Page 73 of Vesuvius

Loren kissed him.

And, oh.Oh. Dry at first, then soft. Soft and clumsy and uncoordinated. Loren tasted of sweet and sticky wine, but the sugar was tempered, somehow, honey left to caramelise in a simmering pot. Felix cupped Loren’s jaw in his palm, guided him to a better angle, and pushed his fingers back into braided hair. He ached to unpick the twists, let dark strands fall free, so he could comb through it, all the way down.

He wanted to kiss Loren until he went cross-eyed.

He wanted to slip into this boy and not resurface.

He wanted to unwrite all his rules.

Loren’s hand settled somewhere on Felix’s chest, his touch a thousand tiny sparks. Felix’s whole body lit, and he trembled with overwhelm, and their mouths slid together. Sugar-wine faded, and all he could taste wasLoren, Loren, Loren.

When Loren sighed hot against his lips, Felix jerked back. ‘We can’t.’

A crease appeared between Loren’s brows. He still leaned in, even as Felix pulled away. Blown pupils swallowed his cinnamon eyes. ‘But . . .’

‘We can’t.’ Felix’s heart pounded against the fingertips grazing his collarbone. Suddenly the pressure suffocated him.

‘But.’ Loren blinked. He straightened, noticing Felix’s discomfort, and dropped his hand to scoot away. Even in the low light, Felix caught his face flush deep. ‘Oh. You don’t like me that way. I assumed. Read you wrong. Or is it . . . you prefer women? I’m so sorry, Felix, I—’

This boy needed to stop talking. Felix searched for a place to touch him that wouldn’t imply something improper, but his shoulder felt patronising, and his waist was more intimate than he could stand. He settled for Loren’s knee.

It worked. Loren, indeed, stopped. Not just stopped talking. Stopped everything. He stared at Felix’s hand, lips parted. The signet ring winked beneath the lantern, heavy onhis finger.

‘You’re very, very drunk,’ Felix said.

Nor was Felix drunk enough, but he didn’t dare reduce Loren to a distraction.

‘I’d kiss you sober,’ Loren breathed, and gods if that didn’t send a bolt of lightning down Felix’s spine. ‘It isn’t the wine.’

‘But you’re drunk now. I won’t take advantage of you when your mind isn’t clear.’

Loren’s fingers hovered, feeling out their welcome, then tangled with Felix’s own. Touch was a careful, convoluted conversation that Felix wished he didn’t need to constantly negotiate.

‘I trust you,’ Loren said. ‘I’d let you do anything you wanted to me.’

‘That’s why I’m concerned.’ Felix frowned and stood. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you home.’

With uncoordinated fingers, Loren strapped on his recovered sandal. Felix pulled him up, catching him when he promptly tipped back over. Cat eyes glimmered from the shadows, Castor and Pollux scrutinising, almost like they didn’t trust Felix half as much as Loren did.

Maybe the Egyptians had that right: cats could see what humans couldn’t.

Silent streets accompanied their walk to the brothel. The city had tired of its festival at last, or at least moved it indoors. Loren leaned heavily against Felix, but the weight wasn’t such a bother.

Some god in charge of small mercies had sent Elias away, off to kiss some stranger or procure more hemp. Felix shoved Loren upstairs in a mess of limbs. Finally, after an awkward pocket search while Loren teetered and gazed at his hair, Felix unlocked the door of their room. Loren’s room. Whatever.

Loren wasted no time flopping into bed, fully clothed.

‘You’re a wreck,’ Felix muttered. He reached to remove Loren’s sandals, but Loren’s hand shot out. Grabbed his fingers again. Felix froze.

‘You aren’t who I thought you were,’ Loren confessed.

It could seem casual, a reference to strangers and first impressions, but Felix remembered the look of recognition haunting Loren’s eyes moments before the bowl crashed down. The mutterings of his name in sleep. Felix had known Loren for two days.

But he wondered how long Loren had known him.

‘I want to understand,’ Loren said, brow furrowed over shut eyes. ‘You. Want to help.’

‘There’s nothing to help,’ said Felix.

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