“Make it work, Ace,” Rory ordered. “And hurry up with the jacket.”
“Bossy.” Arthur wriggled out of his jacket with difficulty, maneuvering gracelessly in the tight back seat. “Do you like chocolate?”
“You know I do.” Rory turned sideways on the back seat and tugged on the black pinstriped suit jacket over the waiter’s uniform he was still wearing. “What’s that got to do with anything?” he added, as he smoothed the sleeves, which came halfway down his hands. It was way too big, but he’d have to hope no one gave them too much attention.
“I brought you some chocolates from Montreal,” said Arthur. “The box is in my trunk. But don’t say anything about it, it’s a surprise for your birthday.”
Rory bit back a smile. “Yeah, you got it,” he promised.
As the cabbie parked, Rory dropped his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Doorman asks who I am, tell ’em the nephew story, all right? Theodore Kenzie.”
Arthur looked at him for a long moment. “I like that,” he said quietly.
“Good,” said Rory. “So you can—”
“Although the nephew part is a bit odd, come to it, isn’t it, considering we—that we, well—considering I’m very clearlynotyour uncle and not exactly looking to fill that particular role in your life—”
“Definitely talky after drinks,” Rory muttered with affection, and passed the cab fare to the driver in the front seat.
Arthur managed to walk on his own, looking mostly dignified and only stumbling the tiniest bit as the doorman opened the door for them.
“Good evening, Mr. Kenzie,” he said, as he held the door. Rory’s too-small cap sat awkwardly high on Arthur’s head, but if the doorman noticed he was too polite to say it. “Welcome back to New York. Your trunk was delivered to your apartment earlier this evening.”
“Thank you, that’s appreciated,” Arthur said magnanimously, adding, “Come along, nephew,” as Rory tagged close behind. He didn’t think he’d seen this doorman before, but just in case he kept his head down and his trap shut.
They made it up the elevator and inside Arthur’s apartment. Just the sight of the foyer was enough to loosen the constant tension in Rory’s shoulders. He’d missed this place so much. Even with the dusty scent of weeks of emptiness, it felt more like home than his boarding house ever had.
Emotion welled in his chest, and as soon as the door was shut he pushed Arthur against it and stood on his toes to press their lips together.
Arthur made a surprised but happy noise. “I missed you,” he said into Rory’s mouth, sliding his back down the wall until he was low enough that Rory could come down flat on his feet and keep the kiss going.
“Missed you too.” Rory pulled back, just an inch, with a rueful smile. “I got a lotta things I wanna do to you, Ace,” he said, cupping Arthur’s stubbly jaw in his hands, “but it doesn’t feel right if you’re drunk.”
“Drunk, what? Me? Psht.” Arthur clumsily put his hands in Rory’s hair, knocking the fedora to the floor. “I’m not drunk. And even if I was, don’t let that stop you. Consider it open season on my body, like a fox hunt.”
Rory huffed a line. “That is aterribleline.”
“Shut up, it’s a great line, I’m always terribly eloquent. I really like your curls, have I told you that?”
“Not like I get tired of hearing it,” Rory admitted. He scooped up Arthur’s fedora off the floor, then pulled a heavy, muscular arm over his shoulder again. “I’m putting you to bed. Not like that,” he added pointedly.
He steered Arthur down the hall to the bedroom and the big four-poster bed. After tugging the cap off Arthur’s head, he carefully tossed the hats onto the seat of the bedroom’s one velvet chair. He gently but pointedly pushed Arthur down to sit on the mattress’s edge, then climbed on to straddle his lap.
Arthur’s arms came around his waist. “This is nice.”
“Yeah, it is,” Rory said quietly. More than nice. Rory had missed him so much his untouched skin almost hurt.
The position put him slightly higher than Arthur, so that Arthur was the one who had to tilt his head back for them to kiss as Rory worked at Arthur’s tie, vest, and the tiny buttons of his shirt. Arthur tasted of oranges and licorice, his stubble the thickest Rory had ever seen. He brushed it with his lips, then his own jaw. “I wish beards were popular. You’d look good with one.”
“Christ no, it grows thick as fur. Two days without shaving and I’m indistinguishable from a bear.”
Rory laughed out loud. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He slid Arthur’s shirt off his shoulders, leaving him in a sleeveless white undershirt, soft against his calloused fingers. He was getting better at navigating Arthur’s fancy, complicated clothes.
He pushed Arthur down on his back on the bed and then slid from his lap.
Arthur sat partway up on his elbows. “Where are you going?”
“You still got shoes and pants I need to take off.”
