It was a tiny nook, filled with nothing but colourful mismatched cushions and the heated perfumes of all who had lingered there before. The air would have been too thick with scent to breathe comfortably, were it not for a small window cut into the fabric, through which poured the fresh silver water of the moon.

Leo sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor and reached out to him with a hand and a smile. Percy stood, wondering how to bridge the impossible distance of those five feet separating them, until Leo gave him gentle a push.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

Percy dropped on the floor by Leo's side. Part of him almost wished it would be clumsy and hasty: that way, he would not have time to worry about what he did that he should not be doing, and what he was not doing that he ought to do. But another part of him thought, it would be a shame to rush through this, all this, and miss most of it.

Leo guided him gently to sit on the cushions, positioning him with his back against the dark red fabric that partitioned the little nook off from the other rooms. Percy did not know what to do with himself, nor with Leo. His previous experiences had always drawn him taut with the tension of performing. But Leo moved and kissed and slid with a languid ease, pouring a slick heated oil over every second. He seemed so rid of any expectations, and so steady in his pleasure of giving pleasure, that Percy felt none of the rigid anxiety that had taken hold of him before in such moments, grinding his enjoyment to a few poor crumbs.

The golden tree clasp that Percy always wore, pinned to his cloak or vest, fell to the floor with a muted thud. Leo freed him of his tunic, and Percy barely noticed himself helping Leo out of his, until they were both bare chested, warming themselves with the sight of the other. Percy reached a hesitant hand to stroke the soft cream of Leo's skin. The lutist smiled and kissed him once more, pouring his warm oil down Percy's throat, coaxing a little moan from him. When they pulled back, Percy, drunker with panic and eagerness than he was with wine, trailed his lips over Leo's neck and collarbone. His fingers traced fire, caressing Leo's chest, his waist, his thighs, grazing every inch of their weakness and ache. For a moment, Leo was made entirely of helpless sounds and helpless tremors. Percy grinned.

The situation reversed quickly.

He could feel Leo's body stiffening sweetly next to his, his skin sweating gold under the light of the lanterns. His hands caressed Percy's chest, and then whispered a promise down his stomach, his waist, the inner softness of his thighs. And Leo broke promises in the most blissful, maddening way. He would linger with his lips, but deny his mouth; brush with his fingertips enough to make Percy ache for his hands, but keep them to himself. His hands – his hands were long and lithe, and Percy could see the delicate work of his fingers, eager to mould Percy's pleasure into strange shapes.

He was used to concealing most of what he felt, but now Leo gripped him with an honesty that brought him intense joy at being found out. His senses tightened around a single point of warmth in his body. Kneeling before him, Leo rested his hands on Percy's parted knees, bowed his head down, and then tilted it back up at him.

"May I?"

Percy overcame a gasp and nodded, so feebly he barely moved his head. He was drunker than he should be, and not as drunk as he wished he was. He could not stop the moan that bloomed from his lips now, and the shame of it seared him with an odd delight. He glanced at the fabric that hid them from the other rooms: flimsy, barely there. He stiffened a little. But the honeyed warmth of Leo's mouth on him melted every resistance he tried to conjure. His hands stroked Leo's blond hair; his eyes were closed, so that he might better see with his touch; his lips were parted in a rushing silence. He focused his all in doing nothing, so that another might do everything to him, and he feared he might spend himself in the effort.

He knew that, before, he had at least suited the illusion of what a lover ought to be. It had only been a matter of a few well-timed thrusts and fine-tuned moans. But when it came to truly pleasing the secret truths of others – or having his own pleased – he seemed incapable of any movement and any sound. He held himself with the impossibly taut stillness of a string a note away from breaking. Though he had never been taught to worry about such things, a part of him instinctively feared he might be the most unsatisfying partner Leo had ever taken.

But Leo did not seem in the least discouraged. He spilled his joy everywhere, in the swaying motions of his finely-honed body, in the breathless moans that escaped his lips. Percy felt his pleasure tense. Never had he submitted so much to a man before him on his knees.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Percy stared at Leo, mouth gaping in disbelief. It was cruel enough for something so wonderful to be so shameful; to expect him to speak aloud his assent of the shameful act was nothing short of torturous. But Leo's expression had nothing taunting about it: there was only eagerness, and a slight concern. Percy nodded, hoping his silence might at least spare him from embarrassment, but not condemn him to dissatisfaction.

But it was not enough for Leo, who waited, infuriatingly patient.

"No, you can... keep going..." Percy murmured, his breath hitching painfully in his throat.

And now came Leo's grin to bite him.

"I sure can keep going. The question is, can you? You look like you could die in my arms right now and thank me for it."

Percy shot a glare at Leo, but was driven mad by the certainty that he had only managed to look pleading. He wouldn't beg. It would bring them both too much pleasure, and that was out of the question.

Leo relented, and lowered his head again. He traced his fingertips along the inside of Percy's thigh, and had a joyful smile upon seeing the shudder it commanded from him.

It felt too blissful. Percy's body yielded, and he leaned back, though he knew there was nothing more than whisper-thin fabric behind him. And yet – his back touched something warm and steady. He rested his increasingly desperate weight against it, too glad to spoil it with questions.

With the delicious cruelty of the trickster, Leo granted him a brief moment of respite before claiming from him a drawn-out moan. Percy would have avoided it at all costs, but he had put his voice in another's hands. He arched his back, throwing his body in a curve of hostage pleasure, and then allowed it to slump back, frustrated and captive.

When he rested once more against that firm presence behind him, he understood it was not something but someone – someone sitting on the other side of the fabric, with their back to him. Whoever it was, Percy was resting his head on their shoulder now, and they did the same. He felt the pressure of that body meeting his, the gentle waves that rocked it, the stranger's breath washing onto him through the fabric. He did not dare to move. He wondered for a moment whether it was the tent itself gaining life and flesh to shame him.

The body pushed a trembling shiver against him. Their shared sweat burned as their backs pressed together. Leo, facing him, was tensing in a shudder. Percy knew the pleasure of his own body well enough, despite his best efforts to remain strangers. He felt himself crowd, and crowd, and empty.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

For a thunder-edged second, he was wonderfully lost to his own trembling. He slowly felt his weight return to his body, dragging it down to the floor, a scrap of fabric made heavy with the salted seawater of another. Leo laid on the floor next to him, sharing that heaviness, smiling at Percy with a sunlit grin.

"Are you alright?" Percy asked, though he did not quite know why.

"Alright? I'm fantastic. And you?"

Percy half-lifted himself on his elbows.

"I feel..."

He was waiting out the truth.

"I feel..."

He sat up, crossing his legs. It was only a matter of being patient. If he waited long enough, a lie would come to him.

"I... feel..."

No; no lies were coming at all.

"I feel wonderful."

Leo let out a dishevelled laugh, tossing his hair back, and half the world with it.

"I'm glad. I was worried for a moment there. It's nice being friends with you, Percy. Is it alright for me to say that?"

To his astonishment, Percy smiled and nodded. He was slowly recovering the feeling of other things beyond his body and Leo's: the cool silvery air that drifted in from the window, the murmurs of the party close by.

He sat for another half hour with his friend. Leo's words, as his caresses and kisses, had a fluttering lightness, alighting here and there for the briefest moment before drifting elsewhere. When they decided they ought to go, he took Percy's face and kissed his cheek. It made Percy feel like a flower in Leo's path, and, if he was entirely truthful with himself, it didn't in the least displease him.

He stepped out of the nook and gave Leo a parting embrace. His confidence grew flimsier the further he got from the reassuring secrecy of their hiding place. As soon as he turned round to go his own way, he was greeted by a little shocked gasp. It sounded like a small dog undecided between a bark and a sneeze. He came face to face with the young man who was among Tombert's admirers earlier, and who had displayed an incandescent jealousy at Tombert's fondness for Percy.

"Well, well, well" tutted the young man, in that poor parade of words that was the only hope of eloquence of those who had little to say. "Look what we have here. Shall I tell Tombert I saw you come out of there with that lute player?"

A flash of something hot and panicked flared in Percy. He tried to convince himself it was indignation rather than shame.

"I don't see why you would tell them. And I don't see why you think I'd be bothered by it if you did."

"Oh please, you were thirsty as fuck for their attention. What will they think now?"

"Would you like to go outside for some air?" said someone behind him.

The words were so out of place, and the voice so soft, that it took Percy a while to become fully aware of it. Behind him stood the page-turner he had met earlier at the concert. Percy remembered seeing him in the party too, hovering here and there. The man teetered and fidgeted with the same hare-quick anxiety Percy had noticed in him before.

Percy was thankful for the interruption, and with a scowl at the fool who had confronted him, he turned to his rescuer.

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea."

Percy followed him to a nearby balcony. It opened from the tent like hands reaching out from a long, loose robe. He leaned on the railing and let his head slump down, trying to relax his muscles rather than instinctively squeeze them rigid.

"That was quite a jealous stir you caused back there" the page-turner smiled feebly.

Percy stared ahead at the leaden vastness of the lake. The cheerful din of the tent warmed his back.

"I won't apologize for it. I didn't mean to. And even if I'd meant to, there's no reason for anyone to feel jealous."

"Because Tombert isn't interested in you in that way?"

"Because Tombert's not interested in anyone in that way" Percy snapped. He felt the conversation was veering into classroom love-notes handed behind the teacher's back, and it irked him to no end. "They told me so, and they had no reason to lie. In fact, they seemed rather annoyed that no one believed them."

Something shifted. He could not tell whether it was a cloud veiling the mon, an owl flying overhead, or simply the man adjusting his body as he stood by Percy's side and mirrored his position, leaning on the balcony's railing.

"Really? Tombert told you that?"

"I don't think I was on the receiving end of any special privilege. I think they've been saying the same thing to everyone, but no one's been listening."

Percy turned back to the lake. He hardly believed what he had done. He was proud of it, and yet burned with shame. He could still feel his skin prickling where Leo had touched him. Even the briefest thought would be quick to rouse those embers again. And they would just as easily turn into scorching guilt. Was there anything more wonderfully disorienting than to know the intimacy of a stranger? He had never believed he would be capable of it. It made him a stranger to himself.

"You're wounded."

Percy jumped. He had almost forgotten the man was there, by his side. He held himself so still, so quiet, so elsewhere and nowhere, that Percy might easily have stared at the lake for a minute and entirely forgotten there was someone else there. Was he wounded? He did not remember being hurt at any moment, but the mere mention of it was enough to suggest to his mind that he did feel some pain, somewhere, maybe.

"What? No I'm not – am I?"

"Your back is stained red."

"Stained... red?"

His hand shot to his back. When his fingers returned to him slightly blushed, he understood at once.

"Oh – thank you, no, it's not that. I think I must have been... leaning..." he tripped on his own words. "The fabric I was leaning against must have rubbed some of its tint off on my tunic, is all. It's... very hot in there, I think I sweated a little."

The man nodded and breathed out a little "oh". And he stood there still, hovering. Percy was well acquainted with his expression. He looked like he was set adrift in doubts and anxieties of his own making. Percy arched one eyebrow.

"So Tombert told you... they're not interested in you. You're certain?"

"Yes!" Percy dragged his hands over his face in exasperation. "Why does everyone keep thinking otherwise? And why does everyone care?!"

"Because Tombert is special" the man replied at once. "They're not like the others."

Percy could feel his patience straining, spending itself, and him with it.

"I understand the appeal, I do, but I suppose even special and fascinating people like Tombert are entitled to things other than romances. I'm sorry, I'm... tired, and I have to go find my friends."

He stammered back into the tent. The noise and scents that thickened the air inside immediately spun his mind into a daze. He waded along the party as he looked for the others, but there was no sign of them in that swaying crowd. He felt thoroughly, terribly tossed about, and he staggered back to their sleeping quarters.

There was nothing quite like wanting to hide to convince a man that everyone was watching him. Somehow, Percy was both certain that Leo would say nothing of their encounter, and that everyone already knew. It would have been easier for Percy, had he not been raised with the certainty that all eyes were on him at all times. As it was, that certainty made him trip and stumble on things that weren't there.

He stepped at last into the small room they had managed to wrangle from the clutches of Bradley. Percy saw Valeria sitting on the floor, reigning over a sea of beaded cushions. Her blond hair flowed loose over her shoulders, and her head rested against a wooden beam. Her eyes were closed, and yet, terrifyingly, she greeted him.

"Hello, Percy."

"How the hell did you know it was me?"

"I can recognize the sound of Evans' steps, and Myrtle would have started talking as soon as she came in."

"Well, alright. But it could have been – "

" – bandits?" she grinned teasingly.

"I meant a stranger" he mumbled. "Although, yes, it could be a thief too. Come to steal Myrtle's shawm. A good samaritan, one might say."

"Judging from the people I met at that party, no one here has a death-wish."

Percy sat down by her side. For some reason he did not understand and that infuriated him, he now often found himself judging his actions by Valeria's compass. What would she think if she knew of what he had done? Then again, he reasoned, she had probably been doing the very same with her antique dealer. She looked entirely smoothed down by a restful satisfaction.

It was no doubt that ever-present urge of taunting danger – the urge to run a hand over a candlelight, to lean a little too far over the edge of a cliff, to poke a sleeping mountain lion – that prompted him to ask what he asked next.

"So, did you have fun with your new friend?"

She didn't flinch. She didn't speak, either.

"I only ask" he went on, his finger edging closer and closer to the mountain lion, "because I saw these hidden spots that people go to when they want to... you know..."

She allowed him the ignominy of wallowing in quicksand of his own making. His words trailed off, joining the sound-dust of the party beyond the room. Then, when she was quite satisfied that he was fully cowed, she said:

"Yes, I know about those hiding places. I saw you go into one."