Emyr's Smile (6 page)

“That’s…” Emyr trailed
off and went quiet. After a while he said, his voice soft, “He
wasn’t, but you are.”

“Are what?” Heilyn
asked sleepily.

“Kind,” Emyr said and
moved. Suddenly he was on top of Heilyn, their bare chests pressed
together. Heilyn bucked his hips up without thinking, his whole
body shaking with the sudden contact, and gasped. He could feel
Emyr’s breath on his cheek, rough and hot, and knew that he was
about to be kissed. Then the hitch of Emyr’s breath and a soft drip
on his cheek made his conscience tighten around him like a noose.
Putting his hand up, he found Emyr’s cheek and held him a breath
away, feeling the slick lines of tears under his palm.

“You’re crying.”

“I’m aware. Let me have
some dignity, Heilyn.”

Heilyn swallowed and
argued the part of him that was all lust away. He didn’t want to
begin like this. He wanted something brighter and sweeter. “When
you kiss me…”

“Yes?” Emyr breathed,
nuzzling Heilyn’s fingertips.

“I want it to be
because I make you happy. Not just because you’re sad.”

Emyr froze. Then, with
a groan, he rolled off Heilyn. “You are the most inconvenient thing
in my life.”

“This is a noble
sacrifice on my part too,” Heilyn said, and curled up behind him,
wrapping an arm around Emyr’s waist.

“And inconsistent with
it.”

“Your life needs more
inconsistencies.”

Emyr snorted at that,
but then his hand came up to cover Heilyn’s, their fingers
tangling. “Sleep, Heilyn, and stop confusing me.”

And so Heilyn did, as
the storm slowly passed over them and faded into quiet rain.

There were more storms
after that, but Heilyn started listening to the weather gossips in
the morning and made sure he could leave early if bad weather was
coming in. Father Cian must have realized what was going on,
because he invariably happened to have the pony trap out on those
days and, more often than not, was heading along the coast road and
it was no trouble at all to take them both home.

Heilyn stayed overnight
through a few storms, though now they sat together in the kitchen
and talked quietly through the storm. Emyr didn’t invite him back
into bed, and Heilyn couldn’t quite decide how he felt about that.
He wanted so badly to touch Emyr and be touched in return, to slide
their bodies together and take pleasure from other. Simply lying
together chastely had been torturous, and so intense he had been
giddy with need by the time the sun crept through the crack in the
shutters. It had frightened him a little. He had never simply
wanted like that before. His purpose was simple: make Emyr happy
enough to smile. He was starting to wonder, though, what changes
Emyr was making in him in return.

Emyr was touching him
more. Nothing sexual, of course, and Heilyn wasn’t even sure he
knew he was doing it. He’d just developed a habit of moving Heilyn
out of his way as he cooked by slinging an arm around his shoulder
and pulling him across the room. When they huddled under the
oilcloth in the rain, his arm went around Heilyn’s waist to keep
him close. He summoned attention by touching Heilyn’s arm or
turning his cheek to see something interesting, his fingers always
gentle.

Heilyn wished he could
be as chaste and respectful, but his fantasies were getting more
compelling by the day. Even as he wandered across the frosty common
in the morning, he imagined just stripping naked as Emyr cooked,
spreading himself out across the kitchen table and begging. He
invented absurd schemes which would get him into Emyr’s bed
(possibly even “accidentally” tied to Emyr’s bed, so Emyr would
have to crawl all over him to release him, and then he’d, of
course, be overcome with lust and leave Heilyn tied there while he
stripped off and nibbled his way down Heilyn’s chest and then
pushed his legs apart slowly, those long fingers pressing…and, damn
it, he was at the shrine already) or let him fall conveniently onto
Emyr’s lap and land on his mouth (or his cock). He could imagine it
so clearly he could have painted it: Emyr’s eyes hazy with pleasure
as Heilyn stroked him, Emyr’s mouth sliding wetly over the head of
his cock.

It made his work a
little more challenging, especially now he was down to the fine
detail work and needed to concentrate. He was painting fast, aware
that the winter pilgrims were starting to arrive. They had filled
the old part of the hostel already, and half Father Cian’s
volunteers had switched duties to tend the sick. The others were in
the rooms Heilyn had finished, varnishing over the pictures.

Today he was putting in
the very last details on the long wall in the biggest dorm. This
was the most complex picture of the lot, showing the market wharf,
from the ships sliding down from the sky to the bustling crowds and
the shops and inn along the sides of the square. He had painted in
all the familiar faces: the fishermen, Elin in the inn doorway,
Math and his brother squabbling by the fountain, Emyr by the door
of the trade office, watching the world go by with thoughtful eyes.
Father Cian was there, with his daughters flitting around the
market, and all of the volunteers who had worked on the walls. They
had all been charmed and quick to suggest more island personalities
who would want to be included.

“Heilyn, are you in
here?” It was Emyr’s voice which was surprising because he never
ventured into the hostel, but Heilyn was so close to finishing that
nothing could distract him. He just grunted a little and focused on
touching up the shadows on the sails.

“The wind turned and
the Colomen sailed early,” Emyr said, his voice drawing
nearer, “so I brought you lunch from the inn and I thought… Oh.
Oh.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?”
said Arianell, one of the volunteers. “Have you not seen it before,
Emyr? I’d have thought you’d be here all the time. Heilyn,
sweetheart, your man’s here for you.”

“Ssh,” Heilyn said,
sliding along to frown at the edges of the inn roof. “I’m almost
done.”

“For the day?” Emyr
asked, his voice still filled with a soft wonder. “It’s early for
you.”

“No!” Heilyn snapped.
“I’m almost done!”

“Oh,” Emyr
breathed.

Arianell giggled and
said, “Leave the artist to his work, Emyr. I’ll give you a tour
while we’re waiting for him to finish up. It really is wonderful,
what he’s done.”

Their footsteps faded,
and Heilyn lost himself in the work again. There was a particular
kind of urgency that came with the end of a long project, one which
quivered through him and drove him onward with a growing sense of
anticipation. Soon, soon, it would be done, and he stopped thinking
about what he was doing and trusted instinct to guide his hand in
the last few strokes.

The very final detail
was his name, touched in along the curving side of a cloud in the
topmost corner. That done, he put his brush and palette down
carefully and sat back to look at his work. Done. He was done.

It felt a little like a
dream, wonderful and rather hollow all at once. What in the world
was he supposed to do now?

Turning round, he saw
Emyr standing in the middle of the room with his hands clasped
behind his back. He was facing away from Heilyn, gazing quietly at
the walls. As Heilyn stood there, overwhelmed by joy and loss, he
turned around slowly, taking a few steps forward to look at some
detail.

“Emyr.”

It came out a little
plaintive, and Emyr finished his circle in a few swift steps,
turning to face him. His lean face looked softer than usual, and
his eyes were bright.

“I’ve finished,” Heilyn
admitted.

“And it’s wonderful,”
Emyr said. The corners of his mouth were relaxing slowly, and his
eyes were crinkled at the corners. “I listened to you talk about
it, but I never imagined… It’s beautiful, Heilyn.”

“Beautiful?” Heilyn
echoed, and the shock of finishing began to give way to triumph,
great swooping waves of it.

Emyr’s lips were
curving up now, an unexpected dimple suddenly appearing in his
cheek. “It’s going to make people happy.” He grabbed Heilyn’s hand,
pulling him along the wall. “Look at Llinos in the market
there—she’s here every winter with her arthritis, and she’ll love
it. And there’s Dilys, and you put her cats in with her!
Heilyn!”

But Heilyn couldn’t
move. His breath was all caught in his throat and he couldn’t stop
staring, not at the art, but at Emyr.

“You’re staring at me.
Did I say something wrong?”

“You’re smiling,”
Heilyn choked out.

It was the best smile
he’d ever seen. Emyr’s face was transformed, no longer melancholy
but round-cheeked and flushed, with that dimple dipping in beside
his mouth and his eyes brighter than any shade of blue that Heilyn
could dream of painting.

“Am I?” Emyr didn’t
stop, and his hand tightened around Heilyn’s, tugging him closer.
“Really? It must be your fault.”

Then his arm was around
Heilyn’s waist, and his hand was in Heilyn’s hair, tipping his head
up, and his mouth was on Heilyn’s, kissing him warmly. Heilyn could
feel the smile under his lips, and then Emyr’s tongue was teasing
its way into his mouth, hot and demanding.

“Emyr, would you like a
scone while you’re wait—oh!”

Heilyn heard Arianell
dissolve into giggles and rush away, and it was just enough to make
him pull back, though his lips felt cold at once. “We probably
shouldn’t do this here.”

He got a kiss nuzzled
against his neck, and Emyr chuckled softly and murmured,
“Home?”

Heilyn almost fell over
twice on the way across the common, just because he couldn’t stop
staring at Emyr’s face. The third time he tripped, Emyr caught him,
his arm warm and steady around Heilyn’s waist, and his hand firm on
his hip. “Careful.” Then his smile sharpened slightly, going hungry
at the edges, and he leaned down to kiss Heilyn again. This time it
had intent: a slow, thoughtful exploration of Heilyn’s mouth that
left his head swimming and his knees weak.

He let Emyr tug him
over the common after that, his mind still caught up with the
echoes of it. He could still feel the print of Emyr’s mouth against
his, and he wet his lips, hoping to catch a taste of Emyr. He was
beginning to wonder how much he had underestimated the man. He had
forgotten, in all his plots for seduction, that Emyr had not just
had a serious lover before, but had been handfasted, which was the
next thing to marriage. He must have had far more sex in his life
than Heilyn, with his collection of one-offs, had even
contemplated. There was, in fact, a pretty good chance that Emyr
was an expert.

He was so caught up in
the anticipation and anxiety that provoked that he nearly fell into
the next stream they had to cross.

“There’s a plank,” Emyr
said, and that quiet amusement which always flavored his voice was
warm and obvious now. “It would be wise to use it.”

“Somebody distracted
me,” Heilyn complained, tightening his grip on Emyr’s hand. “Where
are we?”

“Short cut.”

“There’s a short cut?
Why have I been walking home through the village every day
then?”

Emyr’s smile dimmed a
little. “I thought you liked walking with me.”

“Oh,” Heilyn said and
pulled Emyr close enough to kiss his hand. “I do, yes. Don’t mind
me. I’m just wittering. Nothing to complain about really.”

Emyr’s smile brightened
and he pulled Heilyn through a gap in the hedge and out onto the
back road, between Pumpkin’s field and the house. The wind was
tumbling off the sea in quick gusts and the air was full of shining
starflower petals. First to flower, last to fall, always, and it
meant that winter was almost here.

In
the derwen copse, Emyr stopped again. The petals covered
the ground like snow here, and fell through the air with a soft
sigh like rain, catching in his hair and the folds of his cape.
Heilyn’s fingers itched for a paintbrush: watercolor and the finest
lines of silver to capture the subtle wonder of Emyr smiling
amongst the falling flowers.

Emyr reached for him,
lacing his fingers through Heilyn’s hair and dislodging more
petals. “For luck, this time.” This kiss was almost reverent, his
hands cradling Heilyn’s head as he touched his lips so very lightly
to Heilyn’s cheek, his jaw, and his mouth, where he lingered
tenderly. Heilyn closed his eyes, letting the imagined picture
slide away, and felt the kiss instead, letting it shiver through
him until his toes curled.

“Come into the house
with me,” Emyr murmured warmly against his mouth. “Please.”

HEILYN WASN'T going to
wait for a second invitation. Seizing Emyr’s hand, he took the lead
this time, tugging him through the woods and across the garden. The
moment the kitchen door swung shut behind them, closing out the
cold, Emyr pressed against him again. He slipped his hands under
Heilyn’s jacket, tugging at the buttons on his shirt, and Heilyn
yelped and squirmed.

“You’re cold!”

“Sorry.” Emyr pulled
his hands back, and Heilyn reacted with thinking, pressing his own
hands over them.

“I didn’t say stop.” It
came out breathy and rough, and Emyr’s eyes widened. He kissed
Heilyn again, his hands busy, and within moments Heilyn’s jacket
was gone, and then his shirt and vest, and it was his bare back
that was pressing against the polished wood of the door. He yelped
at the cold again, lunging forward to wrap himself around Emyr’s
warm body, and Emyr chuckled into his ear, and ran a gentle hand
down his spine.

“Sorry.”

“Take me to bed,”
Heilyn demanded. He’d wanted it to sound like a mock order, but
instead it came out needy and desperate. He had been longing for
Emyr’s touch so long that every part of him was alive to it, the
hairs raised on his arms and his pulse beating hot and hard.