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And as he lay there in the early morning with a sleeping Percy still in his arms, with his head on Albie’s chest, with the barest of sunlight touching the room, Albie was sure he knew.
This is what poets and painters dedicated their lives to, and now he understood why.
He wanted to tell everyone he knew, he wanted to sing it for the whole world to hear.
He was in love.
But of course, he couldn’t declare it for anyone else.
He told himself keeping it private made it more special. It was their secret and no one in the world knew but them.
And that would have to do.
Albie gave the sleeping man a squeeze and another kiss to the top of his head. He wished he could stay in bed with him forever, but they couldn’t risk being seen like this.
Not that he expected anyone to barge in, even with the door locked.
He needed to get up.
He pulled on his shirts and realised their underwear might fare better if they removed it next time. He scrubbed at the dried evidence of their night together, pulled on his pants, and unlocked the door.
Elsie and Clara’s door was still closed, so he pulled his door closed behind him and tiptoed out. He fixed the fire first, then made his way into the kitchen.
That’s when Elsie came in, in her full skirts and fixing her hair. “Oh, morning, Albie,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you. Didn’t I say we’d do the cooking?”
He smiled at her. “I thought you might need a slow start today, given yesterday’s events. Did you sleep well?”
“Better than I have in years,” she said.
“And what about you, Albie? You sleep well?” She gave him a wink.
Albie couldn’t stop the smile or the heat in his cheeks. “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She smirked, as if her suspicions were confirmed, then made no fuss of it. She turned to the stove and opened the door. “Where’s the...?” she said, looking beside the stove, finding the kindling there. She threw some in and blew on it. There were usually some embers in the morning, so it caught without too much effort. “Good,” she said, closing the door. “Now where’s the...?” she said, looking on the shelf and finding the pot she was after. “Good.”
She busied herself, getting familiar with everything in the kitchen as the stove heated. “Clara is better at this than I ever could be,” she said. “But I’d like to give her another day’s rest, if that suits you.”
“Of course,” Albie said. “As long as she needs. I’ll get some chores done if you don’t need me in here.”
She shooed him out, and truth be told, Albie was happy and relieved he was no longer expected to cook. It gave him more time to get work done and more time to daydream about the man still asleep in his bed.
Memories invaded his thoughts, of how Percy looked underneath him, how he’d felt. To kiss him like that, to hold him like that. To feel his erection, to watch him as he succumbed to his pleasure.
The look on his face as he did, how his body reacted and arched, and how Albie had followed him directly after.
Albie never imagined life could be like this.
He also had to imagine other things and busy his mind, lest he wanted tented trousers all day.
Until they were in bed again.
He would dare to touch Percy in sacred places tonight. He would hold him in his hand and stroke his release out of him, both of them naked, lying together, no sliver of skin untouched.
Tented trousers would be the least of his worries at this rate. Maybe he and Percy could take the horses and spend the day together far from home, where no one could see them, because night was far too far away.
“Morning,” a quiet voice said from the doorway to the barn.
Albie turned to find Percy standing there, uncertain, shy.
