Cameron Wants to Be a Hero (Love Austen 2)
With a muffled cry in Cameron’s hair, Henry stilled, pulsing deeply inside him.
Their panting breaths filled the space that had held their most intimate sounds.
Henry slipped out of him and Cameron shivered at the loss.
“I’ve got you,” Henry said, steering Cameron around and pulling him into a tight hug. Kisses met his eyebrows and his nose, and at last, his mouth. “How are you doing?”
Dazed, Cameron said, “When can we do it again?”
Nothing else existed for a while, only them, tangled in Cameron’s sheets, kissing, laughing, talking.
But the hours passed and, with the setting sun, reality bore down on them. They stared out the windows toward the same purpling sky that hung over the Tilney manse.
“I’ll have to face it sometime,” Henry said, sighing.
“Yes.”
“I’d better—”
“Wait.” Cameron rolled off him. “I have something for you first.”
Henry watched Cameron pace the end of the bed in nothing but his hoody and gargoyle socks.
Soft amusement glittered his eyes. “Will this be a strip tease?”
“Of a sort.”
“Go on.”
“Wait, I have it written down.” Cameron searched yesterday’s clothes and found the folded letter. He stared at it for long seconds, then faced Henry, feeling the beat of it between his fingers.
“I was going to send it.”
“You still could.”
Cameron shook his head; paper crackled in his shaky grip. “Some things need to be spoken.”
Henry sat up straighter.
Cameron swallowed and read aloud. “Dear Henry.” He looked up into Henry’s eyes. “It’s quite simple. I love you. Yours always, me.”
“Mmmm, so warm.”
Henry’s lips pressed against his forehead. “We should probably get up this time.”
“Do we have to?”
A feathered chuckle in his ear. “Afraid so.”
“Why can’t we stay cocooned forever?”
“We can. Punctuated with periods of working, hanging out with friends, eating, and grading essays.”
“And reading and thinking.”
“Talking and the rest.”
“By the rest,” Cameron said quietly, “you mean like—”
“Yes.”
“Can I be at your side?”
“I don’t think I could do it any other way.”
They washed and dried their dinner plates, and Cameron slapped Henry’s ass with the dishcloth.
“How are you beating me at this? If we were quote-warring Mary Renault, I’d understand, but Austen’s my realm.”
“You mixed up a line from the film with one from the book. Look, it happens. I’m sure if they ever made—and I hope they do—an adaption of The Charioteer, I’d muddle it up too.”
“I doubt it.” He slipped the dishtowel over the oven rung. “It would make a wonderful film.” He frowned. “Wonder if we could buy the rights?”
Henry dropped to his knees on the tiled floor and grabbed Cameron’s hands. “I would beg you to try.”
“You would? You are.”
Henry kissed each knuckle one by one. “Anything. I’d do anything to see this marvelous book get more acknowledgment.”
“How about letting me win at Scrabble?”
Henry grimaced as he stood. “Anything except that.”
“How about answering a question?”
He waved a finger for Cameron to go on.
Looking steadily into Henry’s eyes, he asked, “Are we procrastinating?”
Henry rubbed his jaw and leaned his hip against the kitchen island. A sigh fizzled out of him, twisting into a short laugh. “Just a bit.”
Cameron wrapped him in his arms. “I have a question, too.”
“What is it?”
“The lilies. Were they a final goodbye for me? For us, when you thought . . .”
Cameron shook his head. “Not for us.”
“I'm sorry,” Henry whispered.
“It was aching to the bone. It’s better this way.”
Henry breathed out deeply and shifted so they supported each other.
“You’re going to be up on walls, Cameron. Our walls.”
Cameron thought of the cottage. Of them walking in the garden, enjoying red roses and blue skies. The charcoal smoke rising from the barbecue. Georgie nuzzling a kitten on her lap. Henry reading one of Cameron’s mum’s books from their library. His breath caught. “I love the way you say the most touching things between the lines.”
“I love that you can hear them.”
“It took me a bit.”
“Ah, well. Practice and all that.”
Georgie met them in the hallway. Her puffed eyes took them in, and she briefly closed them, a trace of a smile etched at her lips.
“Oh, Henry,” she said. “You’re putting your keepsake on display.”
“About time, too.”
“Dad . . . made a mistake.”
“Some mistakes can’t be forgiven.”
“No, please,” she said, “He didn’t understand it. Give him a chance.”
Cameron slipped an arm around Henry’s waist.
“I love you, Henry, no matter what. Alicia and I are on your side,” Georgie said as they passed. “He’s in your room.”
They walked in together.
Mr. Tilney sat on his son’s bed flattening a pile of creased paper stained with Cameron’s scrawl. He looked up at them, eyes shiny.
Cameron slipped his hand into Henry’s, and Henry squeezed. “Dad, I’m here expecting one thing, and it’s not acceptance.” He lifted his chin. “I expect you to apologize to the man I love.”
Lake: I knew he’d be your happily ever after.
* * *
Cameron: Why do I imagine you preening right now?
* * *