"Oh, don't sell yourself short, you have plenty of perverted ideas without my help," Ganymede murmured, twisting and laying next to John close, so he could see the screen of the camera as his partner scrolled through the pictures.

"So you tell me," he said softly. "You must like freckles. I only see them when it's winter or I lose my tan." Not that he minded: if John liked them it was all to the good. And his tan would come back with a few weeks in the sun. But Paris had been cloudy while they were on this trip, and he'd grown a little paler since they'd been traveling. "So you like the way I look tangled in bedsheets."