The Summer Palace (Captive Prince #3.5)(7)

‘Sometimes I’m still afraid of it.’ Laurent’s voice was honest. ‘It makes me feel—’

‘I know,’ said Damen. ‘I feel it too.’

‘Come out,’ said Laurent.

He emerged hotter than steam, overheated like one boiled, his olive skin turned ruddy by the water. Laurent filled the pitcher from the secondary sluice, approached, and shifted his grip. Damen threw up his arms instinctively.

‘No, Laurent, that’s cold, it’s—’ Gasping.

Shock of the frozen water. Ice cold on superheated skin, like plunging into a river, a too-sudden revitalisation. Instinct propelled him to grab Laurent in revenge, to drag him forward, their bodies colliding.

Cool body plastering against hot. Laurent was unexpectedly laughing, his skin warm as sunlight. The struggle took them both to the slippery marble.

It was unthinking to get on top, to pin Laurent with a wrestler’s move. Damen progressed through three simple positions in his enjoyment of that sport before he realised that Laurent was responding to his wrestling holds with counters.

‘What’s this?’ Pleased.

Laurent, moving: ‘How am I?’

‘Wrestling is like chess,’ said Damen. Laurent moved, he countered. Laurent moved, he countered. Beneath him, he felt Laurent try out all the variations that he knew, a beginner’s set, but well executed. The part of Damen’s mind that liked wrestling above all sports took note, appreciatively, of Laurent’s form. But he was a novice: Damen countered him again easily, wise enough to keep his own hold strong and ready, even when he had Laurent fully pinned.

And then he thought about it. ‘Who’s teaching you?’

‘Nikandros,’ said Laurent.

‘Nikandros,’ said Damen.

‘We use a Veretian variation. I don’t take my clothes off.’

Then you’ll never learn effectively. Instead, he found himself frowning, saying, ‘I’m better than Nikandros.’

He wasn’t sure why that returned him Laurent’s laughter, but it did, soft and breathless, saying, ‘I know. You have vanquished me. Let me up.’

Damen stood, held out his hand and hoisted. Laurent snagged up one of the soft towels and draped Damen’s head in it. Engulfed, Damen let his hair be rubbed about, then let Laurent dry the rest of him, the softness of the towel against his skin as unexpectedly tender as any touch Laurent had offered him. It wasn’t sensual, it was coddling, comforting, and so unlooked for that it made him feel strange, lucky, part of the summer scents, the sunlight and wonder of this place.

‘The truth is you’re very sweet, aren’t you,’ said Damen, taking Laurent’s fingers in a tangle of towel. He dumped a towel over Laurent’s head before he could answer, and enjoyed watching Laurent emerge from it with his hair mussed.

Laurent stepped back. To dry himself, he used the same unconcerned motions with which he’d washed himself: he swiped the towel over his torso, under his arms, between his legs. Before he did any of this, he unhooked the flower from his hair and bent to unwind his sandals. Leave them on, Damen wanted to say. He liked the piquant way they drew attention to Laurent’s nudity.

Laurent began to look around for a wrap to wear, but Damen took his hand instead. ‘We don’t need one. Come on.’

‘But what about—’

‘This is Akielos. We don’t need them. Come with me.’

Walking naked along the outside paths was as transgressive to Laurent as it had been for Damen to contemplate intimacy in the gardens. They stepped into open sunlight and Laurent let out a breathless laugh, as if he couldn’t believe what he was doing.

Damen tugged him towards the eastern entrance, hands linked. In a charming quirk of Veretian modesty, Laurent seemed to find it even more shocking to walk naked inside the palace than outside, hesitating on the threshold, then following Damen into the halls in amazement.

Here they weren’t alone: the servants who had absented themselves from the baths were waiting for any sign they were needed, guards stood on ceremonial duty, and the skeleton household who had opened up the palace for their arrival were all at their stations.

Damen would have walked through without noticing them, but he could feel Laurent’s over-awareness of each person they passed. And truthfully, Damen was too aware of Laurent’s nakedness, all that skin that was not usually on display, still slightly pinked from the steam.

Entering the royal chambers, the view was of gauzy white, and of marble and sky, the wide, graceful interior opening out onto a balcony. Laurent walked right out onto it, leaning his naked body against the marble balustrade and closing his eyes with the sun full on his face. He let out a breath that was part laughter at what he had done, part disbelief.

Damen came out and fitted himself lazily alongside Laurent, enjoying the sunlight too, and the air from the sea, that winked in an expanse of blue. Laurent’s eyes opened.

Laurent said, ‘I like it here. I like it here so much.’

Damen felt breathless, as he trailed a touch down Laurent’s arm. Laurent turned in towards the touch and they kissed just as he’d imagined, Laurent’s arm hooked around his neck. The simple intimacy from the baths changed to something else, at the feel of Laurent naked against him, skin to skin.

The kiss deepened, Laurent’s hand in Damen’s damp hair. Half hard since the baths, it didn’t take long to rouse fully, but what made the blood beat against the inside of his skin was feeling Laurent rousing against him in turn, as his hands slid slowly over Laurent’s body.