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Jemis had surveyed the situation, realised that there were neither enough beds nor overall enough warmth, really, and been rather stupidly noble about offering to sleep on the floor. It would have been almost sweet—Hal had been unable to control his expression as a wave of both exasperation and tenderness overcame him—if it hadn’t been so thoroughly ridiculous.
He and Mr. Dart had exchanged one look across the room, familiar longing mirroring each other, and shrugged and half-smiled until Mr. Dart had declared that he would be sharing with his grace over there and there should be no more waffling.
Jemis’ look of bewilderment had changed into a sudden embarrassed clarity as he had come to a surely almost entirely incorrect conclusion. Neither Hal nor Mr. Dart had stayed to hear any comments.
They’d gotten ready for sleep in silence just shying away from hilarity; taking off only their most uncomfortable layers before crawling into the more-than-big-enough bed—Hal first, scooting over towards the opposite side so that Mr. Dart could get in after him. The bedding was rather fine, the sheets smooth, so Hal lay back easily against the pillow and watched Mr. Dart.
Mr. Dart’s blush was obvious, now, invisible in the dim light but clear in the way he furrowed his brow. He was also shivering slightly.
Hal turned to face him and pulled up the heavy, down-filled duvet, carefully tucking it underneath both their chins. He let his hand linger on Mr. Dart’s shoulder—tentatively. A deliberate moment before pulling back again. Mr. Dart tensed, but didn’t look away.
“Alright?” Hal asked, and was surprised to hear it come out lightly teasing.
Mr. Dart snorted in a very undignified way and relaxed. “Yes, of course. Nothing noteworthy about sharing a bed with—well…”
“An Imperial Duke? Would you rather—“
“No quips about Imperial Viscounts,” Mr. Dart said hastily, but he was smiling slightly.
Hal smiled back at him. “Of course not.”
There was silence in the room, the sparse fire cracking only slightly. Ballory had curled up in front of it, refusing to be coaxed from her assortment of pelts into the bed, and Hal hoped she was warm enough. He hoped Jemis was warm enough, too, alone in the other room.
Mr. Dart breathed out long and slow and shifted to lie on his back—not rolling over (rolling away), but lifting himself up so he could lie back down at the same distance to Hal as before, not any closer and no further away.
No further away.
Hal breathed against his hammering heart and willed himself back into the reckless bravery of his first confession.
“There does not have to be anything noteworthy about it,” he chanced, tentatively.
Mr. Dart looked thoughtful. “Doesn’t have to be, no, I suppose not.”
“Nothing unusual about two young gentlemen sharing sleeping quarters where practicality demands it.”
One sardonically raised eyebrow. “An everyday occurrence at Morrowlea, was it?”
“It was,” Hal agreed, “and especially popular as a cover among those inclined to such company.”
For a moment Mr. Dart looked like he might laugh, but there was a twist to his face, and Hal recalled the trouble his older brother had with their local priest, and the trouble Mr. Dart himself had had going to university in Chare. There was none such in Fillering Pool, at least as much as Hal could possibly control it. His father had never taken a hard stance either for or against such issues, but Hal had as soon as he could, long before he had crystallised his own desires in his mind, and always left the inevitable rumours as to his marriability mildly uncommented.
Mr. Dart appeared to settle on a huff of understanding. “With Jemis, too?”
Hal allowed himself to groan into his pillow in frustration, which caused Mr. Dart to laugh and face him again—rolling just a bit closer, this time.
“Do elaborate,” Mr. Dart said with great glee.
The levity of it made Hal laugh. “Peregrine Dart, your gosling is the single most oblivious person on nine worlds.”
“Don’t I know it,” Mr. Dart responded, and they set each other to laughing again.
There was great enjoyment in that companionable understanding. Even if nothing else ever came of it—for this alone it was worth it, Hal thought. Reckless, transgressive to have, however briefly, discussed relationship arrangements while Jemis had never passed a thought over either of their possible interest in him. But Mr. Dart and he could be friends over it.
Hal felt his face move against the pillow in unconscious countenance.
Eventually he admitted, “Yes, there were occasions. Pranks, or stupidity, or laziness. That night on the roof—oh, don’t look like that. Nothing happened but some entirely practical cuddling, you know nothing else would have crossed his mind.”
“Practical cuddling,” Mr. Dart repeated, incredulous, his voice gone laughingly distant.
“Mm,” Hal agreed. “Not much use for that in Stoneybridge, I understand. Nor in Ragnor Bella?”
Mr. Dart obviously heard it for the personal inquiry it was. “Not… precisely. Though I wasn’t—well—“
Hal waited, but Mr. Dart didn’t continue.
“I understand,” Hal said gently. “Not all details are comfortable to share.”
“No,” agreed Mr. Dart, gaze unfocused. “Though perhaps some day.”
Hal nodded and hoped he looked comfortable, approachable. He cared for Mr. Dart, for Peregrine. Had started to care for him entirely quickly after having met him. To the point of asking to be party to the potential of an eventual relationship between Mr. Dart and Jemis—he was again filled with scandalised delight at the memory.
“There doesn’t have to be anything noteworthy about it,” Mr. Dart returned to their earlier topic. He didn’t meet Hal’s eyes. “About sharing a bed with you, is what I meant. Even though there could be. I suppose there might be a difference if the person one is sharing with is a person whom one has discussed the idea of a relationship with before.”
Hal watched Mr. Dart stare past his head, swallow heavily, his shoulders tense and tone dry, precise, and decided right then to meet him wherever he might want this to go. Lady preserve him, but did he admire this man.
“Do you want some entirely non-practical cuddling?”
Mr. Dart let out a wheeze that was almost a laugh. “Just like that, really?”
“Yes,” Hal said, and met and held his eyes.
Mr. Dart stared back at him, a pale shadow in the dimness of the room, eyes barely reflecting the low glow of the dying fire. “I can’t see your face, but I think you’re sincere.”
“I am,” Hal confirmed once more, and lifted his hand to set it on Mr. Dart’s shoulder again, under the duvet they shared. He could feel Mr. Dart lift his shoulder, pressing into his hand, and gently and steadily pushed against it, curling his fingers. Not drawing away. He did not want to give the impression that he had changed his mind, that he was hesitant. He only hoped he was welcome.
Mr. Dart suddenly moved, turning over onto his front and then his other side, rolling into Hal, so that his back pressed into Hal’s chest with a thump that was audible even over the rustling of the down duvet.
Hal let out a toneless Oof, and then laughed. “You’re not much used to cuddling, are you?”
“No,” Mr. Dart said, tense. Hal resettled the duvet over them, grabbed onto Mr. Dart’s shoulder and then lower, against his bicep, his forearm, shifted himself closer so he could stretch out one arm under the pillow and press the other against Mr. Dart’s chest, fingers splayed wide. He was warm, the wool of his shirt heavy and soft. Mr. Dart placed his hand over Hal’s, cool; Hal wondered if he dared, decided that he wanted, and pushed his face against Mr. Dart’s neck and into his hair.
They lay like that for long minutes, their breathing slowly synchronising.
After a little while Hal asked, “Can you lie on your stone arm like that?”
“Yes,” Mr. Dart said, very softly. “My shoulder is fine. I stretched the arm out a bit, so it shouldn’t become uncomfortable.”
“Mmh,” Hal hummed against his neck. “Tell me if that changes. We’ll rearrange, switch positions.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, your grace.”
“I care about you, however, Mr. Dart.”
Mr. Dart let out a quiet huff, as though disbelieving, then a lower, slow hum. “Alright,” he conceded, “I’ll tell you.”
“Good,” Hal said, nuzzling into his hair. Mr. Dart’s breath caught. “Alright?”
“Yeah,” Mr. Dart breathed, then huffed. “Is this how you held Jemis? Could be more gentlemanly.”
Hal laughed against the back of his neck, squeezed Mr. Dart closer for a moment in silent, playful admonishment. He received a literal slap to the wrist for his trouble before Mr. Dart settled his hand over Hal’s again.
“Not quite like that,” Hal allowed, amused. “Jemis is much more wriggly.”
Mr. Dart laughed in delight. “He always has been! We used to steal into each other’s beds as children, when one of us stayed over at the other one’s house for a night, and Jemis would spend half the night turning and smacking his feet into my shins. Cold toes, too, of course.”
“Of course,” Hal agreed. “Like a duck.”
Mr. Dart laughed so loudly he turned his face into the pillow to muffle it, back shaking against Hal’s chest. Hal carefully stroked his hand over Mr. Dart’s chest with some vague idea about breathing.
After a little while Mr. Dart asked, “Is that why you called him ‘gosling’?”
“You call him ‘gosling’. To his face.”
“Hmm. I have called him that before, I suppose.”
“Several times,” Hal smirked. “If he actually realises that you’re doing it he’s hiding it well. Has he mentioned something to you?”
“Not a word. Completely ignores me.” Mr. Dart sighed deeply and murmured, “It appears to simply happen.”
Hal smiled. “Jemis is brilliant. He has these moments where he…”
“He shines, almost.”
“Yes. Especially so since he—came back. And he’s ridiculous. Entirely understandable that you would be overcome with affection and endearment about it.”
“Oh, is it?”
“Very much so.”
“Of course,” Mr. Dart said, tone serious and edged with amusement. “Entirely natural. I suppose you’ve experienced such strange fits of love yourself?”
“Yes, I have,” Hal said, his voice sounding out very quietly. “Many times. I have.”
“Ah,” Mr. Dart said, then quieted. Squeezed Hal’s hand.
Hal tangled their fingers together and squeezed back. He could feel Mr. Dart inhale deeply. The air in the room was cool against Hal’s face, but under the duvet, pressed against Mr. Dart, he was warm. Comfortable, to lie like this.
“Do we really just go on like this?” Mr. Dart asked after long minutes.
Hal thought about it, wondering if he misunderstood. “Clarify what you mean?”
“I mean—“ Mr. Dart sighed, annoyed—likely with himself. He was still holding onto Hal’s hand. “All of this. The joking, the holding, you and I, growing—growing closer. Not even politely ignoring the fact that we’re both in love with the same man, who seems to be hung up on a woman intimately involved with the suffering of his very recent past.”
Hal waited, and thought about it. No hasty words, as an imperial duke. “This assessment is rather unfair to Jemis, don’t you think?”
Mr. Dart was tense. “Is it?”
“He hasn’t gone haring off after Violet; he’s had opportunities, but his life and family in Ragnor Bella are more important to him. In fact, I would dare say that his current priority is you.”
Mr. Dart said nothing, and Hal squeezed his fingers to try to soften the blow.
“Not like that,” Mr. Dart said, so quietly Hal almost didn’t hear.
“Perhaps not,” he said, equally quiet. “Or perhaps it has never occurred to him that it could be a possibility, and so he has not formed an opinion on it.”
“What if he wants you but not me?”
Hal was stunned at this enormous confession, almost inaudibly quiet. Mr. Dart was trembling in his arms. Reassurances rose in his mind, none of which he could guarantee.
He said instead, “What if I want you?”
What followed was not silence so much as an oppressive rush of quiet pressure in the room. It might have been Mr. Dart’s magic. Certainly Mr. Dart’s heart was beating heavily against his chest where Hal’s hand covered it. Or perhaps that was Hal’s own heartbeat echoing in his ribcage and his ears and his tingling fingers. Perhaps Mr. Dart could feel it against his back, if he wasn’t similarly overwhelmed—
They hadn’t precisely discussed this, the first time they’d breached the topic in a fit of mutual recklessness and strong emotion. They’d talked about how much they both personally valued Jemis. How much they loved him and wished to protect him and hold him and support him. Either of their lives with Jemis would include each other, because Jemis loved and valued them both—in whatever way would seem right to him. They had brought up their shared admiration. They had not discussed this specific, precise intentionality towards each other.
Mr. Dart did not answer. Hal heard him breathe deeply—possibly very deliberately. Perhaps Hal should let go of him, move away, remove his face from where he had it pressed into Mr. Dart’s neck, deny himself this closeness that was still a reassurance, despite the enormity of the question he had posed. He could not bring himself to do it. Could not implicitly deny that this was something he wanted between the two of them. So he stayed with his eyes closed and his hand holding Peregrine’s hand, his nose and cheeks cradled in the soft caress of Peregrine’s hair, and hoped he was welcome.
Mr. Dart took a deep breath, and Hal braced himself for the answer, but an answer did not fall into the charged space of them. So instead Hal said, “If he wants—”
The rest was silenced by Hal’s own sudden frustration (sudden disappointment, sudden fear). He recognised the impetuous words trying to come forth and swallowed them down decisively, but could not quite repress the nervousness rising with them. “If he doesn’t—then we figure it out.” He swallowed heavily. This was not a thing to leave half-said. “You don’t have to say yes to me just because Jemis did. If he would. If he ever should. What might be between the two of us, whatever form you’d like it to have, we—we can figure it out. Right?"
That last came out almost against his will, betrayingly quiet, the tail end of these much less thoughtful words than he usually employed. He squeezed his eyes shut against his own rush of emotions. Kept his face hidden against Mr. Dart’s hair.
“What if I want to say yes?”
Mr. Dart was still stiff in his arms, his reply quiet, but his voice sounded out steady.
It was Hal’s turn to find himself unable to answer right away. Two decades of political education tried to pull him back to practicalities, tried to point out impossibilities, but he still held Mr. Dart in his arms—neither of them showed any intentions toward drawing away—and the relief and joy of it overwhelmed his senses. Some instinct towards expressing the tenderness he felt led him to pressing a kiss against Peregrine’s neck without his conscious input, which was how he discovered that he was smiling widely. Mr. Dart sucked in a long breath, then let it out with a quiet shudder.
Hal asked, “Do you?”
A huff, but not one that sounded like dismissal. “Aren’t we already most of the way there?”
“We don’t need to be,” Hal said, pushing past his own doubts and bringing up all the care and love he felt for Mr. Dart. Bending the arm that he’d pushed beneath the pillow enough to reach Mr. Dart’s hair was a strain on his shoulder, but he managed it. Mr. Dart gave a fine shiver as Hal brushed gentle fingers against his temple, pulled some come-loose stands from his face with a slow caress. “It can stop with this, if you’d like it to. There is no requirement to fulfil an expectation. The Lady knows we both have enough of those already.”
Mr. Dart hummed quietly, considering. “Your grace seemed much too nervous a moment ago to be satisfied with some cuddling.”
No words about his own wishes, Hal well noticed. He smiled again. They were handling the same mutual nervousness, at least. “I will not push you into things you do not want. But know you can ask for them. Over and over I find myself wanting you close.”
“This is nice,” Mr. Dart said, squeezing Hal’s hand again, wriggling slightly as if to feel Hal’s body against his back. “This is nice, now, here. Other times, perhaps…”
“You do not have to decide right now,” Hal said.
“I want you close as well.”
Joy flooded Hal at the words, at the confirmation. Mr. Dart dug his thumb into the palm of Hal’s hand so he could lift it from his chest to his face, press a careful kiss to Hal’s curled fingers, just above his nail beds. He held it there, turned his head to press Hal’s knuckles to his cheek. Hal could feel his breath soft against his hand. Moved one finger in the gentlest caress.
“I’m glad,” Hal said, unsure if that was a suitable response, but Mr. Dart smiled against his hand.
“Me too,” he said. “We can… we can discover the rest of it from here.” Another soft kiss, against the side of Hal’s palm, sending a tingling warmth all through him.
“Yes,” Hal breathed against his neck, relishing in the shiver he received in return, and let himself relax, sink into the bedding and against Mr. Dart’s sturdy back, another gentle stroke over Mr. Dart’s hair before he pulled his hand beneath the pillow again.
They rested like that for a while, hovering at the edge of sleep, no sound in the room but their shared breathing and the soft crackling of the fire and the occasional sleepy snuffle from Ballory.
Then suddenly Peregrine said, “Hal,” and he became agitated, shifted nervously, heartbeat picking up: “Hal—what if he wants me but not you?”
Hal’s breath caught with the sudden grief of the possibility. Of imagining Jemis rejecting him outright, of watching these two people that he cared about so much find a closeness with each other that he could not share. He wanted to say the honourable thing, the responsible thing, and assure Mr. Dart that he would leave the two of them be and would not interfere in their relationship and would keep his distance from them if they wished it. But he knew that this was not what Peregrine wanted from him. Romance or not, they had built a relationship with each other over the past months, one that Hal had found himself leaning on and had not found wanting, and Perry had all but confirmed that he valued it, valued Hal’s closeness. He had years of friendship with Jemis and no desire to abandon him—if nothing else, he wanted to keep Jemis and Peregrine in his life as the close friends they were to him. But he thought he understood what Mr. Dart meant, given tonight’s developments.
“I would still want you. If Jemis said yes to me.” Hal squeezed Mr. Dart’s hand, and Peregrine squeezed back, grasped tightly. “And so—if you agreed to it—if Jemis agreed to it—” Hal breathed deeply against the tangle of possibilities. “Then I would also still want to have this with you, and whatever else we decide that we want, if Jemis decided he wanted you but not me. I would not want to lose you over it.”
Peregrine calmed down slowly, taking in that answer. Hal gently disentangled his hand so he could press fingers against his face. Peregrine turned into it.
At great length, Peregrine breathed and said, “Likewise.”
Hal smiled, and took his hand again. “Good. I’m glad.”
Peregrine huffed a small laugh and pressed another kiss to his knuckles.
Hal woke during the night to the sensation of Mr. Dart tensing in his arms, shifting as if to get up, then relaxing again. Hal squeezed his fingers and hummed a wordless question against his hair.
“It’s Jemis,” Mr. Dart said, and sure enough, there was Jemis’ quiet voice coming from the direction of the fire along with the crackle of a newly-placed log: an inquiry to Ballory whether she was warm enough.
Ballory evidently was, as Jemis’ footsteps came away from the fire and towards the bed, the faintest silhouette against the closed bedcurtains. He hovered in front of it, uncertain.
Hal lifted his head so he could share a look with Mr. Dart, who smiled back in fond exasperation and sat up to reach through the part in the curtains and pull Jemis onto the bed. Jemis let out an adorably high squeak at this treatment.
“Mr. Dart,” he said, kneeling awkwardly at the end in his underlayers and a robe he had scrounged up from somewhere, “Hal. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you—”
“It’s alright,” Hal said, then interrupted himself with a yawn that almost pulled him back to sleep. It could not yet be very close to morning. He reached out one thoughtless hand to pat at Jemis’ shoulder. “Are you alright? Do you need something?”
“I, ah—” Jemis hesitated, much more nervous than Hal usually saw him. They had shared a room for years, a bed on occasion—was this because of Mr. Dart’s presence? What precisely had Jemis imagined, this evening, was between Mr. Dart and him? (Was it truly so incorrect, anymore?)
Mr. Dart reached out and pressed the back of his hand against Jemis’ cheek. “Emperor’s balls, Jemis, why are you so cold?”
Hal frowned and took Jemis’ hand. “Your fingers are freezing. Did something happen? Did you need more firewood?”
“My fire went out,” Jemis mumbled, obviously embarrassed. “I was coming to see if you had more kindling. You don’t have to—”
Hal had taken Jemis’ hands between his own and was rubbing them gently, fingers clumsy from sleep.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jemis,” Mr. Dart said, and grabbed Jemis by his shirt to pull him down between them, where he went with a surprised sound and a sprawl into Hal’s chest. Hal said again, Oof, from the weight hitting him much less deliberately than Mr. Dart had earlier that night, but went to pull the duvet from beneath Jemis’ legs. Mr. Dart had started to divest Jemis of his robe, babbling somewhat nervously about having stern words with it for not doing its job of keeping him warm enough, and Hal reached across Jemis to put one hand against his shoulder and still him.
It worked—Mr. Dart stopped speaking, and Hal hoped he came across as comforting instead of admonishing, but Mr. Dart relaxed against his hand and held his gaze, and set his own hand on Jemis’ arm, much more gently than he had tugged at it a moment before.
“Um,” said Jemis from between them, “perhaps I should—”
“Just sleep here tonight,” Mr. Dart said, and brushed at Jemis’ hair so he could tug the pillows into a comfortable position without snagging at it. “It’s nicer, anyways. Warmer.”
Hal was certain that if the light had not been so low Mr. Dart’s pale complexion would have betrayed a blush.
“Listen to your liege lord, Jemis,” Hal murmured sleepily, and settled down again, pulling Jemis into his arms. Jemis went easily, trustingly, as he had in their university days on the occasions that they’d gotten themselves into predicaments or simply been too lazy to move.
“Hmm,” said Jemis, also sounding tired now, “liege lord, huh?” As if it had not been him who had insisted on swearing fealty twice.
“Your wild mage, then,” Hal said, and faintly noticed Mr. Dart glare at him from behind Jemis’ back. Hal smiled and winked, and though the low light probably swallowed it, he imagined Peregrine’s answering eyeroll to be fond. Hal reached out again to brush a strand of hair behind his ear and then gently nudged him into lying down.
Mr. Dart settled down behind Jemis, keeping his stone arm close, and Jemis let out a long, sleepy sigh against Hal’s chest, unable to resist the comfortable warmth. A moment later, though, Jemis began to wriggle. “I—are you sure this is alright? I do not wish to, to—come between you—”
Mr. Dart snorted, and obviously tried for levity over embarrassment: “My dear Mr. Greenwing, you quite literally are—”
“You can’t,” Hal said, shutting down the banter. He was certain Jemis would misconstrue it. “Jemis,” he said, put a hand to his face and sought his eyes; Mr. Dart had pushed himself to his elbow behind him and was staring at Hal. “Jemis. You can’t come between us. What we have is not so fragile that a few words would ruin it.” He swallowed heavily, and chanced a glance at Peregrine, who nodded firmly. Jemis was wide-eyed in the near-darkness. Hal could not help moving his thumb over Jemis’ cheek gently, soothingly. “I assure you that we both want you to be here.”
Jemis breathed quickly, but did not appear to find words beyond a very quiet, “Alright.”
Mr. Dart settled down again, pressed in closely against Jemis’ back, and stretched his stone arm across them to rest against Hal’s hip. Hal adjusted the duvet, cocooning them all in together.
“Sleep, gosling.” Mr. Dart sounded very tired, and Jemis let out a small huff that caught in his throat, but he closed his eyes and pushed his face against Hal’s shoulder, and relaxed, as instructed. The receding tension tipped Mr. Dart further into the middle from where he was draped over Jemis, who sleepily sighed with pleasure. Mr. Dart hesitated for a moment, then leaned his face against Jemis’ head. Comfortably. Trustingly.
Hal could not keep himself from pressing the lightest of kisses against the top of Jemis’ head as he closed his eyes.