John convinced Alec to spend the night, assuring him that no one in the house would think ill of him for it or give away their secrets. The bed was so comfortable, and lying bare with John such a luxury, that Alec readily agreed. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep with another person—he hadn’t shared a mattress since he’d left home at fourteen. But John spooned him from behind, and the warmth of his body, and the comfort of his presence, put Alec to sleep almost instantly.
He woke before dawn’s first light. He lay in bed watching Trent—John’s—countenance as the light, first pinkish, then gold, crept in through the bedroom window and cast itself upon the bed. John slept in the altogether, and the covers only came to his ribs as he lay on his back, one arm flung over his head.
Mr. Ainsley had owned a whole shelf of precious art books, which he’d passed down to Alec, and he’d encouraged Alec to learn to appreciate the masters. John looked like a carving in marble by the ancient Greeks, so sturdy, masculine, and breathtaking. Alec stared, his hands itching for his tools, though he knew he couldn’t possibly do this moment justice, not in wood. He almost wished he worked in oils, like Mr. Dante. But no paint could do the scene justice either.
Alec could scarcely believe he was there, in bed with a man, his lover. And on Christmas morning too. There was no guilt, no shame. His body ached pleasantly and was sated in a way he’d never experienced before. And his heart... his heart could only sing John, John, John, in a voice that felt very much like the rejoicing of angels.
Nothing was ever made that was not intended to be used.
For the first time in his life, Alec felt well used, all of him, inside and out, from his prick to his mind to his well-pool of affection. For the first time, he was truly alive.
He couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke the hair on John’s chest.
“Morning.”
Alec looked up to find John squinting at him, just one eye open, and looking adorably sleepy.
“It’s early yet. Go back to sleep,” Alec said.
John yawned and stretched his arms over his head, giving quite the view of those lovely muscles. “May do. You’ll stay? It’s Christmas.”
“I’ll stay,” Alec said with a little wave of happiness.
John’s eyes were already closed, but he smiled. He was still smiling as his breathing deepened in sleep.
Alec had too much energy to lie still any longer. He rose quietly from the bed, put on all his clothes and shoes, and slipped out into the hallway. The house was cold, and he went quickly downstairs, rubbing his hands together.
He stood for a moment in the drawing room, gazing at the Christmas tree. The room looked different with only the morning light coming in through windows. The candles were extinguished and cold. The punch bowl had been drained of every last drop. There was an abandoned game of cards on a table near the fireplace. It was a held breath of a celebration just waiting to be resumed today.
The angel sat on top of the tree. She did look well there.
“Merry Christmas,” Alec whispered to her, smiling at his own foolishness.
He admired the fir tree. He’d never bought one for himself. It was a lovely idea, bringing a bit of the woods inside. And how pretty it was with the white candles and strings of red berries. Then he noticed the presents wrapped in brown paper and pretty bows arrayed beneath.
He frowned. Oh. Gifts. He hadn’t thought of that. But he hadn’t known he would stay so long or feel so generously inclined towards John’s household.
“Is that you, Mr. Allston? Do come have breakfast with me and keep me company.”
Alec turned to find Mrs. Simpson in the archway. She wore a purple robe that had frills around the collar and cuffs, and all down the front. Her graying brown hair, which she wore up in a chignon, was slightly askew, and her expression was hopeful.
“Good morning, Mrs. Simpson.” Alec felt his cheeks heat in a blush. She must know very well what they’d been up to last night.
“Good morning. And Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas.”
“I wish I could sleep in like other people,” she tsked, working a handkerchief in one hand. “But I have a bad hip, you know. It aches so in the morning. Still, it was nice to be up early to see off the Misses. They took a carriage to Oxford this morning. The weather looks well enough for it. The clouds are rolling in, but that’s no more than one expects in London, is it? Though, naturally, one would prefer snow for Christmas Day, if one didn’t have to travel. Won’t you come have a cup of tea at the table? We’ve seeded buns, hot from the oven, and kippers, and there’ll be a rasher of bacon when the others are up.”
Alec ran a hand through his hair. He felt unkempt, not having shaved or washed up, and his clothes from the night before weren’t right for daytime visiting. In short, he was not at all prepared to face the whirlwind that was Mrs. Simpson. “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I believe I’ll take the opportunity to go home while it’s still early.”
Mrs. Simpson pouted. “You won’t join us for Christmas Day? Oh, please say you will.”
Alec smiled, charmed by the sincere offer. “I would like very much to join you for Christmas Day. Only I have a few things to take care of first. Would you be so kind as to tell Jo—Mr. Trent that I’ll be back in a few hours?”
This put a slow, wicked grin on Mrs. Simpson’s face. “I will. And may I say, Mr. Allston, I’m so very happy for you! I’m enraptured to see our Mr. Trent under Cupid’s spell. And what a fine man he is too. But you know better than I, I’ll wager.”
“Er... yes... thank you.” Alec’s face grew hotter. “You are a very kind lady. I’ll return shortly. If you’ll excuse me.” Alec moved to pass Mrs. Simpson toward the front door.
“If you need a hackney, you’ll have the best luck on Guilford Street!”
“It’s only a few miles. I believe I’ll walk.”
“Well, isn’t that nice? Wish I could do, but there’s my hip. See you soon, then, Mr. Allston. Do be back by lunch! Oooh, and we have spiced hot chocolate for later!”