57 Armand Tries as Hard as He Can Not to Ruin It

August 16th - Time has lost all meaning

Consciousness arrived gradually, warmly, with the golden, soupy sunshine of late morning dripping past the blinds and onto the ceiling in lazy streaks and splashes. California sunshine. Still intimidatingly vibrant, but genuine. At some point during this past month, I'd stopped thinking of it as an enemy and had begun accepting the comfort and vitamins it offered.

Just as I was slowly coming to accept the waking world and the proceedings of the last few hours.

Lucas had ... and then we'd ...

Well.

We'd both fallen asleep, but not for long, it seemed; my muscles still buzzed with a velvety, heavy warmth that pressed me down into the mattress along with Lucas's weight. He remained nestled against me, one arm curled around my chest and his head tucked against my neck and shoulder.

I'd half-expected to wake and find him gone. More than half, really. It seemed impossible that he was still here, in my bed, smelling like California sunshine felt and feeling like a late-night wish gone solid.

These were stolen moments. He was asleep—he just hadn't had a chance to scarper yet. The moment he woke and realized what had happened, the regret would set in. He was a nice bloke, so he'd likely let me down easy, insist we remain friends, conjure up some lie about getting back with his ex—

Dear god, let it be a lie.

I shut my eyes tight and breathed in the warm smell of his hair, which was tickling the edge of my jaw. I tried to keep my body from stiffening, from giving away the game, waking Lucas early so that he'd leave me all the quicker. I could already feel the cold prickling along my arms, the sour knot below my sternum providing more than enough evidence that he should toss me away while he still could, like Ken had, like any rational person would—

"Shh."

It took me a moment to realize Lucas had spoken without opening his eyes.

"I—I didn't mean to wake you—" I began, not at all certain what I was attempting to communicate.

"Shh," he said again, landing a kiss—eyes still closed, breath still slow—on my collarbone. "Can we stay like this for a little bit?" He yawned, then nuzzled his nose against my chest. "I never nap during the day, but this is nice."

"It is nice," I managed. "We can stay like this for as long as you like."

"I'm not bothering you?"

I couldn't help it; I laughed. "No, hush."

He scooted up, and there was a gentle sensation of warm lips against my neck, and Lucas's soft murmur. "What about now? Am I bothering you now?"

His breath tickled, and I gave a louder, wheezier laugh. A delighted shiver ran through me as my body realized, once again, that it was both alive and conscious and, as a nice change, held me in contempt for neither. After all, there was Lucas. Still here.

And I was still here. If only for one last day.

And Lucas was speaking. Had already spoken and I'd missed it.

"Wha?" I rumbled—my voice had gone hoarse. "Sorry, was doing a bit of woolgathering."

He gave a happy little huff and pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "I was just saying that your phone's gone off twice and I was wondering if it was important maybe?" He levered himself up on one elbow and grinned down at me, strands of golden hair falling across his forehead and over his deep green eyes. "You really can sleep through anything, huh?"

Even after last night, after this morning, this closeness still made my face flare red. Being near him felt like huddling up to a heat source, like watching the stars come out in the country, like the rush of cool water on a sweltering day. My mouth pulled into a helpless smile. "Aye."

Lucas bit his lip, eyes twinkling at me in amusement, and moved in—at first I thought for a kiss, but then he reached past me to the bedside table and held my phone up in front of my face. "You're very cute, but I need you to make sure no one's trying to get hold of you about an emergency, okay?"

I blinked. Was this a good time to explain to him that I was not remotely the type of person anyone sought out during an emergency in which I was not directly involved?

It was Lakshmi. Of course it was Lakshmi. Calling to tell me it was over. That Drake House had officially decided not to renew our contract. I'd been so caught up in the joyful, hedonistic bubble of Lucas that I'd allowed myself to forget that the grim reaper stalked not far behind me. I'd forgotten to momento my mori. "It's my agent," I managed.

I had barely enough brain power to note that Lakshmi was attempting to commence a video call, and that I best keep my end audio only.

"Oi," I answered guiltily.

"Demetrio, you tosser." She squinted down at me. "Why's your camera off?"

"I'm in bed, Lakshmi." Not a lie. I took a deep breath. "What's the verdict?"

"You've not been online yet, have you?"

"No?" My stomach dropped. "What's happened?" Why wasn't she just telling me whether or not I still had a job?

"Nothing. Naught. You've gone viral, is all."

I stopped breathing. "What."

"You've been trending all night, pet," she explained, lighting a cigarette in the dark—her most default form. "You and your weird little penguin."

"What does that mean?" I sat up, and Lucas followed, cuddling up against me in a way that was distracting but extremely welcome.

"It means you're hot shit, Demetrio. It means Drake House can't wait to renew our contract." Lakshmi clearly couldn't help it, she was grinning at me like the sharp-lined, nocturnal predator she was. "Getting a bit stroppy about scant socials, though. We need to ride this wave. Make hay while the ruddy sun shines, yeah?"

I winced. "Aye. I'll ... I'll post something."

Lucas leaned in close to my ear and whispered happily, "Congratulations!"

"Yes, you'll bloody post something." Lakshmi puffed a smoke ring toward the camera. "That reminds me, how did it go with the flatmate? I'm assuming he was the dishy blond at the con? You know, the one you couldn't take your eyes off?"

How did she—

Right. The cameras. The bloody livestream. I looked over at Lucas, who was watching me with intense amusement, stifling a snort. "Er. Aye," I said. "Lucas Barclay."

"Achcha," she said, businesslike again. "I've done a quick google, and it seems he knows his onions, actually." She stubbed out her cigarette and immediately reached for another. "Does publicity for horses or some suchlike, and brilliant portraiture. Any chance he does freelance?"

Lucas's eyes widened, and I raised my eyebrows in question. It seemed to take him a moment to realize what I was asking, and then he gave a quick nod.

"He does."

"Marvelous. He takes lovely pictures, so let him take you to the seashore or something. Eat an avocado. Once you're back across the pond, we'll hire someone full-time, at least for the next few weeks to ramp up for the anniversary issue— My word, you've gone very quiet. Is he there with you?"

I choked, then glanced over at Lucas in a panic. He was grinning brightly.

"Bloody hell, Lakshmi," I grumbled.

"Hii," Lucas trilled, bending toward the phone. "Nice to meet you!"

My agent beamed. "Hello, dear! So pleased we have this opportunity to chat. As you've likely discovered, Armand Demetrio is, bless him, a bit of a handful. He does great work when he does do work, mind you, but for someone with a platform and following as large as he has, let alone as he's about to have ... Let's just say that his social media presence is next to nonexistent."

"I've noticed." Lucas giggled, being rather painfully adorable even as he conspired with my agent. "I could barely find a picture of him."

"So you see the problem." She raised a severe eyebrow. "Be my hero? We need to make sure the masses remember our boy, make use of that pretty face of his—get some intrigue going, if possible. I saw some of the cute bits you've done with your equine subjects, and that pretty white boy with the curls. Think you can drum up some pics for a hashtag or six?"

Lucas was already nodding along, smiling to himself while his eyes narrowed pensively. "Absolutely, I know we only have a day, but I'm sure I could think of something—"

"Wait," I cut him off, then barked at my phone, "give us a minute," before I hung up the call.

I set the phone down on the bed and faced Lucas, who, I was chagrined to realize, looked rather stricken.

"I'm sorry." He bit his lip. "I didn't even stop to ask if you wanted—"

"Come with me to London." Then I added miserably, "And I'm sorry I keep interrupting you. Come with me to London? Please?" I swallowed hard. "To do the publicity for the anniversary issue, I mean."

Lucas blinked at me. His hair was still tousled, the bedsheet pooled around his lap, and the broad, tan, peachy curve of his bare shoulders glowed in the muted light. His mouth had fallen open, and every nerve in my body screamed at me at once that if I did not kiss this man at once I would die.

"Are you serious?" His breath hitched.

"Regrettably, yes." I bit down on my knuckles, unable to meet his eyes. Instead, I focused on his hands: large and elegant and manicured and rough at the finger pads and palms. I couldn't help it, I reached for them, and nearly cried in relief when Lucas all but pulled himself into my lap.

"Come with me to London," I said again. "Take photos of me scowling at ducks."

He had one hand in my hair and tenderly gripped near the base of my skull, guiding my head back so he could peer into my eyes. "Why would you ever scowl at a duck? What did ducks ever do to you?"

I appreciated his willingness to follow me on this duck-related fantasy, but I couldn't help but notice that he hadn't answered yet. I swallowed thickly, searching that endless green and the teasing smile and the gentle raising of his brows. "If it's too much—" I began, but Lucas pulled me into a slow, languid kiss, his tongue brushing against mine and his lower lip catching on the scruff of my chin.

He bit down on my lip—not too hard, just hard enough really—then quietly whispered into my mouth. "Okay."

My body shuddered happily and I pulled him in closer, leaning back slowly until we were splayed across the bed again, Lucas's hips framing mine, the curve of his back filling my palms with strong, warm muscle. My shoulder landed on something cold and hard, and despite myself I broke the kiss to see what it was.

Lucas laughed softly and plucked my phone out from its vortex of sheets. He held it up playfully, so that the black mirrored side faced me. My reflection looked on in vexed disinhibition. "Shall we begin with a few glamour shots, Mr. Demetrio?"

My mouth pulled into a half grin, and I levered my hips, reaching for Lucas's shoulder and pulling him down beside me. "I actually wouldn't mind a quick selfie, Mr. Barclay."

He giggled and began sitting up again to take the photo, but I shook my head. "No, with you, love. Together."

Uncertainty crossed Lucas's face—unbidden, I remembered how hard it had been early on to find photos of Lucas that weren't heavily edited. To find any photos of him. He clearly felt far more comfortable on one side of the camera than the other.

"It'll just be for us," I whispered, "but we don't have to."

He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, his gaze turning stormy, but then he gave a shy smile and lay down beside me again, holding the phone up above both our heads and pulling up the camera. "Wow," he breathed, presumably at the sight of himself—eyes bright, cheeks flushed, hair tousled, and all of him heart-achingly beautiful.

I was there too, unable to look away from him. I leaned in to nip at his neck as he took the picture, drawing out a delightfully surprised laugh. He snuggled up to me again, warm wet breath on my chest making me shiver and burn and melt into the mattress.

"London," he muttered against my shoulder, and I closed my eyes in bliss. However temporary.

Were we moving too fast? Likely so.

But if we'd learned anything from this entire debacle, it was that we could hardly rely on the universe's so-called natural order of things.

Let alone its poor sense of timing.