Vanya’s kiss comes the moment Jason gets done speaking.

It prompts Jason to do some frank self-evaluation: he must have been kissing the wrong way his whole life. There’s no other explanation for the way Vanya affects him, out of breath the moment his mouth opens, the touch of his tongue hesitant yet thrilling.

He wants more.

More of the way Vanya drops that hesitancy like a load he’s carried all the way from London. And much more of the way he comes close to where Jason sits on the edge of the bed, like he can’t get enough either. But, most of all, Jason wants a never-ending supply of the small noises each new kiss brings.

Vanya sounds exactly as needy as Jason feels right now, here in his childhood bedroom.

When Vanya pulls away to drag in air, his face is shadowed, his gaze turning thoughtful. He pushes Jason until he’s supine, braced only by his elbows. Taking Vanya’s weight is easy when he straddles Jason, just like it’s no trouble at all to sink fully down to the surface of the mattress when Vanya presses both hands against his shoulders. Jason simply goes wherever Vanya wants him while every kiss chips away at a long-held conviction that relationships are for other people.

That firm belief fragments some more as Vanya’s hips roll, trying to get even closer. Each move provokes tremors Jason feels through layers of fabric, like the foundations of this building tremble.

This isn’t the slow getting to know each other he had planned for this visit.

It’s a full-scale demolition.

All the barriers he erected after that last break up with Garry crumble, his resolve to avoid getting suckered for a second time by someone who might turn out to be a liar finally falling, and maybe that’s not a bad thing.

Vanya lets out a sound of affirmation, like he wants much more than something casual as well.

Jason’s almost convinced of it.

Hasn’t it been right there on the surface, visible in how pleased Vanya is every time he sees him and audible whenever Vanya battles with this second language so they can talk more often? And now he’s here, where the very best part of Jason’s life started, giving him so much more than casual support while he rebuilds relationships with people who matter.

Who wouldn’t want someone like this beside them?

Getting hard is inevitable when every touch between them feels so good. Jason holds tight to Vanya’s hips, pulling him as close as he can, grinding upwards until Vanya puffs out shaky gusts and stutters. Jason does it some more, holding Vanya in place just to feel the way his whole body quivers, before he lurches almost upright. The change of position is beyond good when Vanya bears down, especially when he gasps—eyes wide, lip bitten—like it’s the first time he’s ever felt friction this good. His fingers dig into Jason’s chest and shoulder each time Jason grinds up, like he’s concerned he might stop.

He’s got no need to worry.

Jason’s not going anywhere in a hurry.

He could do this all day, especially when Vanya’s breathing quickens, his face flushed and gorgeous. He’s amazing like this, backlit by light spilling through the bedroom doorway, which is much brighter than when they got started.

That difference in brightness takes a split second to process, then he’s suddenly sitting upright, jostling Vanya in the process, who grabs his shoulders for balance. He exclaims in Russian and then freezes after he looks over his shoulder.

Chantel stands in the open doorway, bunch of flowers dangling from her hand much like her mouth hangs open.

She closes her mouth with a loud click.

Vanya reacts almost as quickly.

He shoots off Jason’s lap so fast he only narrowly avoids falling. Then he recovers, flame-faced, as he scrambles to put some space between them. His hand shakes as he gestures around the room. “Was having grand tour.”

It isn’t a usual greeting. Truthfully, it’s a needless excuse; what Chantel caught them doing is obvious. Vanya rushes on regardless while pointing at the exposed beam on the ceiling. “Was looking at Jason’s first big wood.”

When Chantel presses her lips tight together instead of laughing, Jason thinks that maybe he can truly grow to like her. But when she changes the subject, thanking Vanya for his flowers, telling him that daisies are her favourite, he’s almost certain.

* * *

Everything about this visit is so much easier than the last one.

Partly, that’s down to Chantel being a hundred times more relaxed around him. It’s obvious in the way her smiles his way are small but genuine as she shows Vanya the rest of the house. She asks him simple questions as they move from room to room, and then she waits when he falters. Each time Vanya verbally stumbles, she pauses instead of filling his gaps and then smiles when he attempts new words.

She’s kinder than Jason deserves, considering he’s arrived for the weekend with a complete stranger.

Seeing the way she makes Vanya welcome is a stark reminder that he didn’t extend her the same consideration. Even the flowers Vanya thought to bring her silently reproach him. He gets a chance to put some of that right when Vanya asks the way to the bathroom. After showing him its location, Jason returns to find the kitchen empty. A muffled curse leads him to the boot room next door.

Chantel stands on tiptoe trying to find something way up on a high shelf. “I know it’s up there somewhere,” she says. Whatever she seeks is beyond her searching fingers no matter how she stretches.

“Here. Let me,” he offers. The cut-glass pattern on the vase he passes down is hazed by dust. “This what you wanted?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She takes it from him and sneezes. “I should probably dust more often,” she admits as if he’s about to judge her. She points to a calendar on the wall. “I’ll have to add it to my list.” Each date has a task written in glittery gel pen. Chores form a cleaning countdown terminating the day before her wedding. It’s a very long list that includes weekend chores for Andrew, but there’s also an awful lot of work for the sole person here on weekdays. At least spring-cleaning the spare bedroom is already crossed off. Then he looks a little closer. Next on her list was making their lunch today and shopping for a welcome dinner, like she’s scheduled tasks that centre on his and Vanya’s comfort ahead of all the others. A visit to her father’s place is next, and she’s pencilled in extra shifts at work as well, right up until the wedding.

“Where is it again that you work? Why did I think you were a student?” The moment the words leave his mouth, he knows Andrew’s already told him.

“Because I still am? I only work part-time right now. I’ll go full-time once I get my diploma.” She glances up from the boot-room sink that she’s filled with soapy water. A tiny rainbow bubble hangs in the air between them. She focuses on popping it with one finger rather than acknowledge aloud that he should already know this. She adds, “I work at the local primary school. I’m just a teaching assistant,” like it’s nothing important.

Vanya speaks from the doorway. “How old?” he asks.

“The children?” She continues when he nods. “Year three. So anywhere from seven to nine years old. I’m covering as a one-to-one support person for a girl who’s a year older as well.”

Vanya picks up a tea towel, careful as he takes the now-clean vase from her wet hands. “One-to-one because…?”

“Her support person is off sick.” She doesn’t elaborate on the reasons why her help is needed. She simply adds, “So it’s my job to make sure she isn’t left out at lunchtime and playtime. The other kids are only little. They need help to be patient, but it’s lovely to see her flourish whenever they include her.”

“Feeling wanted is important,” Vanya agrees. Jason wonders why his smile slips as he says, “Is very good age to teach.” Then he gathers himself, any sign of sadness gone like that popped bubble as he holds out the dry vase. “Best age, but also crazy. You have very tough job.”

“Oh, no. Not really,” she easily dismisses. “The class teacher does all the hard work.” She makes her way back to the kitchen with the vase and transfers the flowers to it. “I know it’s not exactly a high-powered career. Not like the ones Andrew’s exes had.” She arranges stems rather than meet his eye, and when she finally does, her glance Jason’s way is brief. “But I love it.”

She sets the flowers in the middle of the old pine table. “There! Beautiful!”

She really is.

The sun’s bright outside, streaming through the window, showing Jason something else he hasn’t noticed; happiness makes her eyes twinkle. They’d been tearful and bloodshot during his last visit. That memory prompts him to ask, “How’s Lady?”

“Good!” Chantel rummages in some shopping bags to pull out a couple of apples. “She’s so fat now! Why don’t you show Vanya? I’ll be down in a jiffy, just as soon as I put the lunch on.” She pulls a face that’s rueful as she removes a pre-made lasagne from the same bag. “I should have accepted when Andrew offered to make lunch. He’s a much better cook than me. Hopefully he won’t notice this is shop-bought or ask what happened to the one I got up early this morning to make.”

“No need to ask.” Vanya’s teasing is easy-going. “Could smell why when we arrive.”

“Oh, God.” She covers her face with her hands. “I hoped the stench would blow out before you got here.”

“Come on,” Jason urges, guiding Vanya to the back door. “We won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” she insists, and there’s that tentative smile again. “I’ll ring the bell when it’s ready. It’s lovely to have you here, Vanya.”

The sun lightens the tips of Vanya’s fair hair when he nods, his smile so much more relaxed now compared to his moment of pure panic after Chantel first found them.

They’re halfway to the garden gate when she calls out to Jason. “I’m so glad you came back!”

Jason’s reply is equally honest.

“It’s good to be home.”

* * *

The afternoon passes quickly once Andrew arrives and their lunch is finally ready. He questions Vanya as they eat, and it doesn’t take Jason long to spy some familiar protective behaviour.

Andrew’s gaze across the table is searching. “You’re not exactly what I expected.” He narrows his eyes at Vanya’s simple black shirt. “I thought a personal shopper would be much more… flamboyant.” He acts casual as he mops the last of his lunch with a crust of bread, but his next question is barbed. “You go away like this with many of your clients?”

Vanya gives as good as he gets. “Only richest ones with second house in country.” His eyes mirror Andrew’s when they narrow. “You are different to how I picture as well.” He holds up a fist to make his point. “Was expecting boxer. I’m think we both have wrong impression.”

Andrew rolls his eyes at Jason’s laughter. “I suppose I asked for that.” He’s still smiling later when Chantel says it’s time to visit her father.

Jason hunts for dry tea towels in the boot room after they go and witnesses the real reason for Andrew’s good humour through the open backdoor—they aren’t anywhere close to leaving. They kiss beside his car, Chantel on the very tips of her toes until Andrew scoops her up like she’s his bride already. She tilts her head back, clearly happy as he spins around, her laughter carried his way by the breeze. Andrew’s is unrestrained too.

Jason can’t help smiling.

They love each other.

He glimpsed it before, during his last visit, but the sound of them so happy strips away a layer of doubt he hadn’t known still lingered. Denial has him shaking his head, but that’s exactly what he lets go—denial that Chantel is the person his brother wants in his life right now.

So what if Andrew and marriage don’t have a good track record?

It’s not his place to stand watch.

Something inside Jason settles, goes still instead of struggling, finally releasing its grip on his worries for this marriage. Third truly might mean final, and if Andrew can find his perfect person, then maybe he—

He holds onto the doorframe.

“You okay?” Vanya’s quiet. He rests a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Take so long, I’m think you leave all chores for me.”

“Maybe this is how we do things in England.” Jason lies to cover his distraction. “Perhaps guests always do the dishes. You should get back to it. You wouldn’t want Chantel to think you’re rude when she’s only trying to make you welcome, would you?”

“Think you tell worst lies.” Vanya’s hand is damp in his, soapsuds making his grip slippery when Jason tries to pull him closer. “But do feel very welcome.”

“Good.”

They work together side-by-side, bumping hips as they wash and dry china and glass, talking about nothing important. Jason hangs his damp tea towel on the Aga towel rail when they’re done. “You know you needn’t have done the dishes by hand, don’t you? We could have loaded the dishwasher.”

“Don’t mind,” Vanya insists. “Hot water is luxury.”

Jason doesn’t think too hard about Vanya’s comment until he flinches, then stills.

It’s a strange reaction. Like someone caught in a fib they expect to get called on. He watches his Adam’s apple bob a few times before he hurries over to the table. He wipes away crumbs of bread and salt grains, his grip on the damp cloth so tight that his knuckles whiten.

Jason mentally shuffles through everything he knows about Vanya’s living situation, finally accepting he knows precious little, apart from the fact that he only moved in recently to a new place. He crosses to the table and lifts a wine bottle out of the way.

“Thank you,” Vanya says very quietly, wiping the spot where it stood.

Jason doesn’t answer. He watches instead and then pours the last of the wine into both their glasses. When he turns, Vanya faces the sink again and doesn’t answer when Jason says his name.

“Hey,” he tries again. “Vanya?” Then he sets both glasses down to the side and puts a hand on Vanya’s shoulder. A barely contained tremble prompts him to speak. “Hey. What on earth’s the matter?”

“Is nothing.” Vanya’s glance his way is fleeting. “Make mistake in English,” he says while swiftly nodding. “Is still embarrassing.”

Jason’s not sure that’s the true reason for whatever’s going on with him right now. Replaying the words in his head doesn’t point to an obvious syntax error. If anything, it was the content rather than the way his words were strung together that caught his attention. “Hot water is a luxury? You don’t have any at your place?”

It’s a direct question that requires a direct answer.

Vanya shrugs and changes the subject.

“Think they will be with Chantel’s father for long?” He edges towards the doorway. “Could go for walk? Maybe along river?”

“We could do that,” Jason agrees, keeping his tone casual. “Or maybe you could tell me what’s wrong with the hot water supply at your place.”

Vanya lets out a sigh. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Listen.” Jason moves into his direct eye line. “If there’s a problem and your new landlord is being an arsehole about making repairs, just say so.” He catches hold of Vanya’s shoulder again—still more rigid than it should be during a simple conversation. “I know a lot of tradespeople.” He chances a smile that’s only faintly mirrored. “Or I could come round and take a look myself. I am pretty handy.”

“No.” The shake of his head is emphatic, only slightly softened by Vanya saying, “Is not a problem,” like the conversation’s over.

“Okay,” Jason answers, not certain whether he’s any closer to understanding. “But I can talk to your landlord on the phone, if you want. About anything. It can’t be easy.” He imagines negotiating life in another language all over again, as he has so many times in the last few weeks. Everything has got to be so much harder. “Only it’s definitely getting colder. If you have a hot-water problem, it might affect your heating system as well. I don’t want you freezing your balls off this winter.”

“Won’t freeze in England,” Vanya quietly insists. “Russia is colder. Coldest, but thank you.” His eye contact is steadier, as is his voice. “If I’m need help, you would be first choice.”

It’s a simple statement that’s intensely warming like the kiss that follows, softer too than any of their others, wrapped up in a feeling he doesn’t exactly have a name for. His lips part, and Vanya’s follow—sure and slow and drugging. Jason can’t help but gather him close, oblivious to still-wet hands at the nape of his neck and to the world outside the kitchen window. Instead, all he sees are Vanya’s eyelids up-close, laced with tiny veins in shades of blue and violet, a filigree he’s never noticed on anyone he’s been this close to.

He’s never wanted to pay this much attention.

Now closing his eyes seems wasteful.

He does, though, as their kiss deepens. It’s still slow, rather than fevered, and doesn’t demand release in any way that feels hurried. In its place, Jason’s half aware of something different building—a new urge that only grows as Vanya sighs again against his lips, the sound tinged with deep relief like he resolved a problem.

Jason wants to do that for him.

He wants to make everything easier for him, if he can.

They’re joined at lips and hips and ankles, dovetailed as they kiss like a craftsman put them together. Jason reaches out with one hand and catches hold of the counter.

He has to when he’s so close to falling.