Gently, so as not to awaken him, Ángel lifted his head. Oberon wasn’t gray anymore—his face was restored to an even white color, like sweet cream, flushed a little darker across his lips and under his eyes. Ángel looked blearily through the tendrils of his hair, down at the sinewy chest under his cheek and saw that the strange pale skin there was now dappled with shadowy golden-pink rosettes.

Those had definitely not been there last night. Did he have measles or something? Worried, Ángel jostled Oberon to waken him.

“Oberon?” he said. “You’ve broken out in spots, baby. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” said Oberon, without opening his eyes. “I’m much better. Don’t worry about the spots.”

Okay. Ángel tried to disentangle himself from Oberon’s grasp, so that he could crawl back to the privacy of his room. It was hopeless to imagine that Oberon hadn’t noticed his erection digging into his thigh, but at least he could take it away.

But Oberon did not let him go. He tightened his hold and rolled over onto his side. Ángel found himself sandwiched between the back of the couch and Oberon’s warm body, spooned, Oberon’s chest against his back, sending tingles through his skin. Ángel could protest. He could struggle. He could scramble over the back of the couch and escape. Instead, he remained still, frozen with equal parts excitement and fear, allowing Oberon to press a thigh between his legs, nuzzle his face in Ángel’s hair. Oberon put his palm over Ángel’s hammering heart, stroked his chest. Ángel closed his eyes, pressed his hot cheek against the cool leather of the couch, and breathed deeply. His erect dick was trapped in his jeans.

“You restored me,” Oberon said softly. “You probably saved my life. I never expected you would do this.”

“Is . . . that why I’m here?” asked Ángel, his voice throaty. “To do this?”

Oberon sighed, cheek against Ángel’s nape. “Watching people helps,” he said. “I expected little more than the comfort of watching you. Listening to you. Though I did hope we would be friends, of course.” He continued petting Ángel’s chest for a moment. “I hoped that you might turn to me, as you were already partially estranged from your family, and must be lonely. I told you before, I am enormously selfish.”

“You could have just grabbed me. Taken what you need.”

“And absorb your fear and horror through my skin into my brain? Like a thirsty man drinking poison? No, never.”

“I was scared. Did you feel that?”

“Yes. It interrupted my own feelings, changed them . . . I could tell you did not find it pleasant. But that you were not unwilling.”