Page 19 of A Winter Crush
Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea.
“I’d like that.” Ori beamed, his good mood returning.
And suddenly Wareth couldn’t regret it, even if it made him nervous. “First we need to wedge clay,” he said. He grabbed a block, wrapped in wet linen, and brought it over to the wedging table. Ori’s eyes danced, and he bounced on his feet.
Wareth smiled at Ori’s enthusiasm.
Ori pulled back, shock passing across his face.
“What?” Wareth asked.
“I’ve just never seen you smile before,” Ori said.
Wareth frowned. Was that true? Ori had been here for days. Did he never smile?
“It’s a good look on you,” Ori said.
The butterflies in his chest started flinging themselves at his ribcage. Wareth turned away and dropped the block of clay on the table. It landed with a heavy thump.
Focus on the clay. Clay is harmless. Clay is reliable. Clay is safe.
“The way I wedge took a long time to learn, but I can show you a beginner’s version.”
For the next few minutes, he taught Ori to wedge, pushing and pulling the clay back and forth to get rid of any bubbles. As Ori began, his tongue poked out between his lips. Wareth couldn’t quite decide if was adorable or sexy. Both. Definitely both.
But what Wareth found most attractive was how earnestly he listened, how intent he was to learn, and how he threw himself into the task. He was beautiful. He shone so brightly that he warmed Wareth, just by standing next to him. And Wareth had been so cold for so long.
Ori wedged the clay until he had ten balls, each about the size of his closed fist.
“Let’s go throw some pots,” Wareth said, voice rough.
ChapterTwelve
Ori picked up the board containing the balls and marched towards the wheel, a definite spring in his step. He placed the wooden board on the side table and stood next to it, seeming to hesitate. He looked to Wareth. Wareth held out his hand, offering him the potter’s chair. Ori’s smile grew, and he sat down.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me have a go! What do I do? Am I going to make a Solstice mug?” he asked, voice bubbly.
“We’ll see.” Truth was, Ori was a complete beginner. He’d be lucky if he made anything. “First, grab one of the balls and place it on the wheel, like I normally do.” Wareth sat on the chair that Ori usually used.
Ori slapped the clay in the middle of the wheel. He looked to Wareth for approval. Wareth nodded.
“Now I’ll make the wheel spin,” Wareth said as he set the wheel in motion with a kick. “You focus on centring the clay.”
Ori nodded, leaning forward.
“Wet your hands in the bucket,” Wareth said.
Ori dipped his hands into the water, droplets sliding down his roughened hands, the texture different and darker from the skin on the rest of his body. Wareth wondered what those hands would feel like on his body, wrapped around his cock. Wareth swallowed, focusing his gaze on the clay.
“Cup the clay with your hands. Like this.” Wareth mimed in the air.
Ori wrapped his hands around the clay.
“You want to press into the clay with your hands, coning it, moving it into the middle, making it into a cylinder. No. Press like this.” He mimed again with his hands. “Don’t let it wobble about like that. Try to do it like you’ve seen me do.”
Wareth didn’t think his instructions were particularly good. He’d never taught anyone before, and it had been years since he had been taught.
“Now keep coning it. You want to bring it up.”
