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“I love you,” I said, and if people say it gets easier the more you say, they’re bullshitting you. It’s the opposite, it gets harder. Because every time you say, you’ve loved them for a longer time, they’ve become more integral to who you are. At some point, “I love you” also means “I need you” and there is nothing more terrifying than admitting that to another person who can walk out any time they like. But I owed it to him, not the love, that he’d earned himself. No, I owed him the truth and the trust because he’d offered them to me. You can love someone on your own, even if they can’t feel the same for you, but truth needs to be heard, and trust needs to be returned.”

“He pressed his thumbs against Iesu's hipbones, caressing the underside of his dick with his tongue and swallowing the salty, sticky precome. He couldn't say he enjoyed the taste, exactly, but... he glanced up, right past Iesu's heaving chest—shirt sticking to his perky nipples—and at his upturned chin where he'd left his whole throat exposed. Vulnerable and at his mercy. And blowing a guy was supposed to be submissive.”

“Lyall wanted Tristan’s kisses and his body and to have him close enough his scent would permeate rooms and make him smile when he walked into them. But he didn’t want it more than he wanted Tristan’s words, rushed in a voice messages and often too formal in emails, and in perfectly composed lectures full of masterful analogies. And not just for him, but for other people who needed to hear they didn’t have to be trapped by the vicissitudes of chance, that their bodies could be coaxed into allowing them enough freedom to find happiness—for without freedom there was no happiness possible. The distance would be harder, but it did not mean more than their closeness.”

“I’m in the middle of a sentence when he grunts in displeasure, but I force myself to set my book down and turn to him. Dzyer gives me a nod and asks if Lambians really prohibit royal women from touching forged steel for fear of them contaminating themselves? I explain that they don’t really speak of it, then recall that I got a few weird looks for carrying a weapon. Of course, early on I also got looks for wearing what Lambians consider ‘masculine’ clothing and forgetting that in their language verbs are conjugated differently depending the sex of the speaker and the person referred to. Efficient, one would think, to know something about who is performing an action but confusing because the action itself does not change.”

“I like you,” his friend said, and it sounded like an admission. It had to be an admission, following what Josh had said about liking men, even as Josh insisted, “I really like you, Ray.” Even as Ray arched into the soft, feathery kisses Josh was planting down his throat, he realised he wanted to know more. But the words wouldn’t come. He let his eyes flutter closed to focus on the sensation of Josh’s mouth and Josh’s hand sliding up his naked thigh, pulling his shorts down. Whatever else Josh felt or didn’t feel, this was true, he thought. His hands and his mouth and the way he was already hardening again against Ray’s side. He hadn’t asked about himself in particular, himself… before. He didn’t know how. He knew he was wanted, but he didn’t know how to ask if he was loved.”