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Hal actually was asleep when Royston returned home. It wasn't very late, but he'd had scarce a half-hour's consciousness at a stretch today and found himself nodding off in the middle of buying a mid-afternoon sandwich with the funds Royston have left him to use. Bowing to fate, he'd curled up in bed with a roman and surrendered to narcolepsy.
Well, in Royston's bed. Hal was aware that that was unflatteringly soppy of him, but finally, finally, Royston had said yes and Hal wasn't about to let him shy away again. You'd think Royston was the skittish virgin. Honestly. Although Hal had his own thoughts about what lay behind Royston's reluctance. He had been patient. He wanted Royston here and safe and happy, too, if he had to tie him down to accomplish it; but he was helpless to achieve any of it until (until, he insisted) Royston came back. So he occupied Royston's bed in sympathetic magic, lacking the more potent sort.
The room had absorbed some of the scent of Royston's favoured cologne, but something was missing from the mixture, some inimitable personal component that sprang from Royston's sweat and flesh. Hal's dreaming mind tried to reconstruct it. A little spicy, yes, and something richer. That, there, sort of loamy despite all these years in the city. Hal inhaled deeply, burying his nose in dream-hair, the scent wrapping around him like an enfolding arm.
He was rewarded by a pleased little hum, a sound he hadn't heard nearly enough in waking life. His searching hand encountered something hard, warm, real, and present, startling him into consciousness.
Hal blinked his eyes open to find his hand resting on someone's thigh. He dragged his gaze up in furious, desperate hope to the owner's face.
It was Royston looking down at him, a fond little smile on his lips. His eyes were like bruises, but they were softening. Hal felt his heart clench and melt and beat a hundred times faster.
"You said I should wake you up," Royston said.
"I remember."
Hal ran his hand up Royston's thigh to his waist, not dropping Royston's gaze. It was dark and hungry, full of things unsaid. Hal wanted to break down that wall, erase the hurt and the fear that held him back.
With his other hand, Hal pulled Royston down to kiss. Let me, let me, let me, he pled silently as Royston allowed himself to be guided. The moment before their lips met, Hal thought he might explode with uncertainty.
Royston didn't stop, though. He didn't freeze or hesitate or resist. He kissed Hal with infinite tenderness and longing, as though he'd been thinking of nothing else all the time he'd been gone.
Hal moaned relief at the first brush of lips, soft and reverent. The next kiss was deeper, more searching. Royston's tongue slipped into his open mouth and he shifted a little further onto the bed.
Hal tugged at his shirt, trying to convey without resorting to words that he urgently needed for Royston to climb the rest of the way on top of him. There was too, too much space between them still, inches as far as leagues. Hal had thought a lot about that body recently, long and lean and with an inspiring broadness of shoulder. He'd seen Royston's chest before, wet and gleaming in the light from the burning boat with neat, dark chest hair dripping down below the waist of his trousers.
That, Hal had yet to see. He had imagined how those legs would look, muscular, he'd felt before, a runner's legs. How they might wrap around his waist, and what he might find between them. It was an exciting thought, and frightening, and had got him very many baths in cold water.
Hal grabbed more insistently, shoulder and hip. Royston tumbled onto the bed with all the suddenness of his rare capitulations, momentum drawing Hal atop him.
Half mad with burning blood, Hal sought his mouth again with undivided intent. He straddled Royston's waist, pressing in as close as he could.
Hal thought he was getting better at kissing. Royston's hips bucked up under him, anyway, when he copied that thing with his teeth, and the hardness he felt then was unmistakeable.
Rocking his hips in turn drew a sound from Royston, low and rousing. Another, less deliberate jerk in response to this proof of Royston's desire, and another at the feel of his large, rough hands crushing him close.
Hal's shirt rucked up as he slid his hands up under Royston's. Touching his skin was like the crackle of lightning, and Hal pressed onwards, driven by the irresistible pressure of the storm.
The shirt came off, but they had to break apart for it. Royston kissed his neck where it was stretching past as he leaned forward to chase the sleeves off Royston's arms. Not softly, as he'd seen the stable hand do to the scullery maid once, but a sucking kiss followed by a broad swipe of tongue, as though Royston liked tasting him. Stubble scraped Hal's jaw, sending unexpected shivers down his spine.
"Hal," Royston groaned into his skin and oh. Oh.
Hal gasped, hips thrusting of their own accord because all his cognitive reactions had apparently rerouted themselves there. He buried his face in Royston's real hair, redolent of his own scent and the road.
Royston's arms had come back to wrap around him immediately the removal of the shirt. His hands were everywhere on Hal's body, grasping places they'd never ventured before.
Hal arched in pleasure, granting better access to his neck where Royston was chasing his tunic over his shoulder with his talented mouth. He stroked Royston's skin, thumbing the few scars he remembered, etched into his mind that night in the boathouse. Smooth and firm, muscles constantly shifting under his palms until they were dragged away perforce with his own shirt, leaving Hal sitting breathless astride Royston and Royston laying propped on one elbow, his other hand cupping Hal's cheek, his entire face alight and amazed.
"Bastion, Royston," Hal breathed. It felt like he'd been punched in the heart. He took Royston's hand and kissed the palm. How could he have ever doubted the depth of feeling he saw now? A feeling he hardly dared put a name to, though he thought his face must mirror Royston's. How he'd earned that look was a more bewildering question.
Hal had waited, wanted too long to let his own habitual modesty ambush him now. He kissed Royston's palm again and, on impulse, sucked the thumb into his mouth. A swipe of his tongue, tasting it, holding Royston's eyes in fierce determination.
The effect was like a thunderclap. Royston surged and flipped him over. Had that been a growl? Hal grinned foolishly at this final surrender, Royston no longer holding back but fumbling impatiently with their trousers, spit-wet thumb occasionally brushing Hal's stomach.
Hal was little help because bastion, the way Royston was kissing him now, he just curled his toes in the bedclothes and held on, knees bent, legs spread wide, sucking on his tongue like he had his thumb. Royston was an elusive presence between his thighs, impossible to catch hold of for more than a second except for his mouth. He made half-amused, half-frustrated sounds as he stripped them the rest of the way.
The first shock of full-body contact had Hal praying he'd last more than ten seconds. There was so much of Royston settling down over him. Royston's—Royston's cock against his was the best thing he'd ever felt. Hal used a hand in his hair to pull himself up. He flushed to think of the noises he was making, except Royston was murmuring things into his skin like, I love seeing you like this, and you have a beautiful voice, and make that sound again, Hal.
Hal complied, helpless to resist. He caressed every inch of skin he could reach and was delighted when Royston reacted to his touch, voice and body. Royston's hand closed around their cocks, pressing them together. They slid slickly against each other, leaking fluid.
Hal caught his lip in his teeth. The sound that came out was a keen, long and broken. Royston gasped a moan into his ear and Hal lost it. He spent himself in full-body spasms, wrapping Royston in his clenching limbs.
Royston kept moving over him, big hand smearing come over shivering skin. He thrust against Hal's hip, lost for words now. His lips grazed Hal's cheek, open-mouthed and wet.
A hand closed on his ass and he whimpered and pressed up into Royston's thrusts instinctively in response. Oh, bastion, this was...unh. Royston's hips were moving like he wanted to pound into Hal's body and fuck, was that possible? To...to...?
"Hal," Royston groaned like he was coming apart. Had he said...? He couldn't tell. He held on as tightly as he could while Royston shuddered and jerked, stroking those shoulders slowly relaxing, that long back.
Royston just breathed for a moment, as close as Hal's own skin, and then pulled away just a little so they were lying side by side. They untangled briefly, then tangled again, mess and all. Hal was floating in a cloud of exhaustion and warmth, but he still couldn't stop touching. Little movements of arm and leg, hand rubbing, lips grazing near skin.
"I love you," Royston said, softly, like the words might break.
"Royston." Hal squeezed him tighter. "I love you, too." The words were huge, gigantic, blazing themselves across the inside of his skull. Somehow, they came out normally. Kind of normally. His voice was shaking.
Royston laughed. It was a short laugh, but Hal could feel it rumble in his chest. A real laugh, and some of the desperation went out of his hold on Hal. Hal buried himself in Royston's reality like a safety blanket and let the sleep creep up on him again.
For a while after Royston returned, Hal kept falling asleep in random corners of the tower, although he was generally doing better with the whole concept of wakefulness. He'd have been more worried about it if every time he dropped off Royston didn't carry him back to bed and strip him naked. And watch him, until he woke up again. Royston claimed it didn't get boring. He certainly didn't ever seem bored when Hal opened his eyes. Hal smiled and kissed Royston. It was enough to incline a man to a life of narcolepsy.