“You,” Talis agreed, and Jer’s smile surfaced like sunbeams through rain, gossamer and lace, gilt-limned light.
The fire leapt. Crackled. Flung sparks in theatrical applause. And Talis Morning held Jeryn de Machaut’s hand, on a narrow bed, and just looked at Jer looking at him, and found that neither of them needed words, for a while.
Jer said eventually, “You said three.” His hand was running along Talis’s arm, under the rolled-up shirt-sleeve; they’d ended up back in bed, lying tangled together in the center of the narrow mattress, fully clothed but touching in as many places as possible.
“Three—oh. Yes.” Talis set a hand on Jer’s chest, rested his chin on it, let Jer wrap an arm around him and also use the other hand to play with his hair. “The third one’s about me. I’m not sure how
