It’s another week before Jason returns to Riversmeet, much of that time spent at the chapel restoration in York, making up for lost time while cursing a sudden cold snap. He raises a hand when Vanya meets him at Paddington again, his face half-covered by a scarf that only leaves his eyes fully visible. They slant upwards as he gets closer, like he’s secretly smiling. At least he must be snug, bundled in the jacket he borrowed. Seeing Vanya wearing his clothes when he no doubt has much better in his own wardrobe releases a surge of satisfaction. It swells inside before rising like a bubble, lifting his spirits even higher.

Lending Vanya a jacket is nothing.

He’ll give him anything if doing so leads to more of this feeling.

Vanya tugs his scarf down. There’s nothing secret about his smile of greeting, and for once, he doesn’t look over his shoulder after Jason’s quick kiss of greeting.

He’s glowing instead and crowing over a slim package he slips from his jacket. He presses it into Jason’s hands, still warm from the heat of his body. “Look,” Vanya urges. “Look what I’m discover.” The hardback book Jason unwraps is tatty, its pages yellow at the edges, smelling a little musty. As gifts go, he’s had much more impressive. Still, that bubble of satisfaction only expands when Vanya adds, “Saw it and knew was perfect.”

“You got this for me?” The book falls open to show diagrams and line drawings. Travellers jostle them, but Jason’s too busy flipping pages to pay attention. The book describes a restoration journey, one man’s life-long process to rebuild a cottage so similar to Riversmeet that he can hardly believe it. “This is brilliant.”

“I’m know.” Pleasure stains Vanya’s cheeks. “Saw in shop.” He leans close and flips a few pages to another image. “Notice this”—he points at a fireplace in a deep recess—“and remember.” Maybe he isn’t aware of what it does to Jason each time he tries new English, but when he asks, “Is inglenook, yes?” with a nervous edge of question, that bubble inside fills Jason’s whole chest. He nods instead of answering as they find their seats on the train.

Vanya takes the book back as soon as they’re settled, turning a few pages at a time until he finds a section that he slowly reads aloud from.

Jason sits beside him, barely hearing his careful narration, too caught up in thinking.

Vanya said he was too busy for more clients yet he set aside time to scour shops for this? It’s a mental picture that cheers him, as charming as the deep line bisecting Vanya’s forehead when he reads like each word is important, each sentence holding value. Most of all, Jason decides as he slides their tickets out of his wallet for the inspector to clip, it’s simply very touching that despite knowing he wants for nothing, Vanya’s found him a perfect present.

All he wants is to do the same thing for him.

He slides a hand onto Vanya’s thigh and squeezes.

Vanya breaks off just long enough to smile before he continues, holding this frayed old book that Jason already knows he’ll keep forever, leaning against his shoulder as he continues reading. It’s a simple story of one man’s weekend project, but Vanya selects pages to read that mirror aspects of the cottage Jason’s already described renovating. He trips over some tricky sections but keeps going regardless.

His persistence is amazing.

It’s a thought that Jason carries all the way to Moreton-in-Marsh and then tucks tightly away when Chantel hops the stepping-stones to meet them.

“I thought you were going to miss it!” Her hug is fleeting. “Come on!” she exclaims, heading straight for the stables. “Come on!” she demands as if they drag their feet instead of running right beside her. Her third and final “come on” is a whisper at the stable half-gate.

Beyond it Lady labours.

Spending the evening watching a horse give birth isn’t what Jason expected from this visit. They’re here to check out the venue for the wedding—which draws ever closer—not to spend hours kneeling on prickly straw while Lady strains and paces. This is nowhere close to that plan, but he wouldn’t miss it.

It’s another gift, Jason decides. A form of reparation he easily yields to. There’s no hardship involved in making tea and toast while Chantel maintains a late-night vigil, just like it’s actually a pleasure to rig a heater for her mare as the temperature plummets.

The vet comes when Lady seems exhausted, as does Andrew—very late from town and harried, overwhelmed with gratitude when he sees the warm nest Jason’s made. Then he pales at the vet’s prognosis.

Lady is quite elderly to be a first-time mother.

They need to prepare for tough decisions.

It turns out that some gifts have an expensive price tag. Being there during that news is one Jason willingly pays when it means he’s there for both of them to lean on.

Thank God, he thinks when the small scar on Andrew’s lip whitens. Thank God that they had a chance to make up after he was such a dick for so long. And thank God Vanya helped him, or he might not be here at all.

Vanya reads from the book he’s brought from London. It’s a quiet distraction that Chantel responds to, helping him when he stumbles, falling into the role she must play daily at work, supporting kids with endless patience.

It’s past midnight before Lady gets with the program, at last, to tiredly shove out new life. There’s a moment of hurried action following a huge gush of water. Chantel soon sounds frantic, repeating her earlier refrain of come on when the foal fails to respond to her mother’s licks and nudges. “Come on,” she urges again, her voice stretched and shaky when the foal lies still. They all jump when she roars, “Oh, come on, you daft beggar!” before dissolving into sobs when the foal finally draws its first breath.

The next while is a mess of relief and congratulations. It takes time before Jason sees that Chantel wrestles with her phone, her hands shaking too hard to unlock it. Andrew takes it from her. He dials like he knows who she needs to call without asking, and then quietly says a few words before passing the phone over.

“Dad?” Chantel’s voice is a choked sob.

Jason busies himself with Vanya, changing Lady’s bedding rather than listen to a conversation that’s interspersed with raw emotion. Instead, he crouches as Vanya offers Lady a mint from his pocket. She lips softly at his palm and then cranes her neck to see her filly, her eyes wide like she can’t believe she made her.

“Oh!” Vanya’s smile is as shaky as the foal’s attempt to stand up. “You have best baby. Beautiful!”

“She is beautiful,” Chantel echoes behind them. Her voice shakes then steadies. “She’s so beautiful, Dad. Please, please do come to see her.”

* * *

It’s past two in the morning by the time Lady’s settled and they’re all back in the house. The kitchen’s quiet, the last tea and toast of the night eaten. Jason rinses mugs when Vanya comes downstairs, still damp from a quick shower.

“Where is everyone?” He looks out the window. “Everything okay with Mama and baby?”

“Lady’s fine, her foal too,” he quietly says. “Chantel crashed though. Andrew’s put her straight to bed.” Jason tugs Vanya close. “Are those my pyjama bottoms?” They’re certainly loose enough on Vanya to be his, giving way easily at the waist so Jason’s hands can slide in.

“Forgot to bring.” Vanya avoids his gaze like he’s embarrassed. There’s no need. He can have anything that he needs—spare jacket or old pyjamas, whatever Jason’s got that he wants, if that makes him happy.

Vanya’s surprised at the time on the kitchen wall clock. “Is late, but I’m feel wide awake.”

“It was quite the evening, but you’ll regret it in the morning if you don’t get to sleep soon. We’ve got a busy day planned.” Jason leads the way to the bedroom, where a single bedside lamp shines, shadows crowding around the gold glow it casts across the bedspread. “I know you probably don’t start clubbing until this time most evenings, but us country bumpkins need our sleep.”

He shushes Vanya’s confused laughter and points at the ceiling. “Not so loud. This place isn’t exactly soundproofed.” He strips down to boxers and a T-shirt while a creaking sound—low but repetitious—starts overhead. Vanya scoots in beside him to whisper, his words a warm gust compared to the coolness of the bedroom.

“I’m think Chantel isn’t sleepy either.” He leans over Jason, all shadowed smiles and teasing. “Sure Andrew is only a little older than you? Seems more energetic.”

“I’ll show you energetic.” It doesn’t take much effort to flip Vanya onto his back. He’s perfect like this, his head tilted as he grins, offering smile-shaped kisses. He’s busy too, pulling at Jason’s T-shirt. His back chills quickly once it’s gone, skin prickling with goose bumps until Vanya hauls the quilt over their heads.

“Should be naked. Share body heat is best way to warm up.”

“I can think of better.” Jason pushes down the pyjama pants Vanya borrowed and lays between his spread legs. “Do you know what friction means?” He feels Vanya’s nod rather than sees it. “If only I could find two hard things to rub together, I could demonstrate another way to make heat….” Vanya’s stomach quivers under his hand—silent, repressed laughter. “We’d warm up so much faster.”

For a while, all is quiet beyond the ragged sound of breathing, Jason holding their cocks while they kiss and rock together. The quilt gets shoved down when sweat beads between them, Vanya’s grip on Jason’s shoulders tightening. He covers his mouth when Jason ducks under the covers again, spreading Vanya’s legs wide with his shoulders, a wet finger pressed to his hole while Jason starts to blow him.

His whole body jerks, and Jason rises to find Vanya tightly clutching a pillow. “Is this okay?” It’s the quietest question so far, the house silent now around them. “I don’t have to.” His finger slides and pushes—the most intimate of pressures—barely pressing inward. “I don’t even know if you want it this way.”

“Want it always with you.”

Jason stops for a second at hearing a word that changes meaning dependant on its spelling. Vanya must mean all ways. “Have you ever…?” When Vanya shakes his head, Jason sinks down the bed one more time, past Vanya’s cock, which shines with his spit and precome, then going even lower.

His mouth on Vanya’s balls causes a sound that’s quickly muffled, his tongue tracing the seam of his perineum provoking a groan that Jason’s quite proud of causing.

Vanya seems to try to keep the noise down, fairly successful until Jason presses a finger deep inside him, Vanya muffling his groans with a pillow, like he does his eventual climax.

He’s boneless when Jason strokes himself off, barely able to do more than smile when his chest and chin are both striped with Jason’s semen.

Jason switches the lamp off once they’re clean, the rise and fall of Vanya’s chest barely visible as his breathing slows and deepens. He’s about to move nearer when Vanya’s hand brushes against his, linking their fingers and pulling like he too feels the same urge to get even closer.

Jason falls asleep with one thought—always might be too soon for Vanya, but all ways he can give him.