James, apparently, had less compunction about teasing. Paul's grip on James' hand slowly tightened until his knuckles paled, trying to deny the memory burned indelibly in his mind, in his senses.
"You have a remarkable imagination," he said hoarsely, after a glassy moment, drinking lemonade to refresh his suddenly dry mouth, stinging in his lips. "And a great gift with words, Beloved. Words that I shall treasure to myself in private moments, to replay the vision of your body silvered by moonlight, the trust you gave to me that night, the sound of your fall to accompany my own."