Love Is Always Write Volume 4

That was it . And swinging swords around in the middle of the food court would qualify as endangering the patrons, especially since Simon's sword-swinging skills were on the sucky side.
    Locking eyes with Jay, Simon stepped up until the blunted tip of the sword touched his throat. "I should not care to endanger these good gentlefolk with our swordplay." He raised his eyebrows.
    Jay huffed, and his mouth flattened. He stepped back and sheathed his sword in one motion, something Simon couldn't manage even after almost a month of practice. Jay unbuckled his sword belt and held it out, glaring at the hovering squire. Tom -- or Tim -- hefted the belt and scabbard, which were a whole lot heavier than they looked.
    Smirking a little, Jay tugged on the fingers of his left leather gauntlet, making a show out of taking it off. "Fists, then. Unless you fear to meet me body to body?" He raised one dark eyebrow and started on the other glove.
    Simon had an involuntary memory of Jay, naked in the shower, eyes closed and face turned up into the water. He'd walked in on Jay one night by accident, right after they met, shocked as hell at the instant surge of lust. Jay wasn't remotely his type, so the sight of Jay's broad hands running the bar of soap over all that olive-toned skin shouldn't have had that much of an effect on him. Neither should those muscled thighs rising into the sharply defined ass, nor the taut back covered in more muscles – never mind the cabled forearms and thick biceps.
    Simon mostly did guys who wore eyeliner, guys with tight, lean bodies and pale skin, although he made the occasional exception. Even so, Jay was still not what . . . Ah hell, who was he kidding? The man was seriously fuckable. And, Simon knew for a fact, so not straight.
    Simon grinned and unbuckled his sword belt, almost sighing in relief to be rid of the weight. "No fear there," he growled.
    Jay's eyes widened for a nanosecond and he bared his teeth. "Come then." He tucked the gloves into his gambeson, eyes bright with anticipation.
    "Oh, I intend to."
    CHAPTER 2
    There might be hell to pay when this was over, but in the meantime, Jay intended to enjoy every minute.
    He and Simon had choreographed a fight scene; or rather Alan had choreographed it, and taught it to Simon. Jay and Alan had worked the RenFaire circuit together for the past five years, doing the White Knight/Black Knight thing, until Alan tore his right knee to shit late last winter.
    Simon Cordero was a college friend of Alan's, an ex-polo player, and Alan had sworn up and down he'd be a great match for Jay. The guy could ride, Jay would give him that, but his taste in men was seriously lacking. What a waste, because Jay was tired of his right hand and not too thrilled with his left one, either. The worst thing was that he actually thought they might be good together, and not just in bed.
    Jay swung at Simon and he ducked out of reach, grinning his orthodontically perfect grin. So Jay grabbed the neck of his gambeson and dragged him so they were nose-to-nose. "The fried Twinkie kid? Really?" he hissed and Simon hummed, brown eyes sparking red.
    "Love that creamy center," he murmured, and wrenched Jay's hand off of him. He shoved Jay back. "You have a halfpenny purse of wit," he taunted, raising his voice.
    "What a maidenly man at arms you have become." This time, Jay's fist connected. Simon grunted convincingly and clipped Jay across the head, a little harder than he needed to, and stepped in for the gut-punch.
    "So you say, knave!" Over the sound of Jay's fake wheeze, Simon whispered, "At least I'm getting some."
    Jay hit him back, and maybe he didn't pull the punch as much as he should. Simon bent at the waist and Jay leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Right. He's what? Eighteen?" He followed up with a shove, for effect. "Pathetical nit!"
    "Common dog!" Simon caught him across the ribs, a solid hit. Christ, that actually hurt.
    Jay grabbed for Simon' gambeson with both hands and swung them around so he could see where they were. The fight was supposed to end with some more name-calling, but they needed to be near the Queen's Pavilion for it to work. They were nowhere near the big tent, but about ten feet behind Simon, two men dressed as peasants threw mud at one another, yelling insults and working the crowd. Brett and John, playing the two peasants, would help – they wouldn't miss a chance to rag on him and Simon. That might work.
    Right, then: shove Simon onto the ropes