Page 37 of Tossing the Caber

Eventually, he stills. Beacon wants to scoop him up like he’s done before, but it seems like the wrong action in this moment. The problem is… Beacon doesn’t know the right one.

If it took a long time for Beacon to figure out how to comfort his husband, it takes even longer to realize he doesn’t have toguesswhat to do next—he can ask. Laurel has remained limp and cold in his embrace, so he hears fine when Beacon whispers, “How do I help?”

Laurel puts space between their bodies, still naked. Beacon fights the urge to put a hand in front of his groin because if he wants Laurel to face him at his most vulnerable, he ought to do the same.

“I should have showed you sooner,” Laurel whispers back, picking up the prosthesis, now speckled with dirt.

“No. You didn’t owe me that.”

“But this isawful.”

Beacon shrugs. “Yeah. But I don’t mind.” Laurel searches his face; Beacon makes sure he finds nothing there but the genuine desire to accept him, to help. He gestures to the prosthesis, fuchsia fingers muddied. “Let’s start by cleaning this off.”

Silence reigns until everything has been tidied, they’re both dressed, and Laurel’s hand has been cleaned and mended. The magic-imbued skin melds so perfectly against his actual flesh, Beacon isn’t surprised he never noticed the seam. Laurel’s skills are truly incredible.

Laurel himself is incredible. All of him, including the parts he sees as missing.

An odd feeling wells up when Beacon realizes that same line of thought could apply to his own being—his ownbody.

Finished tidying, Laurel leads Beacon out of his workshop, locks it, then brushes his fingertips over the latch. Magic?

“We didn’t do any packing,” Beacon realizes.

Laurel snuffles a laugh. “I’ll come back to work on it later tonight.”

“Not without me, you won’t.”

Coming to a stop on the threshold, Laurel blinks up at Beacon as if seeing him for the first time. “Really?”

There are quite possibly thousands of things Beacon couldsay in response, even though the things he actually would say reduce it to a couple dozen at best. But none of them fully encompass what he can’t verbalize, and that’s the important part.

Beacon kisses Laurel’s brow, settling on, “From now on, I go where you go.”

“I’m the one going with you to Dun Steorra,” Laurel points out.

“So you can be my house husband and do nothing but be The Amazing Anatomancer, even though your clients will have a much more difficult time reaching you when they have to climb a mountain first.”

“That’ll just prove how much they want it. By the way, Beacon, it’s justThe Anatomancer. No amazing.”

“But you are.”

“It sounds ridiculous.”

Beacon slings an arm around Laurel’s shoulders, squeezing him close. “‘Anatomancer’ already sounds ridiculous.”

Laughing, Laurel pinches him in the side. “It doesn’t! I worked hard thinking of that. It tookmonths.”

“We should eat something before the awards, sweet one.”

“It doesnotsound ridiculous. You have to agree with me—I’m your husband!”

Beacon has never felt so light.

Chapter Twelve

Laurel

Laurel wakes up to the tent shaking and shuffling while Beacon tries to slide his large body out from under the small flap without disturbing him. It doesn’t work, but Laurel comforts himself by admiring Beacon’s ass as he crawls out. He pretends to be asleep when Beacon glances back in to check on him, but he suspects his small smile gives him away. Beacon lets him have this one, though, and after years of being denied or ridiculed at nearly every opportunity, that makes Laurel unreasonably happy.