“As it is.” Rhys made a noise, then the call disconnected.
Sebastian stared at his phone, at the picture of him and Rhys in another life, until the screen went black. He reached across the counter for a half drank bottle of merlot, not bothering with a glass. It had been days since he’d drank, almost long enough to start counting the time in weeks, but he hadn’t planned for an emotionally traumatic phone call with his brother, which he felt left him some leeway to dull the ache Rhys had created.
It wouldn’t interfere with his schedule because Allan had given him a free day. Well, not entirely free, but he’d sent Sebastian a message asking him to shove his fingers up his ass and film it, and Sebastian hadn’t yet worked up the nerve. Not that he didn’t want to have fingers inside of him, his or someone else’s, and not that he didn’t want to do that for Allan, who had already danced around the frayed edges of the things Sebastian thought he wanted. He just didn’t want to do it alone and on camera.
He wanted someone there with him, a warm and welcome body beside him, a firm hand wrapped around his, guiding his movements. He wanted that control, that submission, and he wanted the things he’d begged of Daniella before everything had gone to shit. He wanted to be free and restrained; he wanted to be blindfolded, he wanted to feel things… to feel everything.
More than all of that, he still just wanted to know what it would be like to be with a man. He pictured it all in his head, the fear, the want, the worry… the pleasure. Sebastian wanted confirmation of the needs that churned in the deepest and darkest parts of him, and just knew… once he found it, everything else would make sense.
Yet even with that understanding, that hopeful kind of fear that had him constantly on edge, he couldn’t quite bring himself to fulfill Allan’s request. Maybe later that night, maybe after some more wine. As he had the thought, he poured the rest of the bottle down his throat and stood up, his balance delightfully stable.
“You need to eat, St. George,” he told himself, gathering his wallet and keys with his phone. He didn’t want to be inside. He needed air. He needed to breathe.
It was just past noon and Callahan had invited him over later that evening for a small get-together, celebrating Remington’s continued employment. As Callahan had relayed in the invitation, with Jace’s face beside him on the screen, Sebastian had caught the warning look in his eyes. He clarified he hadn’t told Remington Sebastian was behind the donation, but if his call with Rhys had been any indicator, secrets didn’t stay that way for long.
Without thinking more about it, Sebastian drove himself to a restaurant he’d been to before that had a sidewalk patio. The place happened to be around the corner from the museum, but it was Saturday so it wasn’t likely he would run into Remington. He found a seat at a small table tucked into the corner, the spires of the museum visible if he stretched his neck. He knew that without trying it because he’d eaten there before, more than once. Maybe he was weak for the times he’d let his developing interest in Remington get the better of him, but whatever. He never claimed to be a good person.
“You don’t live around here, do you?” Remington’s voice came quietly from behind him, and Sebastian dared a look over his shoulder. Sebastian’s dark blond hair flopped across his face, and he pushed it back, tucking an errant lock behind his ear. Remington had a well-worn messenger bag over his shoulder, the leather strap fraying where it crossed the center of his chest.
“It’s a Saturday,” he answered, sounding shocked even to his own ears. “Why should you be at work?”
Remington’s eyes twinkled at the acknowledgement of the restaurant’s proximity to the museum.
“I like my work,” Remington said, instead of calling Sebastian out.
“I can tell.” He turned his attention back to the glass of water he had in front of him. It was far from interesting and it was far from alcoholic, but it would do. He needed a distraction, because looking at Remington with Rhys’s words fresh in his head felt like salt in a wound.
“Are you coming tonight?” Remington asked at the same time Sebastian said, “Did you want to join me?”
Remington’s eyes widened and his gaze shifted from Sebastian’s face to the empty table.
“I am,” Sebastian answered, smoothing his napkin over his lap.
“I’ll join you,” Remington said softly, his mouth twitching into a smile before he ducked around the corner toward the host stand.
“Fucking fool,” he muttered to himself as he watched Remington’s form grow larger and broader as he approached.
“Are you sure you want company?” Remington asked, slipping his bag over his head and hanging it on the back of the chair.
“Positive,” he lied, gesturing toward the empty chair. They both sat and Sebastian wrapped a trembling hand around his water glass. “So, were you working then?”
“I was.” Remington’s cheeks flushed a beautiful pink, and he looked down, pulling the menu away from Sebastian and studying it with a calculated intensity.
“I don’t think I even know what you do,” he said, finding himself entirely too appreciative of the way Remington’s blush flooded his throat at the ask. He tried to pry his eyes away from the way Remington’s fingers wrapped around the side of the menu, but he couldn’t quite manage it, so instead he admitted, “I don’t know what an archivist does.”
“Isn’t it all just high-class panhandling?” Remington arched a brow, the pink in his cheeks fading.
“Gentlemen…” A waitress appeared beside the table and only Remington turned toward her. Sebastian kept his stare trained on Remington’s throat, the way his muscles worked as he swallowed. “What can I get you to drink today?”
“A bottle of the Heritance Sauv Blanc,” Remington answered. “And the watermelon salad to start.”
He handed the menu to the waitress and turned, catching Sebastian staring. That eyebrow was still arched, and Remington steepled his fingers together, framing his chin as he studied Sebastian’s face.
“I hope you like white wine,” Remington said.
“I haven’t been drinking much lately,” he rasped.
Sebastian hoped Remington couldn’t see the way his body trembled, hoped he didn’t understand the way his ordering for Sebastian without even asking… the way that made him feel.
