“Nicodemus,” Bel said evenly, unbothered while Nicodemus was roasting in his own kitchen, “I will rest before I go out again, and Holt knows my plans.”
Humoring Nicodemus now.
Nicodemus dropped some butter into the pan and watched it melt. His shirt would stick to him soon. “You didn’t tell me.” It slipped out, aggrieved but at least somewhat calm. “If it’s so terrible that I can’t know about it, I hope you at least told some of the others.” He paused. “And that you are being careful, even if you think me foolish to say so.”
“I promise I do not.” Bel stretched back into his former position of taking up two chairs and leisurely reached for a piece of crust. He was apparently too exhausted to find something else to watch, as if Nicodemus cooking was in any way interesting.
“You might find a more solid meal in town,” Nicodemus told him, or instructed him, he was not sure which. “Many of the hotels have decent chefs.” Something that Bel undoubtedly knew, and far better than Nicodemus, who kept to the sanctuary of the house.
“O.K.,” Bel agreed cautiously, his accent neither here nor there. “I will eat more in town. You don’t need to be troubled. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
“I’m not….” Nicodemus stopped, then sighed, then poured the eggs into the pan. Bel was half-asleep and likely not paying attention to him anyway. The intent look in Bel’s eyes was just how Bel was, with everyone. “You’re not in my hair,” he muttered at last, which then made him feel childish in addition to silly.
When the eggs were done, he reached for plates as his stomach growled again, a sound that carried through the kitchen and made him tense to his ears. He dished his portion onto a plate and regretted not making more. He was suddenly certain he could eat the entire contents of the larder before the day was through. Another sign of his approaching problem.
Bel got to his feet with no warning, startling Nicodemus into looking up. Bel was large and topped Nicodemus by a few inches; the only one in the house to do so. He yawned and then stretched, flicking the thick rope of his hair over his shoulder when it fell forward.
“I’ll head upstairs now and leave you to your breakfast.” Bel gathered up his dishes as well as Rosa and Percy’s while Nicodemus blinked at him in bewilderment. Then he went around the opposite side of the table to drop the dishes in the sink. He returned to the other side of the kitchen by the same path, leaving Nicodemus alone at the stove. “I’ll come back to do those, if you like.” The offer was made politely, but also with the full knowledge that Nicodemus would do the washing when he was done simply to have the mess taken care of. “You won’t mind finishing my toast for me, would you? I’d hate to waste it.”
Despite his words, Bel reached for another piece of toast and dipped that in honey as well before popping it in his mouth.
“How long will you be gone?” Nicodemus finally remembered to ask, staring at Bel, then down at his plate. He pushed all the eggs onto it, frowning.
“About a week, I expect.” Bel glanced around the room, then bent down to retrieve his puff tie, which must have fallen to the floor. He tucked it into a pocket, since with his shirt and vest open, he could not tuck it in or wear it properly. “WhereisHolt?”
“He should be back soon,” Nicodemus offered hopefully, only to glare at his eggs again in the next moment. He raised his head when Bel was silent.
Bel looked away before their eyes met. His expression shifted several times before he seemed to choose something impassive, although he made his voice low and his tone encouraging. “I wouldn’t worry, lambchop. He’ll be here.”
Nicodemus huffed at the nickname and narrowed his eyes, but Bel was already out the door.
With little else to do, Nicodemus sat at the table to eat his eggs and the last of Bel’s toast.
Bel used far too much butter.
Nicodemus ate the remainder of Bel’s toast anyway, so hungry he forgot about the marmalade entirely and turned with a disgruntled sigh to finish off the gingerbread.
THE LETTER said exactly what Nicodemus had feared. Holt was delayed and would not return for several days or possibly longer. He apologized profusely, but it was a combination of his current investigation and some sort of incident with the trains where he was. He reminded Nicodemus that the house would still be empty and at his disposal, and that, while it was difficult, Nicodemus had dealt with his affliction alone before.
Which was certainly true. At times, usually in the first few days, being alone for the duration even felt easier. His body’s desires were still somewhat manageable, and Nicodemus was aware of himself enough to be embarrassed and grateful that Holt was not there to offer a friend’s kindly assistance. Not that Holt was clinical. Holt did enjoy the presence of a man in his bed from time to time, and he assured Nicodemus that it was not a bother to take up space in his. But Nicodemus could not help but feel guilty, and perhaps also a squirming resentment, that he had to inconvenience his friend in this way.
Sometimes, he wondered what he would do if Holt were to fall in love or marry, and that person would not be pleased to discover their arrangement, medical though it was, and would tell Holt to desist. Other times, usually as the rut reached its peak, Nicodemus did not care why Holt was there, as long as hewasthere, and someone, anyone, was touching him. Nicodemus could please himself, and did, but even a hand on his back made the ordeal better, made it easier.
He supposed even animals would enjoy a comforting touch when they were at their most vulnerable. Hewasan animal then, or nearly so. And as he came back to himself in the following days, Holt would smile and offer encouraging words and even attempt to cook if the food situation became truly desperate.
That made it easier, too.
Of course, the whole thing might have been avoided, or greatly reduced in strength and duration, if Nicodemus were, well, as satisfied physically as his body seemed to want him to be. He had discovered that quite by accident when just a young asterion, foolish enough to venture into bars and saloons to seek out strangers to fuck him.
He hadn’t known then how much of their interest had been curiosity at the state of his body, or about asterions in general. He had just thought himself wanted and had delighted in it, and for that time, his ruts had been annoying instead of consuming. A few days of rising appetite and energy, but only two days and nights in a fever in his room at Holt’s parents’ house.
Obviously, that did not happen anymore. Nicodemus left the manor for errands when he had to and rarely for any other reason. Even if he found someone now, he wasn’t certain it would do much good, and a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that any such encounter would be even less personal than Holt’s touches.
Nicodemus considered himself in the hall mirror as he scrubbed it free of ink. He saw no preening, confident ram, but a human approaching his thirtieth year, with skin that did not see the sun as it should. He saw spectacles and indifferent eyes that were neither brown nor green. He saw neatly shaven cheeks because he could not grow a respectable amount of facial hair, and a mop of chestnut curls, and horns, and spindly shoulders.
He did not expect that a visit to a saloon would net him any suitors, much less one who might be willing to have him several times until Nicodemus finally stumbled home, hopefully satisfied enough to lessen some of the rut.
He put the idea out of his mind as much as he could and resigned himself to a self-sufficient week.
