Sam put a hand on Alistair’s knee. The pressure of his fingers was grounding, allowing Alistair to swallow back some of his grief. “I’d say I’m sorry again, but it doesn’t seem like enough,” Sam said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier. I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. I’ve kept all of this inside. Not even Wanda knows some of it.”
“Oh.” Sam’s fingers tightened slightly. “Alistair…it’s all right if you don’t want to bond. If you never do. But I’m not going to walk away and leave you behind.”
“You say that now,” Alistair said.
“I mean it.” Sam smiled, a small, sad smile. “You’ll see.”
Whether because he’d finally shared some of what seemed to haunt him, or because he’d drank more than usual, Alistair fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Sam pulled the blanket tenderly up over him, then stood at the bedside looking down at Alistair’s face.
He’d never imagined Alistair was in so much pain. Oh, the former doughboy had hinted that the war had been terrible, but he’d never really alluded to the horrors.
No one did, really, and maybe that was the problem. The newspapers and interviews and biographies talked about the righteousness of the war, about how bravely the American Expeditionary Forces had fought. The tone ranged from brash to proudly somber, but never horror. And so the men who’d been through it just had to…live with it all somehow.
And Sam had been so caught up in his own fears, he’d never once thought Alistair might have some of his own.
Poor Alistair. His parents had left on a ferry ride and never come back. Then his new family took him back to the orphanage and left him there. And finally his first love deserted him despite their magical bond.
God. No wonder he wasn’t eager to take yet another chance.
Sam silently vowed to be the best friend he could and stay in Alistair’s life. He wasn’t going to leave until Alistair told him to, and that was that.
He went into the bathroom and changed into his nightshirt, shut off the lights and climbed into bed. He tossed and turned a few times, then drifted off.
Sam didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, when a touch on his hand drew him back to wakefulness. Early morning light leaked in past the edges of the curtains, striping the air with gold. Alistair lay facing him, a slice of the light touching one sharp cheekbone, another catching in one amber eye. Sam’s hand had been lying in between them, palm up, and Alistair had put his on top, lacing their fingers loosely together.
The breath caught in Sam’s throat. Alistair looked so, so beautiful, his hair falling across his forehead, the harsh planes of his face softened with sleep. The moment felt impossibly intimate, as though they were caught in a bubble apart from the rest of the world, the only point of contact between them Alistair’s hand against his.
“May I kiss you?” Alistair asked quietly.
Sam’s eyes widened in shock. He wasn’t certain he could speak aloud at the moment, not without somehow breaking this spell, so he only nodded.
A smile bloomed like spring on Alistair’s lips. He took his hand from Sam’s, scooted closer, then ran his fingers through Sam’s hair. His hand trailed down, a caress against Sam’s round cheek, cupping his jaw. Then Alistair moved just that little bit closer and kissed him.
Sam thought his heart might explode and kill him on the spot. Alistair’s lips were softer than he’d imagined, caressing Sam’s own with indescribable tenderness. They kissed for what could have been minutes or forever, an almost-chaste brush of lips and sighs, until Alistair lightly touched the seam of Sam’s lips with his tongue.
Sam wished he’d had the chance to use his toothbrush first, but if Alistair minded he certainly didn’t act like it. He deepened the kiss languidly, a slow exploration of lips and tongues. His hand rubbed over Sam’s shoulders, an unhurried caress, so Sam thought it was probably all right to touch him in return. His black hair was like silk against Sam’s fingers, his shoulders made of lean muscle and bone.
This was a dream; he was going to wake up any minute with an embarrassing erection. But it kept happening, and he kept not waking up, and when Alistair threw a long leg over his hip, he was startled to feel an answering hardness inside Alistair’s pajamas.
It was heady and languid, like drinking fine champagne until the whole world spun.
Eventually, Alistair pulled back and propped himself on his elbow, looking down at Sam. “Fur and feathers, you’re adorable,” he said with a smile.
A horrible thought intruded. “Are you…are you still drunk?”
“Of course not!” Alistair darted back in for another kiss. “If I was, I wouldn’t have this hangover.”
Sam reached to toss the covers back. “I’ll get you a pain hex.”
“Not yet.” Alistair wound his arms around Sam, tugging him back down beneath the blankets. “Cuddle for a bit?”
As though Sam would say no. Alistair turned his back to him, snuggling in close. Sam wrapped one arm around him—he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do with the other—and Alistair let out a contented sigh.
Sam pressed his face against Alistair’s hair, breathing deep and smiling like an idiot. Alistair had kissed him—him! He even wanted to cuddle.
Whatever else happened, Sam swore he would remember this morning for the rest of his life. He closed his eyes, more content than he could ever recall being, and drifted back off into dreams.
When Alistair woke up again, the bed was empty and the air full of the smell of frying bacon and hot coffee. Sam’s voice drifted from the direction of the kitchen, singing Yes! We Have No Bananas. He clearly couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but instead of annoying Alistair the fact made him smile.
So much for his grand campaign of not developing any feelings.
He was still afraid, of course. Sam said he wouldn’t leave, but that had never stopped anyone else from doing so. Maybe the best course of action would be to resign himself to the fact that Sam would eventually get tired of Alistair, and just try to enjoy himself in the moment. Pretend for a little while that he wasn’t about to get his heart broken yet again.
He dragged himself out of bed, decided against changing out of his pajamas for the time being, and padded to the kitchen. Sam glanced over his shoulder as Alistair entered and said, “Sit down and I’ll pour your coffee.”
“I can get it.” But first, he stepped up behind Sam and wound his arms around him. Sam let out a little “Oh!” and leaned back into him. Alistair pressed his face into Sam’s curls and breathed deep.
“You smell good,” he mumbled.
“I smell like breakfast.”
“Breakfast is good.” Alistair let go so Sam could cook unimpeded, fixed his coffee, and sat down.
Sam served bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast, and took the seat across from Alistair. “So what’s the agenda for today?”
Alistair dug into the perfectly light and fluffy eggs. “These are delicious,” he said around the mouthful.
Sam smiled, genuinely pleased by the compliment. “Thanks.”
As for the day, there were a lot of things Alistair would like to do, all of which involved staying home with Sam. He’d been tempted to take things a little farther this morning, but if he was going to do this—and it seemed he was—then he would take his time. Sam deserved no less.