Sebastian’s lips were moving across his jaw. “You’re the one who said I could use magic any way I wanted.”
“Yes, and now you’re using it so you don’t have to admit I’m right.” Fuck, the robe was falling open as Sebastian balanced on hands and knees, baring more skin that Wesley couldn’t fucking touch.
“I keep telling you I’m the worse scoundrel.” Sebastian’s lips found his ear. “You just keep forgetting.”
“Rubbish. I never forget anything.” It came out a lot more unsteady than Wesley had planned, as teeth gently grazed his hyper-sensitized skin. “Once a rogue, always a rogue, is that what you’re trying to claim? Please. The instant this magic is gone, I’ll show you who the scoundrel is.”
“Oh really?” Sebastian said, breath ghosting across Wesley’s ear. “Then I guess I better not let you up.”
And instead of easing, more magic flooded Wesley’s aura, rendering him a boneless puddle on the settee. An embarrassingly breathyfucktumbled from Wesley’s lips.
Sebastian lowered himself flat on top of him, their bodies aligned, and Wesley’s cock was so on board for this, the surreal sensation of being immobilized by a man not quite his own size. The magic wasn’t the rush that had knocked him down on the roof; now it felt controlled, sweeping through him with precision. This magic wasn’t reaching the next room; it was just for Wesley.
Sebastian dropped a light kiss to his lips, and Wesley groaned. “How is it that I can’t move but my cock is hard as stone?”
“Because my magic is in your aura.” Sebastian sounded fond and amused. “Your blood still works just fine.”
Another kiss, this one lingering, Sebastian’s tongue tracing his lips before slipping inside Wesley’s mouth. Christ, he was good at this. After a round of drinks—well, a few rounds of drinks—Wesley might admit to a domineering streak in bed, and Sebastian’s sweet nature stoked that side of him like petrol on flames. But this had an appeal all its own, and the way they fit together was dizzying, that Sebastian could dance between surrender or control and ensnare Wesley either way.
Sebastian pulled back, leaving Wesley’s lips tingling and craving more. “Tell me again how you’re just so much bigger than me.”
Wesley attempted a glare under half-lidded eyes. “You tell me where my sweetheart Sebastian went. This Sebastian is a total bastard.”
Sebastian grinned and brought their lips back together, intertwining his fingers with the ones Wesley couldn’t move. “Do you remember when you handcuffed me to your bed?” he murmured against Wesley’s lips.
A thrill sparked its way up Wesley’s spine, memory and anticipation weaving together. “Not likely to ever forget.”
Sebastian was leisurely maneuvering him alongside heady kisses, positioning Wesley’s arms out of the way, over his head on the settee, like Wesley was a doll. “It was just like this, no? Except I don’t need the handcuffs.”
Wesley could only groan again. “And you call me shameless.”
Sebastian’s lips brushed his again as fingers worked to loosen his tie, open his waistcoat, untuck and unfasten his shirt and undershirt.
“What are you doing, fuck all of that,” Wesley managed to say. “Thetrousers, get the trousers off.”
Sebastian pushed his shirts up in between the braces, the cool air welcome against the heat of Wesley’s trapped body. “What’s the rush?” Sebastian said meaningfully.
“Oh, fuck you,” Wesley said, his eyes rolling back as Sebastian’s lips found his bare stomach, each kiss blazing like a firework. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“What is it you say? Turnabout is fair play?”
“There is nothing fair about this,” Wesley slurred.
He felt Sebastian’s lips curl in a smile against his skin. “I’m afraid life’s not fair, duck.”
If Wesley could have moved, he would have beaten his head against the couch at Sebastian’s imitation of him, equal parts charmed and desperate. “Is this going to be vengeance? Are you going to draw this out, make me rue every time I’ve made you beg?”
Sebastian’s fingers found his waistband.
“Fuck,pleasesay no.” Wesley’s voice had gone gravelly and almost unrecognizable with want. “I’m a craven wretch who can’t handle a dose of his own medicine.”
A laugh rolled through Sebastian. “No. I don’t have your patience, Wes.” He opened the trousers with quick, deft movements. “I don’t want to wait to make you come apart.”
There was cool air and then a hot mouth, and it was a travesty that Wesley couldn’t lift his head to watch, except being unable to move only wound him up further. Sebastian wasn’t teasing at all now, wasn’t holding back, his lips and tongue and hands all focused on Wesley—along with his magic, rushing him like a high tide, almost as tangible against Wesley’s skin as Sebastian’s touch.
Fuck, Sebastian was good at this too. Wesley couldn’t think, couldn’t second guess himself or force himself to wait, and he’d been too worked up since the roof to last. Pleasure swept him, and he arched into it as the magic in his aura let him go. His hands flew to Sebastian, needing to touch and finding his soft hair, the silky skin of his shoulder. He mumbled something, maybe Sebastian’s name, as his head tipped back, the parlor ceiling above out of focus even for his sharp eyes.
Aftershocks danced through him as he raised his head enough to see Sebastian. He was sprawled out on top of Wesley, their legs tangled, his arms folded on Wesley’s chest and his head on his arms, so it rose and fell with Wesley’s breaths.
