“I am not afraid of thunderstorms!” Hylas bristled, which was somewhat amusing when taking into account how he’d paled at the last violent peal of thunder that had seemed close enough to split the house, yet his defiant stance served to enchant the Northerner even more. As Eirik had assumed, once he’d seen the massive clouds gathering, Spurius and Rufio hadn’t managed it back home before the storm broke. It had been swift and violent. One moment they’d been sitting beneath the pergola, the next moment had seen them grabbing plates, pitchers and cups and run headlong for the house where all four cats had already gathered, much to Hylas’ relief.

The cats now lay snuggled close together next to the brazier Hylas had lit after closing the shutters while Eirik had dashed out into the rain to secure the gates of the storage sheds and swiftly check on Doris and Piso in their dwelling beside the cookhouse.

Doris, unperturbed by the weather, had handed him a small basket. “The young master’s favourite dishes”, she’d added pointedly, sounding almost as if all the Northerner could expect for himself was a piece of stale bread. Being used to the caretaker’s dotty wife by now, he knew this wasn’t true – as well as he knew what was secretly expected of Rufiana’s resident barbarian. So, to please Doris’ deliciously dire expectations, he’d growled something sounding potentially dangerous in response before he’d stomped off.

“Here, for you”, Eirik had grinned after wrapping himself out of his dripping wet travelling cloak, and had handed the basket over to the young Greek, who started inspecting the contents immediately. “It seems you’ve won an admirer in the kitchen.” A smug smile had spread across Hylas’ lovely face, and he’d been about to answer when the thunder struck, leaving him startled and a bit pale around the nose. Eirik hadn’t been able to resist teasing him, knowing he’d be rewarded with an adorable, first-class pout.

The Northerner was still amazed by the warm depth of his feelings for the lithe youth, all the more as he’d never before been enchanted by someone so much younger than he was. Eirik was aware that his preferences in this regard differed considerably from the conventional taste, the common notion of what was right and proper; adult men were supposed to take women or boys as lovers, not adult men. But now, he mused with a smile as he watched Hylas scoop up little Fortunula, some god had seen it fit to open his heart and quicken his desire for a young man at the age of his son.

“I’m not afraid of thunderstorms”, Hylas repeated firmly and hugged the little calico cat. “It’s just … Rufio and Spurius are safe, yes?” Eirik chuckled and scratched Fortunula’s ears. “Yes, they are, don’t worry.” Suddenly Eirik realised what else the young Greek had just said; it wasn’t only about their friends’ safety, it was about Spurius in general. The Northerner’s smile softened and his caressing fingers wandered as if on their own accord from the little cat’s ears to Hylas’ cheekbone. “Don’t worry”, he heard himself say. “All is well.” The young Greek looked up.

Their eyes locked for a seemingly endless moment and a series of emotions passed through them in swift succession until Hylas’ beautiful face lit up in a radiant smile and the playful sparkle returned into his eyes. “I hope they’ve found a comfortable place”, he purred generously as he rubbed his face against Eirik’s hand. The Northerner closed his eyes for a moment as sweet anticipation throbbed through his body. So this would be the night, his mind realised belatedly. As much as Spurius had been an obstacle for Hylas, Eirik had faced another one – himself.

The Northerner couldn’t remember – nor did he care – when he’d begun to view the flirtatious Greek with different eyes, when he’d first noticed the delicious stabs of desire when listening to his complicated stories or gazing upon those sleek, tanned limbs and the lithe body dancing in sweet abandon, when he’d begun to not only smile to himself about the artful way Hylas’ tunic tended to wander up his thighs or down one shoulder whenever an admirer was around, but had found himself enchanted by the sight like many others had been, were and would be. Although all his senses had ached for a gaze or a touch, he’d never acted upon it. The reason was quite simple – Hylas meant too much for Eirik, was too special for him to just take him for a romp, even though he’d been quite sure his advances would have been welcome. He’d never been sure if – considering his past – Hylas would even recognise the difference; in the end, this hadn’t mattered because Eirik recognised it, and this had tied his hands even more effectively than iron chains could have.

Now, suddenly, all this had evaporated in the light of Hylas’ shining gaze, something had changed or had been unveiled between them. Whatever it was, Eirik didn’t question it, nor did he harbour any illusions. He adored Hylas just the way he was – the quirky, impossible, seductive and unique kitten, headstrong, moody and radiant.

The raging storm outside that rattled on shutters and doors was forgotten, they were deaf to the peals of thunder and the rain beating down onto walls and roof alike. The cats had once again curled up close to the brazier, only Cariad sat straight and focussed on the two humans facing each other, his tail curled around his paws. Eirik’s hand traced lovingly along Hylas’ face, caressed his ear for a moment until he buried his fingers in the fragrant black curls before he gently cupped the young man’s face in his hands and bowed closer to meet Hylas’ lips in an enquiring kiss, light and soft as a feather floating in the air.

“What if it was me who’s afraid of thunderstorms?” the Northerner whispered innocently after their lips had parted again after a long moment out of time. An impish smile spread across the young Greek’s face. “In this case … I’d say how very fortunate for you that I didn’t have any other plans for the day”, Hylas declared graciously, albeit a bit throaty, before their lips met again.