
'What's happened?' Harry said.
'We'll find out. Are you all right?'
Harry stretched his neck from side to side as they climbed out into the biting cold, considering. 'I think so. Shaken. You?'
Thank God. Through the distant clarity that had possessed him, Julius felt a thread of relief.
'I'm fine, dear boy. Or rather, I am immensely displeased. Let us go and find out what, precisely, we have to be displeased about.'
Outside the chaise, the air was thick with snow. The white stretch of the road ahead was swallowed up by a grey horizon that seemed much closer than usual. Snow was piling in the ditches, devouring the hedges and fenceposts in blank bites. There were no visible landmarks, no other vehicles.
What they had to be displeased about, when the postillion had stopped swearing for long enough to explain, was a fallen branch in the road, a cracked wheel axle, and one of the pair lamed. Even if the horses had been able to pull it, there would be no getting the chaise moving again without a wheelwright. 'And good luck finding one willing to come out in this weather,' Brown added moodily.
'Could we walk somewhere?' Ash was staring around the landscape in bafflement. 'The next town?'
Francis gave him a look of unutterable exhaustion. 'In this?'
'This part of the countryside seems woefully under-provisioned with towns, in any case. There may be a village?' Even if there was any form of civilisation within a few miles of them, it would be a damned unpleasant walk. Julius liked the country well enough, and was accustomed to long tramps in bad conditions. He was not accustomed to long tramps with Ash and Francis in tow, and none of them were dressed for outdoor exercise of any sort, let alone a blizzard.
The postillion was not from up this way, and was not willing to say for certain whether there might be a village. Like enough there would be something, and if there wasn't, it couldn't be much further to St Albans; no more'n five or six miles, maybe.
'Six miles?' Ash echoed, aghast. It might as well have been six hundred, with none of them knowing the way, and in this storm.
'If I took the horse,' Brown said, with what Julius considered an inappropriate level of eagerness to be gone, 'I could ride on quick and fetch help. Let people know where you are.'
'Perfect,' Francis said through his teeth. 'I have always wanted to be abandoned to freeze to death in a snowdrift. How do we know you won't lame this horse too?'
'Julius rides well.' Ash was shivering, coat bundled as tightly around him as he could manage. 'Maybe he should –'
'Nonsense,' said Julius curtly. 'Brown is quite right; he should go. He knows the roads better.'
Harry had wandered off to the side of the road as they wrangled. Now he came hurrying back, snowflakes already adorning his hat and shoulders like stars.
'There's a gate in the fence there. And a track, the other side. It might lead to a farm.'
Julius craned his head, fighting to see through the storm. Between the obscure fields, the snow was piling in ruts that might once have been made by cartwheels. Away beyond the fence, barely visible through the flurrying snow, there was a dark smudge of trees – the sort of copse you might find about a house.
'Very good,' he said, and felt another flicker of emotion uncurl within him at Harry's hopeful expression. 'Brown, you will take the horse and ride on to St Albans, or whatever the next town is. Send word on to Arrandene, find some form of transport and come back here if you can. Until you return, the rest of us will prevail upon the hospitality of this farm.'
The postillion looked much less keen to set off alone now that the prospect of a warm place to wait out the storm had raised itself. 'Wait – oughtn't I come with you to the house?'
'The sooner you depart, the more likely you are to arrive without contracting frostbite. We all have people expecting us, and I would prefer some news of our whereabouts to reach them.'
'But –'
Julius sighed sharply through his nose. 'Enough. You are wasting my time, and it is wearisome. You have your orders – I suggest you obey them, now.' The lash of his voice left no room for any further vacillating objections.
Brown mounted the horse, not without some creative cursing, deadened by the snow-thick air, and wheeled the beast off down the road. Julius turned towards the gate, to find the others all staring at him.
'What are you all standing around for?'
'My apologies, lieutenant,' Francis said, with an ironic salute. 'I thought you were supposed to have left the army.'
Ash winced slightly, and gave Francis's arm a tug. 'Do come on, Francis. It's beastly cold.'
They managed to drag the gate open, the wood wet and heavy. Julius's gloves would be ruined, which would doubtless be a severe inconvenience when they returned to comfort. At present, he found he was too cold to care. He unhooked the lamed horse from the chaise – if it was a farm, they would have a stable – and began to lead her along.
Harry pressed close to him as they made their halting way up the track, taking his other arm.
'Don't mind Francis,' he said softly. Julius hadn't – one didn't keep up a friendship with Francis for years by minding him – but it was kind of Harry to say so. 'Thank you for taking charge. Someone had to, and I'd much rather it was you. Christ, what a frightful mess.'
'The circumstances are somewhat less than ideal,' Julius agreed. 'But I have been in worse holes. As, I expect, have you.'
Harry raised an eyebrow, and knocked his shoulder against Julius's in an anticipatory way. Julius blinked for a moment. Then he shoved at Harry's arm with a splutter that was entirely unexpected, and that finally burned away the last of his cold, panic-fed detachment.
'Abominable creature. After all the pains I took to teach you manners.'
'There's the house!' came Ash's shout from ahead of them, followed immediately by, 'Oh, but –'
'What now?' said Harry tragically.
The cottage was small, simple, timber-framed in the old-fashioned style. It looked in decent repair, despite its obvious poverty. An outbuilding, shed or stable, was huddled on the opposite side of the little yard. There were no lights in any of the windows, and no smoke rising from the single chimney. It appeared utterly deserted.
At last, Francis said, 'Perfect.'
Harry gave a knock on the door, then another, and added a couple of hollos just in case. He went to knock again, on the window this time, and Julius caught his wrist before Francis could snarl at him.
'Enough. The stable will be unlocked. I am going to lead the mare there. We may have to join her, that's all.'
'Spoken like a true horseman,' Francis muttered. 'Well, if we must.'
'Or,' Ash said, with a suppressed gleam in his voice that was so at odds with the general dispirited mood of the party that everyone turned to glare at him – and then stopped as they saw the large iron key glinting in his hand.
'Where the devil did you find that?'
'Behind the shutter.' Ash looked intolerably smug.
'Breaking and entering,' Francis said thoughtfully, knocking his boots against the wall of the cottage and dislodging snow in wet, slushy clumps. 'You always amaze me, my Gabriel.'
'It's hardly breaking and entering if we have the key,' Harry said reasonably. A gleeful light was beginning to dawn in his eyes. 'And it would be warmer.'
They were all looking at Julius. He sighed. 'Very well. What are you all waiting for? Get inside, while I see to the mare.'
The stable was tidy, simply provisioned, and entirely empty of animals. Unidentifiable farming implements of twisted metal hung from the walls, looking more like something Dominic might derive pleasure from than anything with a conceivable agricultural purpose. Julius rubbed the mare dry, saw to her foreleg as best he could, filled her manger, and stood for a long moment with his forehead leaning against her neck, breathing in the simple animal smells and hearing her soft puffs, bleeding out some of the day's stress into the hay-dusty quiet. Then he straightened, and went to go see what horrors the others were inflicting on the cottage.
The snow was picking up again, the flakes smaller but faster, stinging at Julius's face as he crossed the yard. He shook as much of it from his hat and boots as he could before pushing open the door; it seemed to coat his sleeves with white as quickly as he could brush it off.
Inside, the cottage was much like the stable: neat, plain, showing no wealth whatsoever but an adequate appointment of household furnishings. It was chilly, but the walls softened the bone-deep unease of the cold that was setting in outside. The others' hats and coats were dripping by the door.
Harry was poking around the chimney. He looked up as Julius entered, with a quick, relieved expression.
'There's wood for a fire.'
'How much?'
'A week's worth, maybe.'
Their eyes met in a moment of unspoken understanding. Julius wasn't sure why he should be surprised by Harry's quick practicality. He knew his lover to be capable; Harry had told him some of his upbringing, glancing over its hardships with a shrug. But he rarely got the chance to see this side of Harry in their day-to-day ease. He thanked goodness for it now.
Ash was padding around the room, exploring its corners with shameless curiosity.
'I wonder where they are,' he said, glancing at a blotchy picture on a shelf that showed an unremarkable-looking little family: an older couple, a grown daughter. 'It is odd, the place being empty like this. Do you think it's haunted?' he added, guilelessly.
The chimney chose that moment to give a long, whistling wail. Harry shoved at Ash, thumping him in the side.
'Ash,' Julius said, before Ash could respond to the scuffle. 'Get your coat back on – you too, Francis. We should fetch the luggage from the chaise before it gets any worse out there.'
'For God's sake, how long are you planning to stay here?' Francis enquired. 'Surely it's just a matter of waiting until that fool of a postboy can find someone to come and fetch us.'
'He'll have a deuce of a job finding anyone willing to come out in this,' observed Ash, with a grimace at the white-flecked windowpanes.
'Indeed. We may have to spend the night. And if we do, I would much prefer the option of a change of clothing.'
'When my fingers drop off from frostbite, at least I will know they were sacrificed for a good cause on the altar of Julius Norreys' vanity.' Francis began to work his boots back on.
'I'll light the fire,' Harry said, worrying around the hearth as the others opened the door and headed back into the blinding white howl of the world outside.
***
Harry had got a cheerful blaze going by the time the rest of them staggered back into the cottage, chilled, sodden, overburdened and thoroughly bad-tempered. The snow was already nearly shin-deep in places, and although it was only midafternoon, the scant light was draining fast, the sky wiped senseless like a vast slate.
'Phew.' Ash dragged himself over to the fire, and began to struggle out of his wet things. 'I suppose they will come back for us?'
Francis tossed dry stockings, breeches and shirt over to Ash without answering, and began to change his own. There was no question of changing in separate rooms – none of them were willing to get too far from the warmth of the fire. Julius glanced up, and was startled by the glimpse of Francis's bare skin, the hard lean lines of his thighs. Looking away was not an improvement: by the fire, Ash was stripped to the waist and using his damp shirt to towel snow from his hair, the dancing swoop of the flames casting a play of light and shadow over his chest, his nipples hard in the lingering chill.
Julius wrenched his gaze away again, annoyed, and met Harry's eyes. There was a laugh there, a note of curiosity and pleasure, unspoken.
Insolent brat, Julius thought uncharitably, and turned away with a glower to change his own clothes as quickly as possible.
The fact was, he was frustrated. Their week at Freddy's had held little time or space for intimacy, since there was always the risk of revealing too much. It had been a week of little torments, of watching Harry glow in company and make eyes at Julius when he thought he could get away with it, of fleeting touches promising undelivered kisses. That frustration, coupled with the day's stress, had left Julius feeling remarkably on edge. He wanted more than anything to sink into Harry's arms, lose himself in sensation. But, of course, there were Ash and Francis, and a whole mess of other things to worry about.
His tension didn't ebb as the afternoon failed, the grey world outside fading to a rough, stony black. The four of them investigated the empty cottage with varying levels of interest and lack of shame, a diversion that took up no more than half an hour, given the small size of the place. Up the narrow stairs, two bedrooms were open to the rafters. Downstairs, the kitchen led back onto an earth-floored pantry and a small outshot. Some lingering qualms kept Julius from opening the bedroom drawers, but he gave the pantry a thorough inventory, and was quietly relieved to discover a decent supply of dry goods and provisions.
And then they waited. Ash and Harry idled by the hearth, chatting about lighthearted nonsense in a distracted way, and throwing restless glances at the windows. Francis had seated himself near Ash in one of the wobbly-legged kitchen chairs, folding sideways to crook his legs over the armrest, eyes closed and head leaned back. Julius paced, and wondered whether he had been right to send the postillion on to town rather than going himself. He wasn't aware that he was pacing, until Francis hooked an ankle around his leg as he passed, dragging him to a halt.
'For heaven's sake, stop. The floors in this quaint little refuge are worn enough already, without you adding new holes to them. As, indeed, are my nerves.'
'It's all right,' Harry added, with a worried glance. He stretched out a hand to Julius, tugging him over into a one-armed embrace, a quick press of comfort.
'It is very far from all right,' Francis said tiredly. 'It is a ridiculous situation and an unspeakable nuisance. But pacing about it isn't going to do any good.'
'They won't be back tonight.' Ash voiced the words they'd all been avoiding. 'Will they?'
'It seems unlikely.'
'Well, then. It's dashed lucky we found this place, and I'm sure its owners won't mind us using it. We're here now, so we may as well make the best of it, and not sit around sulking.'
Ash's tone was so determinedly cheerful that Julius laughed, actually laughed. Francis's lips curved, and he put a hand to Ash's hair, giving the golden curls a fond twist.
'I feel I have been rebuked. Very well. If we're going to play house for the night, let us begin. I hope one of you knows how to cook?'
***
Harry knew how to cook – at least, he knew better than the rest of them how to go about turning the dried peas and root vegetables from the larder into something resembling sustenance. Ash gamely threw himself into the role of assistant, and if the end result was not something Julius would have chosen to eat again, it could have been worse. It reminded him of nothing so much as army messes; he almost expected the ring of a tin plate under his spoon rather than the farmhouse crockery with its clumsy brown glaze. But they were all hungry – by the time the younger men had finished defying culinary disaster, it was past eight o'clock – and the undisguised look of hopeful appeal on Ash's face as he served up the pottage was enough to flavour the dish with laughter from them all.
'If I ever weary of the menu at Alcide's, I'll know where to come,' Julius said.
'You can make breakfast tomorrow,' Harry informed him, with a vengeful air. 'You're always horribly energetic in the mornings; you may as well put it to good use.'
Julius lifted a brow. 'You don't ordinarily complain about my morning exertions.' That was more than he would normally have said in company, even if the company in question was Ash and Francis, but the day's exhaustion had, apparently, lowered his standards.
'On which,' said Francis with a sublimely unmoved expression, over Ash's splutter of laughter, 'must we argue about who gets which bedroom?'
'Nobody gets either,' Harry said.
'I beg your pardon?'
'There's only one fireplace upstairs, and I didn't light it. It's a waste of wood heating the entire house. I thought we'd all sleep in here.'
Julius's back gave a twinge at the very thought. Hard on its heels came frustration at the lack of privacy. Harry was right, of course: they had no way of knowing how long the storm would last, and running out of fuel could spell disaster. Knowing that didn't make Julius any happier about it.
'On the floor? We're not all as young as you are, dear boy.'
'We can fetch the mattresses down here. Come on.'
Harry took up a lamp in one hand and grabbed Julius's hand with the other. He dragged him up the draughty stairs, towing him into the larger bedroom and pushing the door closed behind them.
They regarded each other for a second. In the semi-darkness, the glow of the lamp picked out specks of dust drifting in the chilly air, a quiet echo of the snow outside.
'You're taut as a bowstring.' Harry stepped nearer and ran a thumb along Julius's brow. His body was close but not touching, hips and chest and thighs whispering warmth against Julius. 'You have been all evening. Are you all right?'
'Perfectly.'
Harry started to move away. Julius's hand shot up without any conscious volition, gripping Harry's fingers and keeping them against his face, prolonging the touch.
'Perfectly, considering,' he amended. 'If I had been given the choice of how I should like to shelter out a snowstorm, a deserted farm cottage in the middle of the countryside with Ash and Francis would not have been at the top of my list.'
Harry grinned ruefully. 'Well, yes. I'd much rather we were all back at Arrandene. I'd been looking forward to having you to myself.'
Julius brushed a kiss to Harry's temple. Harry turned Julius's face and caught his mouth, tracing his lips with his tongue, warm and vital and promising. Julius sighed into him, and Harry pressed closer for a long second. Then he pulled away.
'Come on. Let's get these blankets downstairs. Do you know, I feel almost responsible for Ash and Francis.'
'Physical hardship isn't their area of expertise,' Julius agreed, releasing Harry with some regret. 'Nor is it mine, really, the war aside.'
'Oh, this isn't hardship. We've a roof over our heads, and food and fuel for a week at least.'
'And congenial company,' Julius said, to make Harry laugh.
'Ash is congenial,' said Harry, meaning Francis isn't, and it was Julius's turn to smile as he began to tug the mattresses from the bedframe.
'I suppose you've been in situations like this before?'
'Not exactly. I've had plenty of cold winters, but we were always in cities. It's different. Your neighbours might be starving and freezing too, but at least they know you're still alive. Out here, with nobody around for miles… it's unsettling.'
'True. But even with the snow, the postillion will have made St Albans before nightfall. People know where we are. We aren't cut off.'
'You're marvellous,' Harry told him. 'It's one of the few good things about getting into scrapes. You're always so ruthlessly competent.' He fluttered his eyelashes at Julius, grinning.
'You're doing well yourself, dear heart. I sometimes forget how much sense you have.'
'Oh, really!'
'You take my meaning.' Julius rolled his eyes at Harry's laughing attitude of mock-affront. 'I love you. And if I must be trapped in a cottage, I'm glad to have you trapped in it with me.'
Harry kissed him again for that, over an armful of scratchy blankets, swift and hard.
'Love you too. Let's go and see what Ash and Francis are getting up to.'
On reflection, Julius thought, they should have guessed what Ash and Francis would be getting up to. He and Harry bumped clumsily down the narrow stairs with their armfuls of bedding. They emerged into the blessed warmth of the kitchen, and Julius walked directly into Harry, who had stopped dead in front of him with a barely-suppressed squeak.
Ash was crowded against the far wall, his head thrown back, mouth open. His hands were gripping Francis's arse, holding on for dear life, as Francis's narrow frame bracketed him. His shirt was untucked, and Francis's hands were visible beneath the rucked-up fabric, raking up his sides. Francis's head was bent, kissing along the exposed length of Ash's neck in dizzying bites.
Ash opened his eyes at their entrance, and made a visible effort to still his movements.
'Oh, there you are,' he said, flushed and bright-eyed.
'Don't let us interrupt,' Julius said, dry words through his dry mouth, and did his best to ignore the unexpected twinge of arousal at the display. 'Or, rather, do.' Was it his imagination, or did Ash's shoulders drop slightly at that? 'We have household matters to attend to.'
Francis looked very severe indeed as he drew away from Ash, twin spots of colour riding high on his pale cheeks.
'Of course. Blankets,' he said inanely, and turned to help clear a space on the rug with the air of a man clinging desperately to the last shreds of his composure. Julius couldn't blame him, he supposed. 'My apologies.'
'It's hardly the most personal situation between you two I've walked in on,' Harry said with a grin – and there was another note in his voice too, one that Julius was intimately familiar with.
'I suppose that's true,' Ash said, as though pleased at the thought, and went to their bags to find his nightshirt. Julius didn't watch him as he went.
In the end, they managed to make up a tolerably comfortable bed, near enough the banked fire for warmth but far enough that the straw ticks would be safe from any sparks. It was… odd, getting ready for sleep in the same room as Ash and Francis. Not precisely unpleasant, nor self-conscious – Julius had known them both for a long while, and they were among the men he most trusted in the world. But there was still a slight hesitant vulnerability to the hush as the four of them settled into their makeshift bed.
Julius put out the candle and rustled his way under the blankets, objecting strongly to the prickle of chaff and straw in the privacy of his mind, but determinedly refusing to say so out loud. Harry met his eyes for a second in the low gleam from the fire, and leaned over to give him a tired kiss, warm and familiar.
'I feel it only fair to warn you, gentlemen,' Francis said seriously into the darkness from the far side of the bed, 'that Gabriel snores.'
Harry yelped with laughter.
'I do not,' Ash said, indignant. 'Do I?'
'If you do, I shall let you know about it,' Julius said. 'You may consider yourself lucky that Harry is between us. I'll tell him to kick you for me.'
'Harry wouldn't be so cruel.'
'Sorry,' Harry said, unapologetically. 'If Julius commands…'
They lapsed into silence again. Julius leaned his forehead into Harry's shoulder, and tried to still his mind. Behind his eyelids, the whirling patterns of snow kept falling, dancing and distracting him.
'I hope the postillion made it to town safely.' Ash's murmur hooked Julius back into semi-consciousness. 'And I hope he gets word to Richard where we are, and I hope someone comes for us tomorrow.'
Harry shifted – reaching out to Ash, Julius realised, a comforting touch in the darkness. 'They will. Cyprian can probably melt through snowdrifts. And, besides, I'm sure it will stop by tomorrow.'
Julius groaned inwardly. He wanted to say something pointed about tempting fate, but forming the words felt like too much effort. With Harry next to him, he was warm, warm to the core for the first time all day, and sleep hit him all at once in a crashing wave.
***
Morning arrived in a confusion of sensations. Julius's nose was cold, his skin irritated by the unfamiliar textures of the blankets and mattresses, and Ash was, in fact, snoring, a gentle snuffling of breath. The room was silent otherwise, dim and strange.
He braced himself for the chill and extricated himself from underneath the covers, snagging a blanket to wrap around his shoulders. Harry made a grumbling noise and rolled away from the cold air, burying his face in Ash's shoulder.
Julius stirred up the embers of the fire and added a fresh log. Then he went and drew back the shutters.
It had stopped snowing. The thin windowpanes were sheeted with ice inside and rimed with a crust of frost outside. The bottom pane was solid grey: a despairing, heartless grey, flooding the dim hues of the pre-dawn world with that eerie excess of light that creeps through snow-bound mornings. By the time Julius had cleared a spot to look out properly, the day was beginning to grow, revealing a heavy-clouded sky that promised more snow to come. Waist-high drifts had transformed the yard and track to a formless, hostile, alien landscape.
Well. Shit.
Behind him, Francis shifted with a soft grunt. Julius turned and saw him frowning his way into consciousness, brown hair dishevelled, nightshirt a little askew at the throat. He twisted, sitting up with a wince.
'Good morning.' Julius kept his voice to an undertone. 'Sleep well?'
Francis shot him a poisonous glare, and groaned. 'Good God. My back.'
'You have all my sympathy. My neck feels like it's been through a washerwoman's mangle. Let's not tell the youngsters that one night away from a four-poster is enough to make us fall to pieces, shall we?'
'Certainly not.' Francis looked down at the sleeping Ash. Harry was curled against his shoulder, his deep brown curls brushing Ash's cheek, a few strands nearly clinging to his half-parted lips. 'They look well together, don't they?'
They did. Julius had often thought so – Ash's golden beauty against Harry's easy, rough-and-tumble charm, like and yet unlike. He nodded abruptly, not entirely sure how to put that feeling into words.
Francis reached out to trace Ash's cheek, gently. The motion brought his hand close to Harry's hair, and Julius wondered, What if he touches?, pictured Francis's fingers raking through Harry's tangled locks. He shivered. Francis gave him a narrow, quizzical look, but before he could say anything, Ash yawned and stretched, dislodging Harry, and the room dissolved into the chaos of waking in their new, unfamiliar, snowed-in world.
***
The first day felt almost like a holiday. The four of them threw themselves into figuring out their daily tasks with vigour: Ash brimming with good-natured enjoyment that seemed (at least to Julius's eye) unfeigned, Francis with the vicious determination of a gamester playing out an abominable hand, Harry converting his nervous energy into boundless enthusiasm. Julius kept his body moving to distract his mind from the persistent worries: What if the snow doesn't lessen? What if we run out of supplies? What if someone is injured?
He did manage to prepare breakfast, cursing the lack of bread, eggs or milk – weren't farms supposed to have animals? – and, worse, the lack of coffee. They used a broom to force their way through the snow to the stable, checked on the mare, turned up some shovels, and took it in shifts to attempt to clear the track that led back to the road. It began to snow again in the afternoon, but lightly, gentle flakes rather than the howling outpour of yesterday. The world felt suspended, hanging in a breath of silver and stillness.
Ash and Harry came tramping back up to the cottage as the light failed, giggling like schoolboys, glowing with triumph and the exercise of clearing the track, snowflakes dusting their shoulders and clinging to their lashes. They had a conspiratorial air to them that Julius decided not to interrogate, and Harry marched up to Julius and gave him a thorough, determined kiss before breaking away to remove his wet things.
'What shall we do now?' Ash demanded after dinner, which they had eaten at the disgracefully countrified hour of half past five, all of them too exhausted and hungry from their day's work to wait. They were sprawled around the fire in shirtsleeves, Ash lying on his stomach on the hearthrug, Julius sinking into a chair and feeling the burn in his muscles from the day's exertions, not without a certain satisfaction. Francis was in the other chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, nursing a blistered palm with a martyred air.
'Not cards. I couldn't be expected to shuffle in this state.'
'Let it alone,' Harry advised him, and went to the kitchen drawers for a scrap of fabric. 'Here, let me.'
He knelt down beside Francis, tucking himself into the space alongside Francis's thighs, intent on wrapping the hand he held. His sure fingers pressed into Francis's palm as he knotted the bandage.
Julius's skin prickled for a second, and then he glanced up from Harry and realised why: Francis was watching him, direct and thoughtful, as though calculating Julius's reaction to the sight of Harry at Francis's feet.
Irritatingly, Julius felt a rush of heat to his cheeks. He'd seen Francis look at people before; had smiled sidelong at the many penetrating stares Francis had subjected Ash to. Julius had never been on the receiving end of one of those looks himself, and he felt a belated sympathy for the silliness that Ash had been provoked to in the past. Francis knew how to look at a man, that was for certain. The cool, infuriating stare was nearly more than Julius could tolerate.
'Not cards,' Harry agreed, getting to his feet. He came back over to Julius and deposited himself on Julius's lap without so much as a by-your-leave, settling with a hint of amusement in his movements. Julius did not consider this helpful. He shifted a little, pointedly, and felt Harry's arm land casually around his shoulders. 'Has anyone got any good stories?'
Ash knew some, to which Francis contributed wry asides and observations that had them all laughing. Harry, naturally, knew hundreds of stories, and of the worst sort. Julius sat through what felt like hours of anecdotes that served to make the radical dens of the continent seem a sort of sexual utopia, vividly aware of Harry's weight on his lap, and cursed the day that Richard had ever introduced them.
At least, he thought bitterly as they turned in for the night, the exhaustion of a day of physical labour ought to mean that there was little risk of him lying awake for hours, intolerably aware of the presence of three other men in his bed. Harry kissed him goodnight, and Julius took the opportunity to give his lover's ear a tweak and hiss, 'Behave yourself.'
'Sleep well,' Harry said, the picture of innocence, and Julius put out the candle so that he wouldn't have to look at the wretched boy's smiling face.
The second day was worse than the first. More snow had fallen during the night, and the world outside had lost its freshness, dead and dirty-looking under the iron sky, with the old snow packed down into an icy layer that made moving nearly impossible. They made an ineffectual attempt to wash their linen, boiling kettlefuls of water and leaving wrung-out items strewn over the furniture, dripping disconsolately.
The cold showed no signs of breaking. Nobody rode or walked by, and no coaches braved the road. They were all sore from shovelling the day before, tense and on edge, and they might as well have been on the moon for all their hope of rescue.
By the third day, Julius was nearing breaking point. The four of them seemed constantly to be in each other's space; the kitchen was cluttered with the detritus of their occupation; he could feel Francis's breathing from halfway across the room, as though they were sharing one set of lungs.
He and Francis had fought, almost physically, over the need to clear the track again. 'You may enjoy ruling your kingdom of ice, but I am not your subject,' Francis had snapped, and he had been so close to Julius while he had said it, and Julius had wanted desperately to grab him and – he didn't even know what, only that every atom in his frustrated body was crying out for some form of physical release.
He hadn't grabbed him. He had turned away with an effort, and Francis, to his credit, had apologised, which was irksome because it meant that Julius had to reciprocate the apology, and Harry had run a hand up and down Julius's arm, a soothing motion that had a decidedly un-soothing effect.
They played vingt-un that evening, for something to do. Francis was playing to win, and Harry, who was ordinarily both a reasonably good card player and a well-tempered one, was losing badly and complaining about it.
'It's not fair,' he said, dropping his hand to the table with a despairing groan.
'Ash is playing even worse than you are,' said Julius, which was absolutely true. 'He doesn't seem to mind.'
'Yes,' said Ash with a grin, 'but I've had a lot of practice losing at cards to Francis.'
'And at least Ash gets the reward of being well-fucked when he loses,' Harry added.
Julius nearly spilled his wine, and steadied his grip on the glass just in time.
Harry was looking up from under his eyelashes in a way that was half-petulant, half-amused. It was, irritatingly, very appealing. 'It doesn't seem fair that we're not all playing for the same stakes.'
'I couldn't agree more.' Ash flung down his own cards with alacrity. 'Perhaps we should change the game.'
Harry reached over and took Julius's wrist. His fingers were warm and soothing, the whisper of roughness from their few days of manual labour bringing back memories of their earliest encounters, before life as a gentleman had smoothed his touch. His eyes were bright, anticipation brimming in their depths, and Julius wanted him so badly it was painful.
'What game would you prefer we play?' Francis said. His studied tone was at odds with the dark gleam in his eyes.
'Harry and I were thinking –'
'Oh, dear,' Julius managed to chime in. Harry squeezed his wrist. Francis chuckled.
'It's been days,' Ash went on. 'We're all tense, cooped up here, and it's not like there's anything else to do. So we thought we might all… distract each other. Physically.'
Francis's eyes were on Ash, his voice velveted with private fondness as he said, 'Of course you did.' Julius couldn't pay attention to them. He was entirely consumed by Harry, who was sitting back in his chair now, fingertips stroking over the inside of Julius's wrist, prick obviously hardening even through cloth and candlelit shadows.
'Do you want –' Julius's voice sounded strained in his own ears.
'Only if you're interested,' Harry said earnestly. He gave Julius a quick, thorough grin, taking in his rigid posture, the tension thrumming through him. 'And I do think I could get your interest.'
'In what, precisely?'
'I thought you might like to watch.'
'Watch…'
'Francis bugger me. If he's amenable, of course.' Harry gave Francis an almost deferential smile, a flicker of the same anticipation he'd first shown around the cool intimidating facade. 'Or Ash could do it, I suppose –'
'Thank you for the enthusiasm,' Ash said, mock-wounded.
'Or,' Harry went on with a laugh, 'both at once, even. Although that might take some working up to.'
Julius had to close his eyes for a second. The ideas conjured by the words were vividly arousing, but it was Harry's laughter that threatened to undo Julius entirely. He was so joyful in his pleasures, and his shameless enthusiasm, his obvious eagerness to share himself, made Julius's breath catch in his throat.
'Now I see why you two get on so well,' Francis said to Ash. 'You're both insatiable.' His eyes were dark and considering, the caged frustration that had been building in him over the past few days taking on a warmer colour, but no less dangerous. 'Very well. May I fuck him, Julius?'
He asked the question over Harry's head. It could almost have passed for casual, if not for the barely-restrained hum of desire, and it went straight to Julius's prick. It was the acknowledgement, perhaps, that Harry's pleasure was Julius's too, that what pleased one of them would please the other: all the heat of connection without the physical overwhelm. And he did want to watch. He wanted to see every second of Harry's enjoyment, without the distraction of sensation, and to know when he next took Harry that the picture they made would be something like that…
'I thought you could tell him how,' Harry said breathlessly. 'And I did think that you would like to see me.'
Yes. Please, yes. Julius attempted to rescue his usual tone of light composure, and failed miserably. 'I suppose we may as well. At least it will pass the time. You may both do as you wish with him.'
'Oh, thank goodness,' Ash said wholeheartedly, pulling Harry up from his chair and grabbing him for a kiss.
Ash was all eagerness, laughing against Harry's lips and gasping. From where he was sitting, Julius could see Harry's tongue sliding deep into Ash's receptive mouth, Harry's hands grabbing for Ash's arse with an undignified grunt. One of Ash's hands was on Harry's shoulder. His other arm reached out behind his back, motioning for Francis.
Julius was aware – vaguely – of Francis hissing an oath, pushing himself up to join the pair, stripping off any of Ash's clothes that he could reach without interrupting their embrace. He couldn't have identified the details if you had paid him, because Harry's expression had become the centre of his world: the sheer contentment radiating from him, and the laughing confidence.
Harry stopped kissing Ash for a moment, to let Francis get the remainder of Ash's clothes off – and, judging by the visible rise and fall of his chest, to catch his breath. He looked over at Julius, immediately, and the smile at whatever he must have seen on Julius's face took Julius's breath away.
Infuriating boy. Lovely, lovely thing. How had Julius thought that simply because he wasn't touching Harry he would be able to focus? He felt dizzied, overcome, sharp desire and even sharper affection alight in all his senses. He's doing this for me. Giving this to me.
Harry lifted one eyebrow at him, just a flicker. Julius nodded back, the tiniest tilt of his head, and saw Harry's smile widen even further as he bent to finish undressing.
Then he pulled himself together. 'Oil. I assume one of you incorrigible youths brought some?'
Julius had brought some himself, as it happened, not that he'd got any use out of it during their week at Freddy's. But the obliging eagerness with which Ash went to rifle through the luggage was charming, and besides, Julius didn't think he'd be able to stand with any dignity.
He didn't consider himself particularly susceptible to Ash's charms, under normal circumstances – he'd known the man for too long to let a pretty face catch him out. But Ash unclothed and flushed with pleasurable anticipation, all golden curls and compact build and hard, ruddy prick, made an undeniably lovely sight. Harry was watching him hungrily, but that was nothing to the look on Francis's face, as intense and severe as Julius had ever seen him. Good God, the man was besotted.
'What are you all staring at?' Ash demanded, clearly pleased with the attention. He slung the oil down onto their pile of mattresses.
'As though you need to ask,' Julius said, as drily as he was able.
'You really are very pretty, you know,' Harry told him. 'Are we sure I shouldn't fuck you instead? You look like someone ought to give you a good ride.'
'He will get one when I choose to give him one,' Francis said. 'And not before.'
Harry shuddered with laughter. 'Cruel of you to refuse to share that arse.'
'Francis is cruel,' Ash informed him, in tones that clearly meant the exact opposite. 'He always gives me everything I want in the most dreadful manner. But anyway, I don't think Julius would ever forgive us if we deprived him of the chance to see you take Francis's prick.'
'Quite right,' Julius said. I want to see the look on your face. I want to see you fucked ruthlessly – and Francis will be ruthless about it, I'm sure – and watch as you still try to smile at me through the gasps, because you cannot have a single moment of enjoyment without wanting to share it with me, can you? I want –
'I want to see everything,' he said aloud. 'On his hands and knees, I think, Francis?'
Francis raised a brow in receipt of the words. Then he put his hand on Harry's bare shoulder, a no-nonsense grip for all the world as though he were greeting a friend in the street, and pushed him to his knees.
Harry went easily – the heedless grace of youth, Julius thought, with the jaded advantage of his six more years of age – and went to all fours in front of Francis. He was perhaps three feet away from Julius's chair, too far to touch, but he was looking at Julius as Francis retrieved the oil, and that look felt more physical than all of the touches Julius had received during the years before he'd known Harry.
Francis had long, slender fingers. Julius had known that, in an academic sort of way. Now, as he watched the man run his fingers along the curve of Harry's arse with severe control, the fact struck him afresh. He was going to see those fingers enter Harry, watch his lover welcome them and twist and pant…
'Julius,' Harry gasped. Francis gave his hip a sharp squeeze, not a reproof but certainly a reminder, and Harry twitched back into the touch.
'He knows it's you,' Ash said with a grin. He'd settled on the floor beside the others, and was trailing his own hand along Harry's back, his chest, exploring. 'Really, Francis. Nobody could mistake those fingers.'
Harry made an impatient noise. 'Julius, tell Francis to hurry up, please.'
Christ. Julius's hand had gone, seemingly of its own volition, to grip his cock through his clothes.
'Not yet,' he said, just to see what his refusal would do to the lot of them. Ash's eyes widened. Francis bared a sudden flash of a grin, pleased, as Harry twitched against the hands that held him.
'I want it.'
'Will he beg?' Francis asked.
'Probably.' Julius felt light-headed. 'Harry?'
'Please,' Harry said, on cue, without a second's hesitation. 'Please, Francis – Julius, do let him.'
'More oil, first.' Harry could manage a little discomfort, creature of the world that he was, but never mind. 'Yes. Now, Francis.'
Harry gasped as Francis's finger slid inside him. He looked – delightful, every bit as delightful as Julius could have imagined, his nakedness contrasted with Francis's still-clothed form, shoulders and back tensed as he held himself up, meeting those capable fingers with determination. Julius fumbled with his own clothing, freeing his stand without ever looking away, and was so intent on the sight that he was startled to find Ash had come over to him.
'It's torture, when he does that,' he told Julius confidingly. 'It feels marvellous, of course, but it makes it impossible to think about anything but how much better his cock will be.'
Francis chose that moment to do something with his fingers that had Harry crying out. Julius couldn't help a small intake of breath at the sound. His hand was still on his prick. Ash grinned. 'You should let him do it to you sometime.'
'Gabriel,' said Francis, without slowing or changing his movements.
'Well, your cock is marvellous,' Ash said unrepentantly. 'I could talk about it for hours.'
'Or perhaps you should find something else to occupy your mouth.' Francis looked meaningfully at Julius.
'Oh, excellent.' Ash sounded as though he'd been given a present. 'Julius, may I?'
Harry, catching the thread of events a few seconds later than the rest (understandable, perhaps, for a man with two of Francis's fingers buried in his arse), let out a low whine at the idea, and that decided it.
'Down,' Julius said to Ash, and put a dose of the commanding officer into it for good measure. Ash went to his knees instantly, and Julius shifted to give him access, and then the golden head was bent over his prick, kissing it, tongue sliding over the head.
He was careful, for all his keenness, more restrained than Julius would have expected. There was none of the overwhelming physicality that Julius had come to love from Harry but remembered with faint wariness from previous assignations, and Julius wondered whether Harry had spoken to Ash about Julius's desires beforehand, taken him aside and confessed what Julius liked, told him how to please him. The thought was a jolt of pure sensation.
That – and perversity at Ash's polite restraint when he was so clearly made for cocksucking, and, above all, the way Harry was watching, his own mouth open in what looked like shock – all combined to a point of sudden need. Julius put a hand in Ash's hair, felt him press into the touch, and tugged him forwards. His prick slid fully into Ash's mouth, and Ash was sucking him properly, joyously, all heat and pressure and wet, hungry movements.
Julius had timed the tug with Francis's motions, or Francis had lost some of his control in seeing Ash go to his knees for Julius. He had three fingers inside Harry now, driving them deeper with a hiss of 'Christ,' and Julius could see the stretch of Harry's rim around the intrusion, and Harry yelped aloud and twisted, fucking himself back into the touch as best he could.
Harry was staring at Julius, at his grip on Ash's hair. It was the same expression he wore when Julius donned a waistcoat that Harry found particularly striking, or the look he'd had on first seeing Julius's earring. It was a look that said you're beautiful – and Julius, as he let his friend suck him off under the gaze of his lover, felt it. He felt adorned, as though Ash was some new bauble he'd added to his ensemble for Harry's appreciative gaze.
Francis withdrew his fingers, with a final punitive stretch. Harry whimpered at the loss of sensation.
'Hush,' Francis told him, not sternly. 'You'll get your fucking – when Julius says you can have it.'
Harry let out a choke of gasping, sensitive laughter. 'You're all terrible.'
Ash pulled his mouth off of Julius's cock. 'I'm not terrible,' he said, plaintively.
'Yes, you are,' Francis and Harry said in unison.
'This was your idea,' Harry told him, drowned out by Francis's, 'Get your mouth back on Julius's prick. Julius, shall we fuck Harry now?'
For all Francis's cool posturing, he was thrumming with tension as he freed his stand, clearly ready to bury himself in Harry's body. Ash flickered his tongue under the head of Julius's cock, and Julius's patience snapped.
'Yes,' he said, 'now,' – and drank it all in, Francis's sharp movements betraying his need, Harry's helpless gasp as Francis pushed in and began to move, steadily, giving no quarter. He fucked as though he was quite sure that Harry could take it, as though his command of Harry's body was a fact, and Harry opened to his thrusts, taking Francis's cock for Julius's sake, letting himself be ridden ruthlessly and enjoying every second.
Julius's hips jerked involuntarily, and Ash made a pleased sound around his mouthful. Harry was crying out a little with each thrust, and they were harder now, Francis beginning to lose his composure, tugging Harry towards him. He wasn't touching Harry's prick, wasn't touching him at all beyond that iron grip on his hips – because, Julius realised, he hadn't told Francis to. Julius had no idea if he was in control or not, hopelessly lost in the sight of Francis sliding in and out of Harry's body, the sensation of Ash's mouth.
'Julius,' Harry said on a whine, and Julius's hips stuttered again. Christ, he was close. He could come like this, into Ash's pretty mouth, overwhelmed by Harry's sheer need.
'Oh God,' he said aloud. Ash chose that moment to pull off of Julius's stand, dropping a little biting kiss onto his thigh before scooting backwards. Julius made a noise in his throat.
'Harry wants you,' Ash said simply. 'And I thought you might want to finish inside him, once Francis is done with him?'
Julius managed to get to his feet and cross the few steps to the others without his knees giving way, which felt like an achievement. He tugged lightly at Ash's hair on the way past, caress and thanks all in one: Thank you for caring for Harry. Ash hummed contentedly, and Julius filed that away for future consideration. He paused to extricate himself from the disarray of his clothing, since he was damned if he'd get spend on these breeches, and dropped to his knees beside Harry.
At the first touch of Julius's hand on his skin, Harry cried aloud. He looked as though holding himself up was becoming a challenge, and Julius wanted to see more. He stroked Harry's side, steadying, and then pulled away.
Francis had stilled his movements, with some effort. He gave Julius a half-smile, a small and surprisingly intimate quirk of his lips.
'I am at your disposal. What shall we do with him?'
'On his back?'
'Your wish is my command.'
Harry almost collapsed, rolling onto his back on the blankets, as Francis pulled out. He was flushed and panting, glowing with vitality and firelight, and he looked so simply contented that Julius could not have kept from kissing him if his life had been forfeit.
They were still kissing as Francis pushed back into Harry. Julius felt it happen in the gasp against his mouth and the deliberate relaxing of Harry's muscles around the intrusion. He sat up and reached a hand between Harry's legs, nudging them wider. He wanted to touch, to see where Francis's stand pressed into Harry's arse.
He tipped oil onto his fingers, barely managing not to fumble the bottle, and looked over at Ash, who was sprawled on the blankets next to Harry and stroking himself as though spellbound.
'Ash, over here, please.'
He wanted Harry to have something to focus on for this. He wasn't sure if it would be too much, needed to see if he'd welcome it, Julius's accommodating, beloved, wonderful Harry. The idea of two pricks at once seemed a little daunting, and more than Julius's patience could withstand at present. But maybe…
Ash bent to kiss Harry, capturing Harry's cock in his hand and stroking gently, getting used to the feel of him. Harry's eyes were closed now, head tipped back, and he gave a sigh of pleasure that quickly turned to a shout as Julius worked a finger into Harry's body alongside Francis's prick.
'Oh, God, please.'
'Shhh,' Julius said. 'That's it. Lie still. Ash, stroke him harder.'
He could feel the stretch of Harry's rim around his finger, the slick heat of his body, Francis's cock nudging against him. Francis looked wild, perspiration gathering at his throat as his cock slid out and back in, and when Julius eased a second finger into Harry, jostling against Francis in that tight hot space, Francis let out a long, low groan, and then there was a new wetness on Julius's fingers: Francis's spend inside Harry.
'Christ,' Francis said, a hiss of breath, and withdrew. 'Thank you, Julius. He's all yours.'
Harry's breath was coming in little sobs now, and he made a protesting noise at the loss of Francis's prick and Julius's fingers. Ash kissed him, murmuring, 'Nearly there, now,' and Julius abandoned all semblance of decorum or restraint, and pushed his own prick into his lover's waiting body.
There was no resistance, Harry's muscles well-loosened and slick with oil and spend, and Julius buried himself to the hilt in one hard thrust. He slid back, thrust again, equally hard, and Harry's face contorted and his prick jumped in Ash's hand as he came with a cry, body tightening around Julius.
'Oh,' Ash said, with a hitch of breath. 'Francis?'
'Here, my Gabriel.' Ash whimpered as Francis's arms went around him, leaning back into Francis's chest as Francis's hand found his prick, the dark head murmuring low against his neck. 'Glorious. You've done so well. Shall we help to decorate this tableau you've created?'
Harry, arching a little at the overheard words, nodded. His dark curls were shining with sweat. He seemed incapable of speech, lost in sensation, shivering as Julius fucked into him.
'That's right.' Francis's hand tightened its caress on Ash's cock, just so, and Ash made a stifled wailing sound, and Julius watched almost in awe as he spent over Harry's chest, against the dark hair. Harry looked – ruined, Julius thought, with the last functioning corner of his mind; utterly abandoned, filthy – and so very happy. And it was that happiness, the little shudder of content as he welcomed Julius's intrusion and Ash's spend and Francis's gaze, which had Julius spending, his grip desperately tight on Harry's thighs, clutching him as though for dear life.
When the ringing in his ears subsided, Julius became aware that he was slumped heavily across Harry, with Harry's hand stroking his shoulder clumsily. He pushed himself off, and out.
'Mmph. Sorry.'
'Don't be,' Harry said. His voice was hoarse. 'God, that was good. I love you. Come back here.'
He tugged Julius down again. Julius let himself collapse, remembering too late to attempt to avoid the mess of spend on Harry's stomach and chest. One of Harry's arms came round his shoulders, the other reaching for Ash and Francis.
Francis gave Ash a little shove, and Ash settled against Harry's side with a sigh.
'Thank you,' he said, apparently to the room at large. 'I can't tell you how much I wanted that.'
'Believe me, we noticed,' Francis said. 'But I have to agree. An excellent idea, you two. Much more diverting than beating you at vingt-un yet again.' He stroked Harry's sweat-damp curls away from his face. 'You're a pleasure.'
Harry blushed, tried and failed to reach Francis from under the combined weight of the others, and jerked his head slightly with the helpless look of a man wishing he had more than two arms. Francis rolled his eyes, but leaned over and bestowed a swift kiss on Harry's cheek.
'A pleasure indeed. Thank you for sharing him, Julius.'
'Not at all. You are very welcome,' Julius said, with perfect politeness, muffled against Harry's chest. Then he began, unexpectedly, to laugh.
'Good God,' said Francis, clearly amused. 'We've finally found the limits of Julius's dignity.'
Harry laughed too, quivering under Julius.
'I'm sticky all over,' he said. 'Can someone please fetch a cloth?'
'Francis will do it,' Ash said, with a clear plea in his voice.
'Will I, indeed.'
'Well, you're the most dressed.'
'If you're expecting me to be able to stand right now, you've got a low opinion of your prowess,' Harry added. 'I may never move again.'
Julius let his eyes drift closed as the amicable bickering continued, feeling the warmth of Harry's closeness and the relief of satiated desire uncoil through his body. He was startled, eventually, by the touch of a wet cloth against his overheated skin.
He opened his eyes to find Francis leaning across him, helping to clean Harry up with a long-suffering air. He paused for a second when he'd finished, looking down at Julius thoughtfully. Then he reached out and tilted Julius's chin slightly with one cool finger, and leaned in – a tiny hint of hesitation in his otherwise unreadable expression – to kiss Julius's mouth.
It was a brief kiss, not demanding, the barest flicker of tongue and the press of warm lips, and then he pulled away. Harry was looking between them with a little grin, and Julius felt heat rising in his own cheeks, as though that one small touch was more worthy of embarrassment than any of the myriad other things they had done that evening.
'Oh, not fair,' Ash said sleepily. 'I can't be the only one not to have kissed Julius.'
Francis looked a little surprised at his own behaviour, satisfaction warring with uncertainty on his features. Ridiculous. Julius sighed, propped himself up on one elbow with an effort, leaned across Harry, and kissed the smile from Ash's mouth. Then he kissed Francis again for good measure, a brief punctuation, and then dropped his exhausted head back down to seek refuge in the familiarity of Harry's embrace.
Something warm and slightly scratchy settled over Julius: Francis pulling the blankets up to cover them, tidying the pillows, undressing for bed. Julius heard the rustle of fabric as he slipped in to join them, and twitched a little as a cold hand brushed against him. Francis's arm, he realised, coming over Ash to land on Harry's chest.
Ash was already asleep, his breathing deep and even; or was that Harry's breathing? As Julius drifted into slumber, there came another sound, as gentle and fine as silk, shivering and pattering against the roof, and with his last drowsy moment of consciousness, Julius thought: rain.
***
They were all jolted awake the next morning by the sound of knocking.
Harry was alert before the rest, sitting bolt upright in a tangle of blankets and limbs, while Ash was still rubbing at his eyes.
'What in the world –' said Francis groggily.
'The door,' Harry hissed. 'There's someone at the door!'
Julius took one swift look around at the incriminating pile of blankets, the clothes and bottle of oil scattered heedlessly around the room, and the sheer number of naked men. 'Fuck.'
He grabbed for the nearest shirt, tossed one at Ash. Francis had scrambled into a nightshirt, and crossed to the shutter to peer out, letting in a shaft of light that had a strange, limpid quality. For a moment Julius couldn't tell what had changed. Then he realised: the snow was gone, vanished to reveal the greys and browns and muddy-dull greens of the world beneath. The sky was clear and cloudless, a light, rain-washed blue.
'Of bloody course,' Francis said under his breath. Then he stepped over to the door, ignoring the 'Wait –' from a still only half-dressed Ash, and tugged it open without ceremony.
'Good morning, gentlemen. Happy new year.'
Cyprian looked exceptionally proper, wrapped in coat and hat, his expression the picture of dignity. His gaze travelled around the room – Harry visibly winced – but he didn't say anything else. There was, perhaps, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his knowing brown eyes.
'Cyprian!' said Ash joyfully, and then, 'The snow?'
'Melted, Lord Gabriel. The weather broke last night – thankfully. Lord Richard was growing somewhat anxious as to your wellbeing.'
'How did you know where we were?' Harry, cheeks pink with embarrassment, was making a hasty effort to finish dressing, resulting in a knot to his neckcloth that was frankly offensive. Julius stepped over to him and began to retie it.
'The postillion Brown arrived at the White Hart in St Albans on Tuesday afternoon.' Cyprian was moving around the room, collecting stray bits of linen with imperturbable efficiency. 'He was reluctant to go out again into the snow, but he found a messenger willing to brave the storm and ride the rest of the way to Arrandene, so we had word that you were safe and sheltered. After that, it was simply a matter of waiting until the roads became passable again – and hoping that rural domesticity wouldn't prove too inconvenient for you in the meantime.'
'Oh, but that makes it sound frightfully pedestrian,' Ash complained. 'We've been having all sorts of adventures. And rubbing along rather well together, I think.'
Francis made a choking noise. Cyprian's foxy smile flashed, briefly, across his face.
'So I see. If you will all finish dressing, perhaps we can restore some order to the Tindalls' house before we leave.'
'The Tindalls?'
'The occupants. An elderly couple, whose daughter married last year and is expecting a child. They are staying with their son-in-law's household now, to be on hand for the birth.'
'I am glad to see you are as omniscient as ever,' Julius said. 'I do hope they won't begrudge us the use of their home.'
'I have already arranged to reimburse them.' Cyprian held out a shirt towards Julius. 'I believe this is yours, Mr Norreys.'
Julius glanced down at the shirt he was wearing, and realised, far too late, that it belonged to Francis.
'Ah. Thank you, Cyprian.'
Behind him, Ash gave a snort of laughter, quickly suppressed. Julius sighed.
'I don't suppose there's any chance that word of this won't make it back to Richard?'
'I am my lord's man first and foremost,' Cyprian said gravely. 'And he has been wondering how the four of you have been spending your time.'
'Wonderful. I look forward to that inevitable conversation.'
Cyprian gave Julius another glimmer of a grin, and bent to pick up his bag. 'I'll take this out to the coach. There's a groom waiting, to attend to the lamed mare. I thought it best he didn't come up to the house until I'd checked that you were all ready.'
The door closed behind him. Ash managed to hold out for a full five seconds before dissolving into helpless giggles.
'Oh, don't,' Harry said. He was red to the ears, and the last vestiges of Julius's own mild embarrassment vanished entirely, eroded by fondness. 'I don't see how you can laugh at a time like this. What on earth am I supposed to say to Richard?'
'Tell him it's none of his business?' Francis suggested.
'Yes, well, it's all right for you. He's not your cousin.'
Ash gave Harry a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, somewhat undermined by his broad grin. 'Do you know, I'm a bit disappointed that the snow melted so soon. I was growing quite fond of our little household. And we didn't even get to half of the ideas that Harry and I came up with.'
'Perhaps we might make some time for them once we're back in London.' Francis's voice held the hint of a question.
'I am quite sure we can,' Julius agreed, and realised he was smiling. 'In fact, I look forward to it.'