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Graham was completely useless for the rest of the day. His mind kept wandering to the sight of his husband’s naked, freckled body glistening in the sunlight as beads of sweat rolled down his chest. How Ciarán had rocked his hips as Graham greedily squeezed his ass. How he’d tried to keep quiet, biting his lip as Graham thrust up into him and how he’d failed, crying out with pleasure at each and every stroke of Graham’s cock.

After the fifth or sixth time catching him in a daze, Ciarán asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Jokingly, Graham replied that he was thinking about confessing what they’d done to the priest on Sunday. It’d been too good to not be a sin.

His husband stared at him in horror. “Oh, Graham, don’t you dare!”

“That man’s heard worse!” Graham laughed. But of course, it was only a joke. There wasn’t a soul alive he was sharing that memory with.

Ciarán, skin warm and slightly pinker but thankfully not sunburnt, spent the evening picking blades of grass and petals from Graham’s hair.

“It’s so lovely and thick,” he murmured. His fingers stroked Graham’s scalp as they laid in the hayloft together. “Ah, here’s another—how did this happen? Every time I think I’ve found the last…” He dropped a petal into Graham’s hand.

Drowsy from his husband’s touch, Graham only hummed. He held the petal in front of his eyes. It was a cheerful yellow, a little piece of summer. He let it fall from his fingers and closed his eyes, settling his head more comfortably in Ciarán’s lap. “That feels nice, sweetheart.”

“Are you tired?”

Graham smiled. “You wore me out.”

“Then let’s turn in for the night.”

He went to bed exhausted and satisfied, but he was slow moving come morning. Graham stretched gingerly and was rewarded with a dull ache in his back. Wildflowers aside, the ground probably hadn’t been the best place for their conjugal activities. Next time they’d be in a bed. Or, Graham amended with a wince, what with their own bed being taken up for Liam’s convalescence, maybe they would just find a position that wasn’t near so hard on his body.

Once they were out in the sunlight Ciarán noticed his discomfort. He placed his hand on the small of Graham’s back. “Are you all right?”

It was a testament to how far they’d come in their relationship that Graham now felt comfortable enough to tease, “Just an ache. You rode me too hard, sweetheart.”

“Graham!” His husband gasped so demurely and prettily for being the one to suggest they make love out in the open in the first place. Then his big brown eyes were full of worry. “Oh, I’m sorry, Graham. I didn’t think about that.”

“I’m not complaining. I’d have you again in a heartbeat.” He kissed Ciarán’s blushing cheek—soft, and warm.

◆◆◆

Graham wasn’t Irish himself, but being married to one meant the rest of Larkspur’s Irish population forgave him the minor inconvenience of having French ancestry. Among the tightly knit community, that was as close to acceptance as one could get without a drop of Irish blood. Those who came to lend a hand at Liam and Ronan’s farm quickly realized Graham wasn’t one for long conversations. He wasn’t unfriendly, but words seemed to weigh heavier on him than most. Still, he didn’t mind others talking around him. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it—watching and listening as they shifted seamlessly between English and Irish, their laughter ringing in the air as jokes and jabs flew like sparks from a fire.

Living with Ciarán at home and working with Ronan and the others, Graham had even started picking up bits and pieces of their language. A practical man, he focused on the phrases he heard most often. Dia dhuit for hello, le do thoil for please, and amadán—a term regularly aimed at some of the younger, lazier boys by their crustier, more no-nonsense elders—meant fool. The words came naturally to his ear now, even if his tongue hesitated to follow.

So, on the third day of working at Liam and Ronan’s ranch, when one of Clodagh’s daughters came charging up the road astride her mother’s reliable old mare, Graham immediately understood the urgency in her cry of Tar go tapa!—Come quickly!

The girl’s blonde hair was a tangled halo of windblown strands, and her eyes were wide and bright with emotion. “Ronan! Graham! Ciarán sent me! You have to follow me right now!”

Graham felt his heart leap and falter in the same breath. He dropped his tools, his voice coming out rough and panicked. “What is it? What’s happened? Is it the ranch? The thief?”

But the girl shook her head, her excitement spilling over into every hurried word. “Come on! Liam’s woken up!”

For a moment, Graham stood frozen, the weight of her words striking him like a hammer. But Ronan was already moving, swinging into the saddle of his horse with the speed of someone long accustomed to urgent rides. “A ligean ar dul,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, his hands trembling as he took up the reins.

Graham scrambled onto his own horse, repeating the phrase with all the urgency pounding in his chest. “Let’s go.”

◆◆◆

Once more, the ranch was plunged into chaos. The usual rhythm of work had ground to an abrupt halt, replaced by a palpable tension that seemed to thicken the very air. Workers who had been diligently tending to their tasks now found themselves clustered near the front door, their faces etched with anxiety and anticipation, each person silently yearning for some shred of news. Even the livestock, normally indifferent to human affairs, seemed unusually restless, their eyes fixed intently on the house as if sensing the turmoil within.

Clodagh’s daughter called out with urgency, her voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. “Here they are. I brought them.”

The throng of ranch hands and family members parted like the Red Sea, creating a clear path for Graham and Ronan. Both men paused briefly to offer their heartfelt thanks to the girl before making their way up the winding path that led to the main house.

Graham dismounted Ginger, his faithful horse, and approached the front of the house. “Roisin! Here!” he called out, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside him. In response, Roisin barked once, his sharp sound echoing across the yard, before trotting back to his side with his tail wagging energetically. Graham knelt down, gently rubbing his head and soothing his ragged ear. “Good boy,” he murmured, giving him a reassuring pat. With a firm snap of his fingers, Roisin took his position once again, guarding the entranceway with renewed vigilance.

Inside the house, the bedroom door remained firmly closed, muffling the sounds of urgent conversation that took place beyond its wooden barrier. Graham could hear the low voices, the tension evident even through the thick walls. He exchanged a glance with Ronan, whose face told a complex story of hope, disbelief, and fear all tangled together. Ronan had removed his hat in a gesture of respect and vulnerability, holding it reverently over his heart.

Graham's large hand formed a tentative fist as he approached the door, the weight of his actions pressing heavily upon him. With a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles softly but firmly against the wood, the sound reverberating slightly in the quiet of the house.

“Liam?” Ronan's voice called out, tinged with both hope and anxiety.

A moment later, a delighted cry responded from within. “Ronan! Come in, my love, let me see you!”

Ronan's eyes lit up with relief and joy as he moved with surprising speed, almost instinctively, to swing himself onto his horse. His eagerness almost made the door seem too slow, but the bedroom door held steadfast. For a brief instant, Ronan stood frozen, staring in awe at his husband, who was now sitting up in bed, an empty teacup and saucer resting in his lap. The sight of Liam, so vulnerable yet radiant with life, filled Ronan with an overwhelming surge of emotion. Without hesitation, he was by Liam's side, showering him with kisses—his hands caressing Liam's face, his jaw, and gently touching his still- bandaged head. “My love, my love,” he whispered repeatedly, each word laden with affection and relief.

The doctor, who had been monitoring Liam’s condition closely, quickly intervened. She swiftly grabbed the teacup and saucer, carefully setting them down on the nightstand to prevent them from falling to the floor. “As I was telling your husband, Ronan—strict bedrest for at least a week. No chores or other arduous activities,” she reminded them, her tone professional yet compassionate.

Liam let out a gruff harrumph, the remnants of his disorientation still evident. “And what shall I do while my mind and body waste away to nothing?” he demanded, the edge in his voice betraying his normally calm demeanor.

Ciarán, who had been standing silently and watching the exchange with a gentle smile, stepped forward to ease the tension. “Oh, don’t worry, Liam. I’ll come and visit and keep you company,” he offered, his voice soothing and steady.

Liam sighed deeply, the weight of his circumstances pressing down on him. “Well, at least I’ll be a better host now that I’m conscious,” he mused, trying to inject some humor into the grim situation. “So, tell me. What happened?”

Graham and Ronan exchanged uncomfortable looks, the air thick with unspoken fears and uncertainties. “You don’t remember anything from that night, Liam?” Ciarán asked, his tone gentle but probing.

Liam placed a reassuring hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “I remember that something had upset the animals, and that I went to check on them. Then—nothing.” He managed a grim smile, lightly touching his bandaged head as if to reassure himself. “A great big nothing cracked my skull open like an egg.” He chuckled softly, immediately wincing at the pain, but the attempt to lighten the mood was evident.

While Ronan fretted over his husband’s condition, Ciarán continued, “Never mind, Liam. They’ll find the culprit. The sheriff and his deputies are looking into it.”

Graham, feeling the tension rise again, tried to mask his discomfort. He attempted to turn his snort into a cough, a futile effort to deflect the seriousness of the situation. “Pardon me,” he said hastily, meeting Ciarán’s stern glare with a sheepish expression.

Liam, noticing Graham’s unease, merely smirked. “Nothing to apologize for. We have the same regard for lawmen, I think. If they’d only taken the horse theft more seriously—isn’t that so, my love?” His eyes met Ronan’s, seeking affirmation.

Ronan gave a long, satisfied sigh, the frustration of the past days momentarily easing.

◆◆◆

They prepared a small cart to transport Liam back to his and Ronan’s ranch. It was a sturdy little vehicle, outfitted with layers of soft pillows and thick blankets. Graham couldn’t help but think it looked more comfortable than any bed he’d ever slept in—like sitting on a cloud made of wool and down. It seemed a fitting throne for someone who had narrowly escaped death.

Liam, however, didn’t share Graham’s admiration for the contraption. Standing stiffly in the yard, he crossed his arms and stared at the cart as if it had personally offended him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ronan. I’ll ride one of the horses—”

Before he could finish, Ronan stepped forward, his eyes flashing. He jabbed a finger at the cart with the force of a command and launched into a torrent of furious Irish. “No. Suífidh tú agus ligfidh tú do scíth. Chaill mé beagnach thú. Má tá grá agat dom, suífidh tú, agus ligfidh mé aire duit!” His words came fast and sharp, cutting through any protest Liam might have made. Then, seeing the stunned expression on Liam’s face, Ronan softened, adding in a gentler but no less firm tone, “Is féidir liom a bheith chomh stubborn mar tú nuair is mian liom a bheith.”

Liam blinked, his mouth twitching as though he wanted to argue but thought better of it. Finally, he sighed in defeat. “Well, if you insist.”

Graham, standing off to the side, didn’t understand most of what Ronan had said, but he didn’t need to. The tone, the gestures, and Liam’s reaction told the story well enough: Ronan had put his foot down.

With Ronan’s help, Liam climbed into the cart, his movements slow and careful. Once settled, he waved to the crowd that had gathered to see them off. Graham watched as Ronan climbed onto his horse, taking the reins and leading the cart down the road. The pair looked every bit like a king and his devoted knight, and Graham couldn’t help but smile.

He placed a hand on the small of Ciarán’s back, and together they stood in the quiet yard, watching their friends until they disappeared over the horizon.

The other Irish neighbors, who had come in droves to help, insisted on staying until all the day’s chores were done. They worked with the easy cheer of people buoyed by good news, and by the time the last wheelbarrow was stowed and the final gate latched, everyone’s spirits were high. Handshakes, hugs, and well-wishes were exchanged before the group finally dispersed, leaving Graham and Ciarán standing alone in the dusky quiet of the ranch.

After all the commotion of the past few days, the silence felt like a balm. The absence of bustling voices, clinking tools, and barking dogs left room for the natural sounds of the ranch to reclaim their place: the rustling of the trees, the soft lowing of the cattle, and the distant whinny of a horse. Graham let out a long, slow breath, tension draining from his shoulders as he turned to Ciarán.

It was a relief to finally have time alone with his husband again.

But there was one matter they couldn’t ignore.

Graham glanced at the small bed tucked against the wall of their bedroom. It had served them well enough in the early days, its too-small frame forcing them to sleep close—an arrangement neither had minded. But that same bed had borne witness to Liam’s injury and recovery. It had been soaked with blood, its blankets used to staunch the flow, and for days, it had held the weight of life and death. Now, even clean and empty, it felt like it belonged to a different chapter of their lives.

“I’ll finish the new frame,” Graham said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, practical. “And we’ll order a new mattress. But we’ve got the bedroll, and plenty of blankets. It’ll do for now.”

Ciarán frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Will that be comfortable for you?”

Graham chuckled. “More comfortable than the hayloft.”

“Well, all right, then.” Ciarán gave a small smile, his frown easing. “That’s fine with me. Let’s go to the general store tomorrow.”

Graham nodded. “We can do that.” The idea of a trip to town—a chance to replace what had been lost and perhaps indulge in a few treats—appealed to him. The past few days had been relentless, and he wanted to reclaim some small piece of normalcy. “What should we do with the old bed?”

The mattress, though slightly lumpy, was still serviceable. Graham glanced at it with a carpenter’s critical eye, but Ciarán tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin before Graham could suggest selling it.

“Perhaps—” Ciarán’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Perhaps Roisin would like it. We could keep it at the foot of our new bed.”

As if summoned by his name, Roisin appeared in the doorway, his tail wagging enthusiastically. The dog had quickly become spoiled during the recent chaos, basking in attention and treats from the visitors. He looked every bit the pampered pet, his posture one of lazy confidence, as though he knew his life was enviable.

Graham grinned. “Well, let’s see if he approves.”

The two of them dragged the mattress down from the bed frame and laid it on the floor in the corner of the room. Ciarán fetched one of Roisin’s blankets and spread it across the top, tucking it neatly. Roisin trotted up, sniffed the setup thoroughly, then circled once before flopping down in the center. He let out a contented sigh and rested his chin on his paws, his eyes half-closed. It was as if the mattress had always been his, and he’d simply been waiting for them to realize it.

“Well, I’d say he approves,” Ciarán said with a chuckle.

Graham folded his arms, watching the dog settle in. “Looks like he’s claimed it.”

Roisin wagged his tail lazily in agreement, his kingdom now complete.

◆◆◆

Over the next week, their lives gradually settled back into a rhythm of normalcy. Graham and Ciarán fell into their familiar routine: working side by side during the day, sharing hearty meals at sundown, and curling up together at night. The kitchen floor, with its warmth from the stove, became their makeshift bedroom. Ciarán had insisted it would be cozier and far more comfortable than the hayloft, and while Graham had been skeptical at first, he had to admit his husband was right.

The bedrolls, layered with thick blankets, provided a snug cocoon where they could drift off to sleep in each other’s arms. Even Roisin seemed content with the arrangement, often curling up nearby, his soft snores adding to the domestic tranquility.

Though they spent most of their time together, there were still moments when they went their separate ways. Ciarán, ever the social butterfly, made a habit of attending small gatherings in town or visiting their neighbors. Graham, on the other hand, preferred the quiet satisfaction of working on the ranch or tinkering with projects in the barn.

One such morning, after the day’s chores were complete, Graham found Ciarán in the yard, saddling up Bó. The sunlight glinted off the polished leather of the saddle, and Ciarán, humming a cheerful tune, was already securing a saddlebag.

“Where are you off to, sweetheart?” Graham asked, leaning against the fence post with a curious smile.

Ciarán glanced up, returning the smile with one of his own. “I’m going to visit Liam and Ronan. Thought I’d bring them a little something.”

He opened the saddlebag, revealing its contents with a flourish. Inside was a jar of gleaming blackberry jam, a neatly wrapped square of shortbread, and a tin of their best black tea.

Graham chuckled. “Jam, huh? Is it just me, or does everyone around here seem to gift jam for every occasion?”

Ciarán laughed as he adjusted the straps. “It’s tradition, love. Jam’s practical, delicious, and it always feels thoughtful. Besides, who doesn’t like a little sweetness now and then?”

Graham couldn’t argue with that. In fact, he had developed quite an appreciation for Ciarán’s blackberry jam. His husband had spent days perfecting the recipe, and Graham had been more than happy to act as the official taste tester. Each jar was a small masterpiece, bursting with flavor, and Graham often found himself sneaking spoonfuls straight from the jar. Watching Ciarán lick the sticky sweetness off his own fingers during these culinary experiments had been... well, distracting in all the best ways.

“That’s not the last of the blackberry jam, is it?” Graham asked, eyeing the jar. The bushes on their property were heavy with ripe fruit, and the two of them had spent hours harvesting the berries.

“Oh, there’s plenty left,” Ciarán assured him, fastening the saddlebag. “We’ve got more than we can eat. I was actually thinking—we could sell the extra. Do you think Mrs. Fournier might be interested?”

Graham nodded. “She’d jump at the chance. That jam of yours will sell like hotcakes. I’ll bring some along next time I head to town to sell the eggs.”

The way Ciarán’s face lit up at the idea was too sweet to resist. Graham stepped closer, pulling him into a kiss that left Ciarán laughing and breathless.

“Graham!” he chided playfully. “Not now, or I’ll be late for tea!”

Graham grinned but released him, his hands reluctantly moving from Ciarán’s shapely backside to rest on his hips instead. “All right, but be careful out there. And tell them I said hello.”

“I will,” Ciarán promised, giving Graham a quick peck on the cheek before swinging up onto Bó’s back.

With a wave, Ciarán rode off, the horse’s hooves kicking up small clouds of dust as they trotted down the road. Graham watched until they disappeared from view, the warmth of Ciarán’s parting smile lingering like a sunbeam.

Turning back toward the barn, he rubbed his hands together and let out a satisfied sigh.

It was time to finish the bedframe.

◆◆◆

Never before had Graham poured so much of himself into a single piece of work. The patterns on the headboard and footboard of their new bedframe weren’t just designs—they were a testament to the life he and Ciarán had built together, to the love they shared, and to the future they were growing with every passing day.

Graham was no stranger to crafting. His hands had built the barn where their horses found shelter, the chicken coop that housed their hens, the fence that kept their livestock safe, the house that had become their home, and the furniture that filled it. But this bedframe was different. It wasn’t just about functionality or necessity—it was about beauty, about joy. It was about giving Ciarán something that would make him smile every time he looked at it.

The wood felt alive under Graham’s hands as he carved, his blade moving with careful precision. He thought of Ciarán’s letters, the ones they had exchanged before this life was even a possibility. How those pages, filled with sketches of prairie wildflowers and dreams of a shared future, had carried him through long, lonely nights. Ciarán had a gift for imagining beauty even in the roughest of places, and Graham wanted this bed to reflect that—to reflect him.

Each cluster of bluebells and daylilies seemed to bloom beneath his knife, their petals opening wide in full, intricate detail. Dainty wild roses climbed the corners of the headboard, their delicate stems weaving through the other flowers like ribbons of greenery. He added sunflowers, their proud faces turned skyward, and the curling fronds of ferns, grounding the whole piece in the earthy vitality of the prairie that Ciarán had once only dreamed of.

The work was slow and meticulous, but Graham didn’t mind. Every stroke of his blade, every sweep of sandpaper, every gentle press of the chisel was a meditation on his love for the man who had changed his life. The bedframe would be strong and steady, just like their bond, but it would also be intricate and beautiful, a reminder of the ways Ciarán had brought light and color to Graham’s world.

He thought of mornings yet to come: waking with Ciarán at his side, the dawn creeping through the curtains and gilding the wildflowers he had so carefully carved. He thought of nights when they would tumble into bed together, their laughter filling the room, and the warmth of Ciarán’s arms around him as they drifted off to sleep. This bed wasn’t just for sleeping—it was a symbol of the life they had built and the many more days they would share.

By the time the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the workshop, Graham stepped back and wiped the sweat from his brow. His shirt clung to him, damp from the heat of the day, and his hands ached from hours of steady work. But his gaze lingered on the bedframe, taking in every detail. The carved wildflowers seemed almost to sway in the fading light, and the wood’s surface gleamed, smooth and warm to the touch.

He frowned, his brow furrowing with worry. What if Ciarán didn’t like it? What if the flowers weren’t quite right, or the patterns didn’t suit his taste? The thought made his stomach twist, but he shook it off. Ciarán had a way of finding beauty in everything Graham did, no matter how small.

Still, this wasn’t small. This was their bed. It had to be perfect.

With a deep breath, Graham reached out to trace one of the carved roses, his rough fingers skimming the delicate petals. He thought of Ciarán’s smile, of the way his face lit up when he was happy, and a quiet determination settled in his chest.

◆◆◆

As the hours passed Graham grew more nervous. At first, he’d thought his work good, and placed the bedrolls, pillows, and blankets onto the frame with satisfaction. But then he’d wandered back into their room some minutes later and stared at it, and decided it was an affront to their carpentry, art, and his marriage. Graham waffled between pride and despair and then, once Ciarán arrived home, filled with tea sandwiches and cookies and gossip, he only wished that his husband wouldn’t be disappointed.

“You had a good time?” he asked Ciarán as he led him back to the house.

“It was very nice. Liam’s relegated to the inside of the house—Ronan’s insistent on making him rest, and Liam said he’s been getting antsy with all the free time, so he was glad to have an afternoon tea. The blackberry jam went over very well,” Ciarán added, obviously pleased.

“Knew it would. You made it, after all.”

Ciarán chuckled. “Thank you, Graham. Both Liam and Ronan send their best. They want you to come with me next time.”

“I’d like that.” Graham cleared his throat. “Got a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

He cleared his throat again, nervous, and motioned for Ciarán to accompany him to their bedroom. Graham opened the door with a flourish that he didn’t quite feel. “Well,” he said. “Here’s our new bed.”

By the sound of Ciarán’s gasp someone might’ve thought that Graham had presented him a mountain of gold and jewels. “Oh, Graham!” It seemed to be all he could say as he walked around the bed, marveling at the decoration, running his fingers over the flowers. “Graham!”

“You like it, then?”

“Of course I do! I can’t believe you’ve made this for me—for us! It’s so beautiful. I love it! I love you! I—” He stopped, eyes the size of saucers, his cheeks that lovely shade of pink. “Oh, Graham, I love you.”

Never in his life would Graham hear a lovelier phrase. What were songs and poems compared to those words from Ciarán’s lips? He thought his heart would burst from sheer joy. “Ciarán, I—” He swallowed. “I’ve loved you since—since I read your first letter to me.”

“Even then?” Ciarán asked, softly.

“Even then.”

Ciarán took his hands in his. “I knew you would be kind. I could tell that, just from reading that advertisement you put out. When I received your response I showed everyone in the boarding house, you know. I thought, here’s something. Here’s someone. Here’s a life for me. You said you would teach me, do you remember? That you’d take care of me as a husband should. All through the train ride I was so excited. And then—” He gazed up at Graham through his lashes. “And then I laid eyes on you for the first time and I knew there wasn’t a man luckier than I was. I didn’t expect you to be so handsome. I didn’t expect you to give me flowers.”

Gruffly, Graham said, “You wanted to see the flowers. In your letter. And you drew them in your sketches. I wanted—to give you what you wanted. I wanted you to be happy here. With me.”

“I am.”

“Can you say it again?” Graham swallowed. “That you love me?”

Not for the first time he admired Ciarán’s eyes—the shape of them, their color like that of dark honey, his long lashes. Now they shone. “I love you, Graham!” He cried out in surprise when Graham lifted him up into his arms. He wrapped his legs around Graham’s waist and rested his hands on his shoulders. When Graham kissed his neck and his beard brushed against his skin he laughed, and Graham laughed too, open and joyously.

“I love you,” he whispered, lips on Ciarán’s throat. He said it again and again and again, even as he brought his husband to lay in their new bed, even as unbuttoned Ciarán’s shirt and ran his hands greedily over his chest, his nipples, his stomach, even as he pulled his pants down and pulled his cock free from his underclothes and stroked it as Ciarán moaned his name.

“Graham—Graham—"

Graham pressed his lips to the tip, sweeping up a bead of precum with his tongue. It simply wasn’t enough to say the words. He needed to show his husband how much he loved him with his body. His hands, his mouth, his cock—all were to be used for Ciarán’s pleasure.

He hissed as Ciarán’s long, elegant fingers grasped his hair and tugged. Graham palmed at the front of his pants, trying to ease the ache of his arousal. Ciarán trembled beneath him as he continued to lick his cock with the flat of his tongue. His face was flushed and red, his curls damp with sweat. So beautiful, and his—his husband, his love.

Lord, let him forever be Ciarán’s.

With another cry, Ciarán arched his back, thrusting further into Graham’s mouth and spilling down his throat, salty and hot. His trembled as he came, breathing with small, sweet little gasps. “Graham,” he said again.

“Ciarán.” He barely recognized his own voice; it was so desperate and rough with wanting. He gently turned Ciarán onto his side and freed his own leaking cock from his pants to slip it between his husband’s legs. Ciarán squirmed as Graham fucked his thighs, smearing them with precum. He reached between them, brushing Graham’s cock with his fingers. Light, gentle little touches, as if he were trying to tease out Graham’s climax.

It was working.

Graham kissed Ciarán’s bare shoulder. When he thrust between Ciarán’s warm, slick thighs once more, he gritted his teeth and shivered when Ciarán cupped his hand around him. “Make me come, sweetheart, please.”

Ciarán turned his head to catch Graham’s lips with his. Graham kissed him eagerly and hungrily, and then he spilled between Ciarán’s thighs with a shuddering groan. He wrapped his arms around Ciarán, pulling him towards him, gasping into his ear, murmuring Ciarán and I love you over and over.

When they grew too hot and sticky to be comfortable Graham eased himself up to fetch a cloth and a basin of water. His husband’s legs and pants were streaked with cum. With careful swipes of the damp cloth Graham cleaned the evidence of their pleasure off Ciarán’s skin. The pants, though, would need a good wash.

Ciarán giggled as Graham brought the cloth along his upper thigh. “I’m ticklish there.”

Graham grinned. “I know.” Then, watching Ciarán stretch, he said, “Nice to have a bed to ourselves again.”

◆◆◆

Some days later Mr. Fournier arrived at the ranch with a cart full of goods to deliver. As Graham and Ciarán helped him lift the mattress and bring it inside the house, he said, “Must’ve been hard sleeping for you both without one of these.”

Graham glanced at his husband. “We made do just fine,” he said.

Ciarán blushed.