“You’re not?” The sad look on Oliver’s face gave way to confusion.
“The hotel room had two beds for a reason.”
“Oh.” Oliver said, and then understanding hit him. “Oh! I’m sorry. When you said you were bringing a date, I assumed—”
“You assumed wrong.”
Another twist of disappointment swirled in Martin’s chest. They hadn’t talked about sleeping arrangements. Not that he didn’t want to sleep together, now that he thought about it. Not that he hadn’t thought about it before, but to hear Seb say it...
“We can put Martin in the guest room. It’ll give you some more privacy.” He smiled at Martin. It was a charming smile, likeable. Martin could see why Oliver had been successful in life, with a face like his and a smile like that.
“Why can’t Karen’s spawn stay here again? Why are we the ones who have to give up our hotel reservation?” Seb protested, but the fire had gone out of him.
“Two words. Thanksgiving 2009.”
Seb nodded. “Technically, that’s four words. Or possibly five.”
“Asshole.” But Oliver was smiling again.
Seb ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up from his scalp in white blond streaks like lightning. “Our original agreement still stands, though. You keep Dad away from me. I will be civil to everyone, and I will sleep in his house, but we are out of here first thing on Sunday morning.”
“Fine. Yes, fine, I’ll run interference. Let me show you guys to your rooms.”
* * *
In his childhood bedroom, Seb unzipped his bag, shaking. Fuck Oliver for keeping this from them until they were already here. Of course, he’d basically proved his brother’s need for secrecy by nearly storming out anyway. But then he’d felt Martin’s hand on his arm and seen Oliver’s lying, miserable face.
He’d make the effort, at least until someone else pissed him off.
Ollie said he’d show Martin to the guest room. When Seb was small, it was the den, and then converted to a bedroom when his great-grandmother lived with them for a few years before going to a nursing home. After that, it was reserved for guests, with its own en-suite bathroom.
He didn’t like leaving Martin alone in the house, where members of Seb’s family could be lurking around any corner. He set his bag on the bed and headed downstairs.
Martin was pulling a shirt over his head as Seb pushed open the guest room door. Navy waffle knit covered the line of his spine, an enticing path that Seb’s fingers itched to trace. He grinned and knocked against the doorframe. Martin jumped and spun, cheeks pink and hair askew.
“Most people knock and then wait.” He pulled the shirt the rest of the way down. It still hung loose on him, but the body underneath was lean and strong, not weak or thin.
“Most people close the door before they take off their shirt in a strange house.”
The corner of Martin’s mouth quirked up. “Oliver said everyone else was out.”
The edge of Seb’s earlier adrenaline still clung to him, making him think nasty things about Martin and his shirt.
“So you were waiting for me then?” He tugged at the hem, pulling Martin closer. Martin barely hesitated as their lips met, and Seb laughed as he tasted him. Martin sighed as Seb’s hands slid around his body.
“Were you waiting for me?” he asked again.
Martin didn’t reply, but he deepened the kiss, his tongue pressing against Seb’s lips. Seb nipped at it before he opened his mouth and let Martin in. Surprisingly, as the professor became more comfortable around Seb in this way, he did indeed turn out to be a great kisser, with the right mix of Martin-esque hesitation and determination.
Seb’s earlier tension faded. He concentrated on the feeling of Martin’s hands on him and Martin’s tongue in his mouth. As he pressed their bodies together more fully, Martin gasped. The sound sent a thrill of surprise and desire through him.
Behind them, someone cleared their throat.
Martin jumped back like he’d been electrocuted. Seb growled as he turned to face their audience.
Oliver stood in the doorway, looking sheepish.
“Asshole,” Seb muttered.
