Mr. March Names the Stars Page 7

  Nash's eyebrows went up, and then a shy smile curved his lips. "Yeah?"

  Wes shifted for a few seconds, trying to get comfortable. He shook his head. "No, it's not—move."

  "Move… how?" Nash asked, confused.

  "Turn so your back's against the pile." Nash looked at him blankly, and Wes huffed. "You really are a city boy. The post you're leaning against."

  Nash looked over as though no one had told him he was leaning against anything, and Wes failed at not being charmed by his faint frown of bewilderment. Nash lifted his feet from the water and pivoted, resting his narrow back against the pile. Humming happily, Wes turned as well. He fitted himself into the V of Nash's legs and rested his back against Nash's chest. Nash made a soft sound of pleased surprise and brought his arms around Wes' waist. Wes hummed louder and smiled, settling in against Nash, resting the back of his head against Nash's shoulder and tilting his face toward the sky.

  "I don't think I've ever seen so many stars," Nash said, voice low and reverent in Wes' ear.

  Wes nodded. "It's one of the best things about being out here, away from the lights."

  Nash fell silent for a moment and then said, soft and sincere, "Thank you. For being willing to try again."

  "I kind of had to," Wes admitted. "Otherwise, it was gonna be really awkward when Ivy and I landed in St. Paul for the winter."

  Nash shifted behind him. "You are?"

  "One of Ivy's friends found us a spot in an artists' commune. It'll be great." He grinned. "And close to this guy I'm seeing."

  Nash's lips pressed softly against Wes' temple. "It's been a long time since I looked forward to winter."

  This felt good to Wes. The way Nash was holding him, the way they were interacting—it felt stable and secure, a position of trust they could use to move forward. He tilted his head to look at Nash. "Go on, Galileo. Wow me with how much you've learned about stars."

  "I don't—" Nash's fingers twitched against Wes' stomach. "I haven't learned much of anything about stars."

  Wes grinned. "I figured. I wanna hear what you've made up."

  Nash laughed nervously. "Really?"

  "Heck yeah. You're going to come to a couple festivals with us next summer—yes, you are," he insisted as Nash drew a sharp breath, "and telling stories about made-up constellations is a time-honored pastime for Ivy and me. I have to make sure your skills are up to snuff."

  Nash sighed, and there was a moment of contemplative silence. Then Nash lifted his arm and pointed halfway up the sky. "See the three stars there? The triangle that points to the southwest? That's Anatis Iratus. The Angry Duck."

  Wes laughed, delighted. "Tell me more." He felt light again. Free. Even the prospect of more than a year of women trying to slip him their numbers and set him up with their sisters seemed fun, now that he could point proudly to Nash and say, "Sorry, ladies; not single anymore." Wes relaxed further into Nash while he listened to the story of the Constellation of the Angry Duck.

  Fin

  About the Author

  Rivka Aarons-Hughes grew up in the Laurentian Mixed Forest Province, making up torrid stories about her neighbors. She now lives in the Eastern Broadleaf Forest Province and makes up torrid stories about made-up people (and her neighbors). When she’s not writing, she’s usually thinking about writing. Most nights she dreams about queer characters who aren’t fetishized. Other nights, she dreams about mushrooms. Rivka’s reading and writing interests include steampunk, urban fantasy, slipstream, and contemporary. She has one wife, one bicycle, two cats, and four tattoos. Catch her tumblings at http://rivka-aarons-hughes.tumblr.com/