Page 28 of Tossing the Caber

But Beacon feels shame about his body. After they dried off, Laurel tugged on a pair of cotton small-pants to sleep in. He hadn’t meant for them to be lewd, but they were tight and very short, the fabric thin and soft to prioritize airflow during sleep, and Beacon’s gaze had dropped immediately when Laurel appeared in them. First to his groin, the pants hiding nothing of his package, then to the floor as his pale skin went red as his hair.

Like Laurel, Beacon climbed into bed shirtless, but he was wearing cotton knee pants that hid his thighs and cinched just below his navel, covering his lower anatomy entirely.

They hadn’t slept in an embrace, mostly due to the heat, but Beacon had taken Laurel’s hand and settled it on the pillow between their heads, and when Laurel blinked awake, their fingers had still been entwined.

“Well,” Hallie says, “About time I found my girl. She didn’t turn the caber like yours can, but she dominated theshot-put. See you at the next game, love!” Laurel accepts her proffered hand, shaking it delicately. Hallie lacks his calluses, but her grip is twice as firm, palm soft and squishy to match her plump stature. Those strawberry blonde curls catch the light as she flicks them over her shoulder again, and Laurel can’t help but smile when she winks at him. “Go get your man. He’s waiting—and not patiently.”

It’s like a fairy tale when Laurel turns to see Beacon standing a ways off, watching him like a sharp-taloned hawk that wants to swoop in and feast. He’s waiting for Hallie to walk away rather than risk conversation with an approach, Laurel realizes. It makes him giggle, propelling him to Beacon’s side with a broad smile.

“You were amazing,” Laurel says.

Beacon huffs, but Laurel suspects the additional flush in his cheeks is due to the flattery, not a conveniently timed gust of hot air. “It wasn’t my best performance,” he grumbles.

Laurel pushes onto his toes to drop a kiss on Beacon’s cheek. “That doesn’t change what I said.”

It wins him a contemplative hum, Laurel preening when Beacon strokes a few strands of sweaty black hair off his forehead and murmurs, “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Chapter Nine

Beacon

The open affection on Laurel’s face is baffling, leaving Beacon statue-still. Not knowing what else to say, he blurts, “Senta invited me to one of the bawdy milkmaid shows. I declined, but maybe you’d like to go? With me?”

“No, thank you. I’m not especially interested in what milkmaids have under their…” Laurel trails off, his eyes unfocusing.

“Laurel?” Beacon prompts.

Laurel stares into the middle distance for a second more before shaking his head, thick clumps of his sweat-slicked black hair splaying around him. Then he slaps one of his cheeks as if waking himself up. When he looks back at Beacon, his amber gaze is bright and pointed. “I just realized I have something to do at my workshop,” he says. “You won’t mind if I run over, will you?”

Not wanting to be controlling—and, honestly, not seeing the harm in waiting a touch longer to spend time with his husband—Beacon nods, then shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”

Breaking into a grin, Laurel tugs Beacon down by the front of his soaked shirt and kisses him quickly on the lips. “Thank you! I’ll keep in touch. We’ll be staying at the campground with your team for the rest of the Market, right?”

Beacon doesn’t want Laurel to have to join them in thecamp, not when he’s been sleeping in a bed all his life and could easily walk back into town. However, Laurel doesn’t seem unhappy about the prospect of sleeping on a bedroll in a tiny tent with Beacon, so he wasn’t able to protect his petite husband from additional bouts of reckless enthusiasm from his teammates.

“Yes. I can ask for a larger tent, unless you’d like to sleep at your father’s house.” Laurel gives an adamant shake of his head. “Do you remember the lot number?”

“I do,” he confirms. “And you don’t have to get a bigger tent. I’m sure the one you’re in will be fine.”

Facing so much cheer at the prospect of… well,anythingabout Beacon’s lifestyle, is perplexing. Beacon enjoys living rough, but Laurel never has before. Will he regret their arrangement after a few days of reality? It’ll be too late by then.

It’s too latenow.

“Okay,” is all Beacon can think to say. “Goodbye.”

Laurel scuttles away, looking way too pleased with himself. Beacon is surprised by how much he wants to know what the other elf seems so happy about, but one breath later, Laurel’s already gone. Beacon missed yet another chance.

The next dance Beacon attends, he also does not want to be at. The reason this time is that his husband has been absent for most of the past four days, leaving Beacon alone and bemused, not understanding how Laurel seems so happy about their arrangement despite not wanting to spend time with him. Even his teammates have become concerned, in part because Beacon hasn’t been able to hide how stars-damneddespondenthe’s been about the whole thing.

The afternoon by the creek seems so far from now. Justover a week ago they promised to make the best of this. Where is Laurel’s best?

He returns to the camp cheerful but exhausted, sleeps in the tent next to Beacon without complaint. The next morning, he eats with the team and keeps his upbeat demeanor, but Beacon can see it in his eyes: Laurel is always waiting for the time he gets to slip away.

They’ve kissed once or twice, but Laurel has been too tired to even suggest taking things further. Not that Beacon would ever pressure his spouse into sex they didn’t feel inclined to participate in, but he’s surprised—maybe even a touch bereft—because Laurel seemed so enthusiastic during their wedding night, only to not touch Beacon other than a hug or brief kiss since then. Afraid of giving the wrong impression, Beacon doesn’t even touch him when they share a bedroll.

It affects his performance in the games, the lack of proper, restful sleep. Half his teammates are concerned; the other half are irritatedandconcerned. If their coach had been here, Beacon is sure he’d have gotten a slap upside the head from her smart hand, so it’s fortunate she isn’t.

But he’d sooner endure a smack on the ass from Coach’s ice magic than remain stuck in this agonizing limbo, wondering what changed, what he missed that could have provided insight to Laurel’s seemingly erratic behavior.