The Artist’s Masquerade

by Antonia Aquilante

  He moaned into the kiss, letting Cathal do what he would, letting him explore and taste and tease. But when Cathal’s other hand came up to frame Flavian’s face, he beat back reluctance and pulled away. Confusion swirled with passion in Cathal’s eyes.

  “Let’s get you out of there and dried off,” Flavian said, trying to control his breathing but the words still came out on gasps. “Otherwise I’ll end up in there with you in a sopping wet gown.”

  “This is a problem?” Cathal was breathing heavily as well, Flavian was pleased to see. “I’d like you in here with me.”

  “I don’t have so many gowns that you can ruin one.”

  “So take the gown off and come in here.”

  The idea had merit—was quite intriguing actually—but Flavian didn’t think it was exactly what Cathal needed tonight. How he was so certain what Cathal needed, he couldn’t fathom.

  “Come out of there, and we’ll go to bed.” He held Cathal’s gaze, letting him see Flavian wasn’t putting an end to what the kiss began. Perhaps he’d even keep the bath idea in mind for another occasion. He liked the look of Cathal with his skin wet and slick.

  Before Flavian was tempted to abandon his resolve and get in the tub with Cathal clothes or no, he turned and retrieved a towel. Cathal stood as Flavian faced him again. Flavian’s breath stuttered as he watched rivulets of water running down Cathal’s powerful body, trailing over the contours of chest and arms and muscular thighs.

  Flavian blinked, forcing himself to begin moving and thinking again as Cathal stepped out of the tub and reached for the towel. He shook his head. Rather than hand over the towel, he began to gently, carefully dry Cathal’s body. Flavian moved the towel over shoulders and chest, spent time on the broad back and narrow hips and shapely backside, and chased drops of water down long legs.

  Kneeling at Cathal’s feet, Flavian looked up at Cathal to see what effect his attempt at caring for Cathal was having and was nearly knocked over by the look in Cathal’s eyes. Faint surprise, warmth, gratitude, smoldering heat. The heat was the only part Flavian was even somewhat comfortable seeing, but then the whole night seemed to be filled with feelings and actions and impulses he didn’t understand and wasn’t comfortable having.

  Cathal’s hand came to rest on the top of Flavian’s head, caressing. He could have easily taken Cathal in his mouth right then. Cathal wouldn’t have protested, and Flavian would have enjoyed doing it, but he had all these feelings swirling around inside him, all his desire to care for Cathal, to coddle him. And something told him to take Cathal to bed.

  For a moment, he let his head rest on Cathal’s hip. He nuzzled in and just breathed in Cathal, the fragrance of that soap and underneath it the pure scent of Cathal himself, indescribable but instantly recognizable to Flavian. He thought he would always know it, always respond to it. A bit scary, but not as scary as he would have thought. He loved that smell.

  He stood, Cathal’s hand sliding from his head to his neck and down his back, finally settling on Flavian’s waist. They looked at each other for a long moment, then Flavian reached up for a quick, soft kiss before stepping back. He took Cathal’s hand and led him into the bedchamber to the bed. Pulling back the blankets, he urged Cathal up onto the soft bed, and once he was, Flavian pulled the blankets back over him.

  “Are you tucking me in to sleep? When you mentioned bed, I thought you had something else in mind,” Cathal said with a flash of a smile.

  Flavian narrowed his eyes in a glare. “I did, but I can just leave if you’d like.”

  Amusement washed over Cathal’s face, but Flavian let it go, since the amusement was preferable to the bleakness of Cathal’s expression earlier.

  “No, not at all.” Cathal’s grin softened. “You know I want you here.”

  Flavian did, or he was beginning to. He didn’t think he had appreciated the depth of that want until tonight. Nodding, he began to remove his clothing. He hadn’t meant for it to be a display, but by ushering Cathal into bed, Flavian had unwittingly turned disrobing into a show. No turning back, though. He’d promised Cathal, and he wanted to be in that bed with him.

  Not looking at Cathal, Flavian hid his self-consciousness as best he could as he unfastened the gown and stripped it off, tossing it over a chair so it wouldn’t be too rumpled when he had to dress again. He kicked off his shoes and rolled down his stockings. Removing the rest of his clothing, he tossed all of it after the gown. Only when he stood bare in the moonlight streaming through the windows did he look back at Cathal.

  He’d felt Cathal’s gaze on him the entire time, but now he could see that Cathal stared, his eyes a gold gone molten. Flavian shivered. He wondered what kind of spell those eyes put on him. He’d wondered it before.

  He climbed into the bed, under the soft blankets, into Cathal’s arms. Into another kiss. Cathal pulled him close, and he went willingly, molding himself to Cathal, reveling in the feel of Cathal’s skin and prickle of Cathal’s chest hair. The kisses were long, languid. Passion hadn’t cooled, but it had eased enough for them to be lazy. For Flavian to smooth his hands over Cathal’s skin, long caresses he hoped were as soothing as they were arousing. Cathal needed distraction, but Flavian thought he needed care too. And though he still didn’t know why he felt the compulsion, Flavian was going to give Cathal what he needed.

  They rolled over the enormous bed, kissing, touching. Only breaking their kisses long enough for quick breaths. Cathal returned to that place on Flavian’s neck that always made heat surge through his body, but Flavian pulled away. He wanted to make Cathal shiver and moan—he wanted to bring Cathal pleasure tonight, to make everything better.

  He kissed his way to Cathal’s chest and rubbed his cheek against the soft hair there. He kissed, nuzzled, until Cathal dragged him up into another kiss. He pulled himself away and sat up, straddling Cathal’s hips.

  “Let me, all right? Just let me for a little while,” he said, his hands on Cathal’s shoulders pressing lightly. He hoped Cathal would understand what Flavian wanted to do, and Cathal seemed to, nodding and relaxing back into the pillows.

  Flavian let his gaze roam Cathal’s body. The moonlight painted shadows on his skin. Flavian reached out and traced them with his fingertips, following the shapes etched over silky skin and powerful muscle, and smiled as Cathal nearly purred under his hands. He explored, taking the time to do so that he’d never had before. Cathal took control so easily, and even when Flavian might have been able to take some control back, well, passion usually swept them away. So he took the opportunity and enjoyed the effect he could have on Cathal.

  Flavian caressed every inch of skin. He mapped the ridges of Cathal’s spine. He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses along Cathal’s collarbone and gently scratched his nails over Cathal’s ribs. He kissed and licked and touched, and gloried as Cathal’s breath grew more and more ragged.

  When he finally returned to Cathal’s mouth, Cathal pulled him close into a deep, claiming kiss, as if he couldn’t keep himself from touching Flavian for one more moment. Flavian liked to think that might be the case. He could believe it was as Cathal’s heart beat wildly with Flavian’s.

  “What do you want?” he whispered to Cathal. “What do you need?”

  “You.”

  Flavian’s breath caught. Cathal had to only mean it at that moment, in bed, but staring into Cathal’s eyes, Flavian wanted it to mean more, wanted Cathal to need him for more than the physical.

  “You have me,” he whispered back, trying to ignore the fear that lanced through him because those words were true. He was Cathal’s. He didn’t know how it happened or when, but he was. It was terrifying but also… joyful. He had never felt anything like it. “What do you want me to do?”

  Cathal lifted a hand and cupped Flavian’s cheek. He turned into it, nuzzling into Cathal’s palm. “I want to be inside you. Can I…?”

  Heat and want twisted inside Flavian. It had been a long time since Flavian had done this, and Cathal never had,
at least not with a man, but Flavian wanted it with Cathal.

  “Yes.”

  Cathal smiled, the pure, happy smile Flavian saw too infrequently, and Flavian could have stared at it forever. But he kissed Cathal instead. Cathal turned them as they kissed, so he lay on top of Flavian, his frame coming to rest in the cradle of Flavian’s hips. Cathal’s weight was welcome, so was the finger, coated in oil hastily retrieved from the night table, that trailed down and into Flavian’s body.

  Flavian gasped and writhed, clutching Cathal’s shoulders, his thick hair, as the finger moved and then was joined by another. Cathal dropped his lips to Flavian’s neck, and every nerve in his body seemed to burst into flame. For the longest time, Cathal kept kissing and nibbling and licking Flavian’s neck while moving and twisting his fingers. By the time Cathal removed his fingers and began to push inside Flavian, Flavian was ready to jump out of his own skin.

  Flavian moaned at the first slide of hard flesh into his body, smiled as Cathal moaned too. He looked into Cathal’s eyes, found them intense, the gold burning with passion. Cathal didn’t look lost anymore. It was Flavian’s last coherent thought as Cathal started to move.

  “Yes,” Flavian gasped. Had he forgotten how good it felt to be filled? Or was it better with Cathal, because of the inexplicable connection that had developed between them? Answers, if there were any, eluded him in the sparks of pleasure flashing through his body, his mind. “Yes.”

  Cathal bent and kissed him as Flavian wrapped himself around Cathal, twining arms and legs around Cathal’s body and holding on as they moved together. This, yes, this. He wasn’t ready for it to be over when pleasure crashed through him. Cathal kissed him through it, swallowing his cries and feeding Flavian his own when he followed a moment later.

  They lay together for a long time. The silence stretched between them, more comfortable a silence than they’d ever had. After a while, after his heart began to slow and his breathing evened, Flavian stroked a gentle hand up and down Cathal’s back. He didn’t want to think about what tonight might mean for him and Cathal, not yet. He didn’t want to think of anything, except Cathal’s warm weight on top of him, the delicious feeling of his own body.

  Finally, Cathal moved them, turning on his side and pulling Flavian to his chest. Flavian went along, even snuggled close. Perhaps Cathal needed it; certainly Flavian liked being held so close.

  “How are you?” he asked quietly.

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Cathal replied, a thread of amusement vibrating in his voice.

  “You know what I meant.” Flavian chuckled. “But I am brilliant. Thank you.”

  “Good.” Cathal dropped a kiss on top of Flavian’s head. “And I’m feeling… better. So thank you.”

  Flavian let his arms tighten around Cathal. “You’re welcome.”

  “You’re just what I needed.”

  IT WAS a terrifying thought Cathal had had last night with Flavian secure in his arms. Perhaps even more terrifying that he had voiced it to Flavian. He’d waited for Flavian to jump from the bed and flee, but he’d stayed in Cathal’s bed, in his arms, all through the night.

  Flavian had done all that despite Cathal’s admission that he needed Flavian. Perhaps Flavian didn’t realize Cathal hadn’t just meant last night. But he couldn’t believe his luck at the time. He had been longing for someone—for Flavian—to be there, to make a miserable night better, and Flavian had appeared and done just that. Letting him go early in the morning had been more difficult than Cathal wanted to admit. He would have liked to laze in bed with Flavian. He’d like to do it every morning. Every morning for the rest of their lives.

  He’d gone and fallen in love with Flavian.

  He wasn’t sure how it happened. He doubted it mattered. He was in love with the man, and he wanted Flavian with him as he had been the night before. Cathal wanted to be there for Flavian the same way. It was dangerous how much he wanted, because he couldn’t see how he could possibly have any of it.

  He had to be back in the city that afternoon to observe the continuing interrogation of their spy, and he had plenty to do before he left. By all rights, he should have made time to spend with Velia that morning—perhaps asked to join her for breakfast or for a walk in the garden. She was his betrothed, and he should make time for her, but the voice in his head telling him that sounded an awful lot like Father. He told it to shut up.

  Cathal couldn’t bring himself to go to Velia. To spend time with her when he wanted to spend time with Flavian. To see Flavian with Velia and know that he had to pay court to Velia when he wanted to do so to Flavian. To hurt Flavian, even though he didn’t know exactly how the man felt—Cathal only hoped based on last night. To possibly hurt Velia.

  It dragged at him as he wrote his report, as he went about his other tasks. Cathal wasn’t sure how he’d gotten himself into the situation, and he wasn’t sure how to get out, not without hurting someone. Giving up Flavian was the simplest option, but everything in him rebelled at the thought.

  The tangle swirled through his mind as he brought his report to Philip, as he worked across the desk from his cousin while Philip and Amory talked to each other. Cathal didn’t pay attention to their conversation, not after Philip had teased him about how the report wasn’t as early as he’d expected. After he’d given Philip the barest possible response to his teasing, Cathal went on with his work, letting the couple converse as they did their morning’s tasks, letting the rhythm of their voices, so at ease with each other, wash over him.

  But he couldn’t think of anything but Flavian. And Velia. He swung between remembering last night with joy and kicking himself for betraying his obligations, no matter that they weren’t his choice. He had to figure out what to do.

  “I can’t marry Velia.”

  Chapter 20

  CATHAL ONLY became aware he’d spoken out loud when he realized Philip and Amory had fallen silent. Both Philip and Amory were staring at him. Cathal looked between them, trying to figure out what to say, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

  Philip took pity on him, the surprise in his eyes melting into sympathy. He reached across the desk and gripped Cathal’s arm. “It’s all right, Cathal.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said, recovering his voice finally.

  “It will be.” Amory came over and perched on the edge of Philip’s desk.

  “I don’t know how. Unless there actually is a way to break the betrothal without angering an empire that could crush us if they wanted to.” Cathal flicked his gaze from Amory to Philip, not reassured by what he saw.

  “I’m not certain they could, really, but that isn’t the question,” Philip said.

  “No, it isn’t,” Amory answered him. “It’s beside the point at the moment, since I don’t think anyone wants to test that theory.”

  “You’re right about that.” Philip looked back at Cathal and stared at him for a long moment. “You love Flavian, don’t you?”

  He considered denying it, but he saw no reason to hide his newly discovered feelings, not from Philip and Amory.

  “Yes, I think I do. I love him.” Cathal let his head fall into his hands. “What am I supposed to do? I have to marry her. I’m not the only consideration here.”

  “I don’t want to hear a word about your father, Cathal.”

  He raised his head to look at Philip. “My father is disappointed in me no matter what I do. I will never make him happy or be what he wants. I need to stop trying.”

  Amory nodded. There was something like pride in his eyes, along with a profound understanding. Of course Amory understood.

  “But that isn’t what I mean. We can’t anger Ardunn, and my father made a betrothal agreement with the emperor. Lady Velia is an imperial cousin. And I’m already doing something that could hurt her, that could make her run back to Ardunn and anger the emperor.” Cathal scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t like that I’m doing it. You know I’ve had affairs, but I never betrayed a commi
tment I made, and when I was with anyone, I saw that as a commitment. I feel like I’m doing that now, going back on something I’ve agreed to. Being with Flavian while betrothed to Velia.”

  “Cathal,” Amory said.

  “And I know it isn’t the norm. No one would have said a word, Philip, if you married someone else and kept Amory as a lover. It’s unlikely that anyone here would say much if I did the same, but I don’t know what Velia or her uncle would think. I don’t know how these things are done in Ardunn.”

  “I don’t either. It wasn’t something I asked Flavian when we spoke,” Philip said. “I do understand what you’re saying, Cathal. I could have kept Amory as a lover, and you could do the same with Flavian, which would provoke other issues since everyone knows him at Flavia. But I fell in love with Amory, and I didn’t want anyone else.”

  “You don’t want anyone other than Flavian either, do you?” Amory asked, picking up Philip’s thought.

  “Does it matter? I have to marry Velia.”

  “I’m trying to find a way out of this for you,” Philip told him.

  “I know, but you have to think of Tournai.” Cathal managed a smile for his cousin, because he understood Philip’s dilemma, caring for his family, wanting their happiness, but required to put the welfare of Tournai and its people first.

  “It would help if I knew how this betrothal came about, if I knew what was actually in the agreement.” Philip slumped back in his chair. “If I knew why they made the agreement in the first place.”

  “We’re working on it,” Amory said, his voice soothing. Cathal didn’t know if he was trying to soothe Philip or Cathal. Perhaps both of them. “We’ll find it.”