Damen was not in any doubt as to why. Laurent's disgust was well known to him, though his own state of confliction was much more mild. Slaves had been a daily part of Damen's life for twenty-five years; it still felt like a normal state to him, except when his thoughts flickered back to Laurent's story this morning.
Still, he curled his fingers under the table as he watched the attention Laurent was paying to the boy who looked like him. There were no more flirtations with Damen, no coy glances or kisses the way he'd been at breakfast. His chest burned to claim Laurent's full focus once more, to slide a possessive arm around him and declare his own wishes with his body.
Hadn't he been plain about it? Hadn't he openly declared that Laurent would have the exclusive right to his bed tonight? But it had been for naught. He felt sick, knowing what was to come if they did share a bed, the agonizing game of reconciliation and affection and repulsion, in that order. He thought longingly of Laurent opening for him as Erasmus undoubtedly would, yielding to him, trembling under his claiming touches, lavishing him with soft kisses afterwards and not just before.
Beside him, he could feel the quiet longing in Erasmus' body for those things, the wistfulness with which his fingers left whisper-kisses across Damen's lips as he offered him bites to eat, the utter sweetness of his submission. On any other night of Damen's life, the conclusion of that evening would have been inevitable.
The message in Laurent's actions was clear. Its future outcome was entirely unknown.
It took all of Damen's will-power to accept the farce of Laurent's affection and deny himself the sweet certainty that Erasmus' would have brought him. The cruelest irony was that it was Laurent's that he wanted.
His arms encircled his husband, tightened around him. He stood up, bringing Laurent with him, their mouths still twined, Damen's hand curled behind Laurent's neck. There was no need to announce this time. They could go as they liked, and everybody would know why.
Keeping an arm around Laurent's waist, as he had last night, Damen turned to descend. His heart ached for the hopeful young man who had served him all evening as he thanked him for his attendance and dismissed him. Erasmus might have looked forward to this night for half of his life. But what else could he do, if he had even the slightest chance to win Laurent's heart?
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Damen was not in any doubt as to why. Laurent's disgust was well known to him, though his own state of confliction was much more mild. Slaves had been a daily part of Damen's life for twenty-five years; it still felt like a normal state to him, except when his thoughts flickered back to Laurent's story this morning.
Still, he curled his fingers under the table as he watched the attention Laurent was paying to the boy who looked like him. There were no more flirtations with Damen, no coy glances or kisses the way he'd been at breakfast. His chest burned to claim Laurent's full focus once more, to slide a possessive arm around him and declare his own wishes with his body.
Hadn't he been plain about it? Hadn't he openly declared that Laurent would have the exclusive right to his bed tonight? But it had been for naught. He felt sick, knowing what was to come if they did share a bed, the agonizing game of reconciliation and affection and repulsion, in that order. He thought longingly of Laurent opening for him as Erasmus undoubtedly would, yielding to him, trembling under his claiming touches, lavishing him with soft kisses afterwards and not just before.
Beside him, he could feel the quiet longing in Erasmus' body for those things, the wistfulness with which his fingers left whisper-kisses across Damen's lips as he offered him bites to eat, the utter sweetness of his submission. On any other night of Damen's life, the conclusion of that evening would have been inevitable.
The message in Laurent's actions was clear. Its future outcome was entirely unknown.
It took all of Damen's will-power to accept the farce of Laurent's affection and deny himself the sweet certainty that Erasmus' would have brought him. The cruelest irony was that it was Laurent's that he wanted.
His arms encircled his husband, tightened around him. He stood up, bringing Laurent with him, their mouths still twined, Damen's hand curled behind Laurent's neck. There was no need to announce this time. They could go as they liked, and everybody would know why.
Keeping an arm around Laurent's waist, as he had last night, Damen turned to descend. His heart ached for the hopeful young man who had served him all evening as he thanked him for his attendance and dismissed him. Erasmus might have looked forward to this night for half of his life. But what else could he do, if he had even the slightest chance to win Laurent's heart?