Page 83 of Slow Heat
Jason took a big bite of his own sandwich and then added Vale’s to his plate. His chin was still pink from the scruff of Vale’s beard. “I guess I’m drawn to abstract over figurative because I spend a lot of time looking through microscopes, both at school in my studies, and at home for fun. Sometimes I pretend what I’m seeing is art. I try to imagine what it would be like to recreate the image in some other way. Sometimes I try. I wouldn’t call myself an artist but I do some drawing sometimes. What I see under the microscope is usually a mess, but an interesting mess. And that’s what I see in abstract art—the same things I see under the microscope. It’s the makings of the world, you know?”
Somewhere in that little speech, Jason had been adorable enough for Vale to forgive him for insisting on following protocols (afternot at allfollowing protocols). Maybe it was his sincerity or the way his eyes shone when he mentioned the microscope. Vale said, “I haven’t spent much time looking into microscopes. In fact, I’d say I haven’t looked into one since I graduated from Mont Juror all those years ago.”
Jason’s eyes lit up like sun on the sea. “Oh! I’ll have to show you my favorite slides sometime soon. I know you’d like them.”
Yes, it was the way he glowed. That was why Vale forgave him. That, and the knowledge deep down, beneath the lust, that Jason was right. If he’d taken him at the counter, Vale would have judged him harshly later for it. He was an asshole that way. And somehow, already, Jason knew that about him.
“Maybe if I showed you my favorite slides you’d write a poem about what you saw?” Jason swallowed hard. “Or maybe you wouldn’t. Either way is fine. But I’d like to show you, if you’d like to see.”
“I’d love to see. And maybe I will write a poem. ‘ode to jason and the art of science’. All lowercase letters, of course.”
“Of course.” Jason grinned. “Will you write a poem for me? Truly?”
“I’m sure I’ll end up writing one about you someday,” Vale said, cocking his head, curious at how eager Jason seemed for him to do it. “It seems unlikely I’d share this experience with you and not write about it at all.”
“Good.” Jason nodded sharply. “No matter what my father says about it, ignore him. It won’t go into the contract. I promise.”
Vale’s blood slowed, suspicion squirming in his gut. “No matter what your father says aboutwhat, exactly?”
“Oh, poetry. He doesn’t want you to write poems, especially about me. But I do. I want you to write loads of poems about me. Your best poems yet.” Jason’s nostrils flared, and he shot Vale a hot, possessive look. “So get to it whenever I inspire you. The sooner, the better. I don’t care what they say, either. You don’t have to flatter me. They can be ugly poems. Just make them as real as you can.”
Vale swallowed back a burst of laughter. “Oh, Jason. Wolf’s own hell, what am I supposed to make of you?”
“I don’t know. Figure it out. In a poem.” Jason grinned again, happily chewing on a dried pineapple ring. “When can I bring my microscope over and show you some of my slides?”
“Perhaps I can see them the next time I’m at your house. Wouldn’t that be easier?”
Jason’s nose crinkled and he darted a glance away.
“What?”
“I guess I could bring it downstairs to the conservatory or Father’s study. It would be easier than carting it across town. But…” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Vale studied Jason’s flop of hair and his flushing neck. “What are you worrying about?”
Jason shrugged. “It’s not important.”
Vale crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Jason with a glare that had him buckling within seconds.
“Fine. It’s silly. I can bring the microscope downstairs, but then my parents will be there and it won’t be private. If I bring it here, then we can look at it together without people around. I like it better when we’re alone. Don’t you?”
Aside from the way Jason had ramped him up and left him hanging, he did, yes. “I could come up to your room. If your parents don’t mind, that is. We could leave the door open so they’d feel more secure and—”
Jason huffed. “Do you leave the door open when you go to Urho’s room?”
Vale chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment, taking in Jason’s hunched shoulders, and the gleam of embarrassment in his eyes. “What does Urho have to do with your microscope?” he asked softly.
“Nothing.” Jason bit into the last of Vale’s sandwich ferociously, and then, with a heavy sigh, tossed the final bit onto the plate and pushed back. “My room is a kid’s room. I don’t want you to see it. You’ll think I can’t be an alpha to you.”
“For what it’s worth, I’ve never been to Urho’s room,” Vale said. “Not in his home here in town, anyway. From what I understand, he keeps it exactly as it was when his omega was alive.”
“His omega?”
“Riki. I never knew him. Urho was desperately in love with him. They were a bonded pair.”
Jason’s shoulders relaxed a little. “But he’s been in your room.”
“Are you jealous of Urho?”
