Page 31 of Tossing the Caber

He balances the caber perfectly in his arms, the exact calculations so natural he doesn’t have to think about them. The important part, once he puts forth all the power he needs to flip the caber, is that the pole stays completely parallel with his body when he falls. It requires flawlesscontrol and precision, not letting one arm take less weight than the other. He has to be completely in sync: his body, the caber, and the new, unexpected sensation of love emanating from the stands.

Wait.Love?

With a mighty roar, Beacon skids on the dusty grass, putting everything he has into the throw. The caber flies through the air, tapered end swinging neatly into the clear sky.

Beacon takes a few steps back, watching breathlessly as the top of the caber pierces the ground. The tapered end continues to swing, and he feels it in his bones, in his fuckingbones,that it’s going to land perfectly, pointing straight from his heaving chest toward a future he can no longer attempt to swerve. Something he no longer wants to.

The caber falls, its length landing a clean, flawless twelve o’clock. The audience crows, frothing and feral, leaping out of their seats to celebrate. Even the Gearwick and Emberleigh elves howl at the pure athleticism.

It’s everything Beacon wanted and hoped for when he first pulled that damn wagon into Tunbrae. The thrill of the win, the crowd on their feet.

And when he turns, he sees his husband jumping up and down, clutching Hallie in an awkward embrace. When he sees Beacon, he releases his friend. Instead of a victory lap, Beacon takes long strides to the boundary of the field, huffing with genuine elation when Laurel leaps into his arms.

Beacon clutches his husband’s petite frame, careful to moderate his grip to hold the smaller elf rather than a massive tree trunk. Hands curved under Laurel’s thighs, Beacon smiles when his tail wraps around Beacon’s waist to pull them close.

And Beacon kisses him, Laurel cradling his cheeks as they claim each other for all to see.

The referee barks a reprimand behind him, prompting Beacon to very reluctantly allow Laurel to slide to the ground and rejoin the rest of the group. His mother sweeps Laurel upin an enthusiastic hug instead, and Beacon can’t help but grin as he trots back to his team, accepting their delighted ribbing with grace. He doesn’t even elbow Raibull in the gut when he puts Beacon in a headlock and musses his sweaty hair.

A vision for his life—theirlife—is finally taking shape. Beacon couldn’t be happier.

Chapter Ten

Laurel

Beacon’s parents cite needing to solidify tomorrow’s arrangements for departure, so Beacon and Laurel walk by themselves, hand-in-hand, toward the grounds where the archery targets stand. After winning the archery competition by a landslide two days previous, Raylen of Moonscliffe will be loosing his final arrows at the Championship Games. Laurel, after his short chat with Raylen’s partner, Sylar, suggested they attend.

His secret project is complete, after all. No more missing out on everything and seeing how negatively it impacted his new husband.

Laurel genuinely regrets that his absence hurt Beacon, but he didn’t know how to explain without ruining the surprise. So he worked and worked and worked, hoping to minimize the time Beacon spent in the dark. And now it’s ready.

Despite having wanted to watch the event, Laurel can’t help but squirm. Beacon had grumbled something about Raylen’s flirtatious reputation when Laurel first spoke of attending, but now seems raptly focused on his performance, murmuring to himself about the other archers’ forms. With his expression so serious, even his body engaged, clenching when Raylen draws his bow string, Laurel doesn’t expect the big hand that comes down on his knee when he bounces out of restless impatience.Beacon strokes his thumb against Laurel’s bare skin, soothing him despite his unbreaking stare at the competition.

They stay long enough after the event for Beacon to clasp arms with Raylen and congratulate him on his winning performance. Laurel hovers back, not doing much more than smiling at Sylar and offering him a polite nod. He can’t socialize right now, not while vibrating with unspent energy.

The second Beacon returns to his side, mouth open to say something, Laurel jumps in, speaking over him. “Would you like to come to my workshop?”

Beacon blinks, probably startled by Laurel’s lack of manners.

“I’m sorry,” Laurel says, only giving a second after the apology before continuing: “I know it’s only a few hours until the final awards, but I wanted to finish packing the rest of my supplies before tomorrow.” It’s not untrue, but it’s also not the only reason he wants Beacon to visit his workshop.

A small smile tilts Beacon’s lips. “If that’s what you would like, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Laurel can’t help but preen. Getting the chance to observe Beacon interacting with others has given him great insight into his husband’s inner workings.He doesn’t like being jostled or disturbed unless he’s on the field—even if it’s Laurel jumping on him afterward. He doesn’t like talking when he’s eating, not even with Laurel. However, even when irritated, he’s not aggressive or unkind, merely incidentally rude.

It’s much different from what Laurel feared the first time they met, worried about having a cold, apathetic husband. Quite the opposite—Beacon almost dotes on him. Even when he doesn’t want to participate, he seems more willing if it involves something Laurel might enjoy. With respect to that, it’s not difficult for Laurel to balance his needs with a man who genuinely wants an equal relationship. He’s spent yearsburying how much it truly hurt to never be considered, not by his mother, not by his former betrothed, and certainly not by his father.

Now, Laurel has the opportunity to think of someone without losing himself entirely.

He leads Beacon out of the marketplace grounds, heading toward his workshop. Laurel almost wants to skip but tries to smother the impulse. Beacon notices anyway.

“You seem excited about something,” he observes.

“Just a lot of energy!” Laurel shakes his hands, trying to dispel the overflowing jitters. “I’m eager for the Market to end tomorrow. It’s fun, but I’m exhausted, and I have to finish packing. I’m ready to finally be free of this place.” All true statements.

“You’re sure you’re that excited to live up a mountain?” Beacon’s voice is soft, vulnerable like a beast’s underbelly.

“It’ll be an adjustment,” Laurel allows. “And I’ll have to wear actual pants.” He wrinkles his nose. “But I’m sure I’ll look acceptable, even in leggings.”