Chapter Six
Wesley woke as the first rays of the sun were peeking through the gap in the curtains. They’d shifted at some point during the night, Wesley onto his back, Sebastian now asleep with his head pillowed on Wesley’s ribs. His arm was still across Wesley, curled to keep him close. Wesley had woken in positions like this since the night they’d started a physical relationship all the way back in York. If Sebastian was capable of keeping to his own space in a bed, Wesley had yet to see it.
It made no sense to share a bed after sex. Sebastian was probably half on top of him because there was simply not enough room for two tall men. Or because he’d spent his childhood on a Caribbean island and was cold in places like England and New York. He’d likely slept this close and clinging to every partner he’d ever had, because Wesley wasn’t special, didn’t bring any particular kind of comfort.
I know you don’t cuddle.
Wesley most certainly did not. For fuck’s sake, he didn’t even know how. He’d be stiff and useless, nothing but awkward, misplaced limbs. He didn’t cuddle and Sebastian should be grateful for that—he wouldn’t want Wesley to.
Sebastian was admittedly very good at it, though.
The sun was falling across the bed, on the blanket around Sebastian’s ribs. His shoulders were uncovered, moving ever so slightly with each breath Wesley took. He could probably hear Wesley’s heartbeat in his sleep. The bare skin tempted Wesley’s fingers, because he knew exactly how soft it was under his touch.
Stupid temptation. As if Wesley knew how to touch another person if they weren’t fucking. But then, Sebastian was still fast asleep, wouldn’t know if Wesley was getting it wrong.
Sebastian’s arm was turned just enough that he could see the edge of the lion, and after a moment, he gave in to his own craving and ran his fingers over the ink. This he couldn’t resist, a tattoo for his eyes alone, and surely that was understandable? Amagictattoo, when he’d driven that magic to escape Sebastian’s control last night?
His lips softened into something like a smile. He’d spent so long wishing his memories weren’t quite so sharp. Another change, to have things he wanted to remember.
He skated his fingers up Sebastian’s arm where it was draped over his torso. Wesley loved sex, couldn’t ever get enough of it. But the rare moments like this one, when Sebastian seemed content and Wesley’s mind was at ease, when he let himself touch just for the sake of touch—these were moments it almost felt like his heart wasn’t truly made of stone, just the hardest of earth, that maybe Wesley hadn’t become bitter and cold beyond hope.
He’d never fall for the ruse, of course. Life delighted in finding ways to sabotage any spark of joy, and hope only made disappointment sting harder. Sebastian was brave to walk around with a soft heart; Wesley was far too much of a realist for that.
He ran his hand back down Sebastian’s arm. Such an obvious soft heart that it became too easy to forget what Sebastian hid. How hard was it, for Sebastian to be back in New York? If Wesley didn’t care for his memories of this city, how much worse were Sebastian’s? Likely nightmare fuel beyond what even Wesley and his wartime actions could fathom.
And yet here, in bed with him, Sebastian’s sleep was peaceful, as if he’d finally let go and trusted Wesley to keep them safe.
I’m so lucky to have you. You make everything so good.
Preposterous. The sort of thing only the kindest soul would say about a bastard like Wesley.
But damn if he didn’t make the jaded, cynical stone of Wesley’s useless heart want to bloom again.
The October dawn was cool, and the skin under Wesley’s fingers was chilled to the touch. The ridiculous tropical flower would probably be shivering shortly. Wesley reached down and pulled the blankets up, tucking them around Sebastian’s shoulders. A logical thing to do; they needed to rise soon, and if Sebastian got poor sleep because he was cold, Wesley might be dealing with a cranky lover all day. He was simply taking precautions. For selfish reasons, because he was a selfish bastard.
He wrapped an arm around Sebastian—not tocuddle, obviously, just to anchor the blanket in place so it wouldn’t slip down again—and let himself drift back off.
The next time he woke, it was to a knock on his door.
Wesley groaned. “I told them not to disturb me for any reason.”
He reluctantly sat up, dislodging Sebastian, who made a displeased noise and buried himself completely under the covers as Wesley pulled on a full-length robe and went to the door. He opened it an inch.
There was no one there, but on the floor in front of his door was a rolled-up copy of theNew York Times.
They’d disturbed his sleep for the fucking paper? He picked it up, slamming the door behind him.
He went back to the bedroom, where Sebastian was now sitting up in bed, looking as disgruntled as Wesley felt. The covers had pooled around his waist, and his wavy hair was sticking up at all angles. Nothing would get Wesley to admit there might be something to this sharing a bed thing, but what a pretty picture he made.
“You look tired,” Wesley said slyly. “Rough night?”
Sebastian gave him a dirty look. “I thought you told them not to disturb you.”
“Morning staff must not have gotten the message.” Wesley unrolled the paper, and an envelope fell out.
He stilled.
“What’s that?” Sebastian said, quite suddenly infinitely more awake.
