Chapter 5

Jason stepped into the flat, shut the door, turned, and found himself being kissed by an exuberant armful of husband. He kissed back, of course; Colby was laughing, pretty, pink-cheeked, mildly tipsy mostly from adrenaline and not champagne: the swinging swooping emotions of the night. Jason held him, and inquired, "Are we going grocery shopping tomorrow morning, then?"

That mattered. Colby most of the time wanted to, liking to consider and choose ingredients; occasionally, even now, too many people would be too many people. And there'd been a lot of people tonight.

Simon and Ben were staying with Simon's brother Stephen. Colby, who'd evidently met Stephen once or twice, had said to tell him hello. Simon had promised to, though he'd added that Steve was in fact out for the week, some sort of extended house party.

Given an empty London house, and the way Ben's hand had begun playing with Simon's symbolic bracelet, Jason had some thoughts about what they were about to do. Probably just about as fun as his plans for Colby, later.

"Oh, yes, we should." Colby stepped out of his own shoes, and then knelt right down and started taking off Jason's, a spontaneous gesture, not a requirement or order. Simply because he wanted to, evidently; and he stayed on both knees for a second after, in the entry, looking up. "I want to do this. Nothing too complicated; perhaps just your mother's carbonara recipe, and some stuffed peppers, and I can make those chocolate-orange tarts you like…"

Jason reached a hand down. Stroked his hair. "Whatever you want. You know you don't have to…"

"Cook for them? I offered."

"No, I mean my shoes."

"Oh. No, I know, I wanted to." Colby got up when Jason offered him a hand, and linked their fingers together. "Coffee, for after…oh, drat, we should buy tea, Simon's a tea person, not a traitor to the soul of Englishness the way I am…well, I have got that hibiscus-rose blend, and the peppermint one; those are all right…"

"His husband's American. He can live with coffee." The flat, smaller than their Los Angeles house, had been Colby's first; but it was theirs now, redecorated in fantasy and abstract artwork and luxurious furniture with brass accents and curling plush arms. The bathroom, a whole remodel, invited undersea explorer fantasies. The bedroom walls were storm-blue.

"Well, I'll pick up something obvious just in case." Colby let Jason pull him into the bedroom, being guided, being nudged; he lifted both arms when Jason started undressing him. "I do love you."

"Love you. Completely. Dragon, or alien?"

Colby got it immediately, and laughed aloud, as Jason stripped his shirt away. "Dragon. I'm so curious. It's massive, though."

"You like being stuffed full. And you can take it." He flexed an arm. "I mean, my hands, we've done that, you like that…"

"Oh, yes, so much. I'm all yours." Colby yawned, though, despite the giddiness, and tried to catch it with one hand. "We can do some shopping for that too."

"You can ask Simon for some more ideas, tomorrow."

"And Ben. I think…" Colby smiled, as Jason peeled down his pants. "I think we might be…friends. All of us, I mean. I think I like them."

Jason had both hands on his husband's hips, over sea-foam teal silky underwear. Colby was sort of half-hard, which he'd guessed: very into being handled and touched and taken charge of, but worn out from the social demands of the night. "I do, too."

"You and Ben might also, perhaps…have some things in common?"

"Yeah." He slid Colby's underwear down, scooped Colby into a hug, just feeling him, the whole tall talkative miraculous length. "I think you're right. It's nice to have…someone to talk to."

"And he likes cats, and romance, and your John Kill movies."

"He could kill me with one of your calligraphy pens."

"But he wouldn't!"

"Nah, he wouldn't." Jason let go long enough to shed his own suit, and to walk Colby over to the bathroom, naked, for quick nighttime tooth-brushing and getting ready for bed, while touching.

A lot. Hand on Colby's hip, at the nape of Colby's neck. He wanted that; he thought they both did.

In bed, wrapped around Colby—like a dragon, he thought, and shook his head at himself—he ran a hand along his husband, shoulder to chest to hip, and then found Colby's cock and just held the length, idly fondling, playing, enjoying himself.

"Mmm…you don't want me to…"

"No, not tonight. You just stay right here, and let me play with you."

"I like that."

"Want me to tie you to the bed in the morning, and fuck you until you come from just my cock inside you, filling you up?"

"Oh, yes, please." Colby wriggled against him. Their bed was large, and safe, and familiar, and good for fantasies come true. "I like that, too."

"I think your gala was a success."

"It was. Splendid in terms of fundraising, and attendance…"

"And you. Being awesome."

"Well." Colby put his head on Jason's chest. "All of us, I think. Being, yes, awesome."

"Get some rest." Jason kissed the closest dark eyebrow. "Since you're getting a workout in the morning."

"Yes," Colby said, drowsy. "And we'll have friends over…because they are friends, now…"

"Yep. Go to sleep."

"You, too. My Jason."

"My Colby," Jason said, with everything in his heart, and stayed awake as Colby drifted into sleep, blue eyes closed and comfortable and cherished, beloved and knowing it.

Friends, he thought. And the quiet dim space of their bedroom agreed: this felt good, this felt warm, this felt like the light of Colby's smile, and the promise of a ridiculous dragon-inspired sex toy, which he'd absolutely buy tomorrow.

Like a lifted weight, taken from Colby's shoulders. A very old bruise, healing now.

The night, the softness of sheets, the weight of Colby in his arms, wrapped him up and coaxed him toward sleep too. It would, Jason thought, be a good new morning. For them all.

THE END