That’s an apt analogy.
Wesley’s soldiers who’d been captive behind enemy lines hadn’t beengood sleeperswhen they’d finally been rescued, either.
Wesley’s chest burned, hot and uncomfortable. He was mocking a traumatized medic who’d survived years of supernatural torture, who might be suffering a kind of paranormal shell shock, and why? Did he actually believe he should toughen Sebastian up, like his own father had toughened him up? As if it wasn’t the height of hubris to think he could toughen a man who had lived through something Wesley’s own mind still couldn’t comprehend.
Sebastian was now kneeling on the edge of the marble, examining the flume, and abruptly Wesley found himself walking toward him. “Sebastian.”
Sebastian glanced up, his expression guarded. Of course he was fucking guarded around Wesley; everything the man had been through recently had hurt him, up to and including Wesley himself.
“I—” Wesley hesitated. He normally didn’t entertain the notion of shame; if people disliked his sharp edges, they were free to fuck off and find wealth and status somewhere else. Except Sebastian wasn’t going to fuck off, because he wasn’t here for those things; he was here to protect Wesley’s sorry life and the very least Wesley could do was try to be less miserable than blood magic. Surely even Wesley could manage that?
Sack up, Wes. The man survived torture—he can survive you, andyoucan survive an apology.
Wesley straightened and steeled himself. “I shouldn’t have mocked you, whether this evening or this morning. Please accept my apology.”
Surprise crossed Sebastian’s face, and didn’tthatsay worlds about Sebastian’s life, that when Wesley had handcuffed him to a bed, he’d only looked resigned, but when Wesley attempted to treat him with a speck of decency the man seemed genuinely lost. “You don’t—”
“I do,” Wesley said. “I do, in fact, need to say sorry, because that’s what one should do when one has been an utter arse.” He cleared his throat and hurriedly went on, before Sebastian could speak. “If there’s no firewood in the box, there’s likely some in one of the other suites, or the kitchens.”
“There is wood,” said Sebastian. “No matches, though.”
“I have matches,” Wesley said, because suddenly it seemed ridiculous that he could have ever thought Sebastian would mock him for needing to keep a pack of cheap cigarettes always on hand. That was the kind of thing Wesley himself would have done, not the sweet thing who was gingerly avoiding kneeling on the tiger rug. “I smoke. I mean, I’ve decided I don’t want to anymore, but stopping is devilishly more difficult than starting, isn’t it? Do you? Smoke, I mean?”Christ, Wesley, speak in full sentences, can’t you?
“Sometimes I did in the army.” Sebastian sat back on his heels, looking up at Wesley. “It wasn’t an option the past few years.”
Because he was trapped underblood magic. Right. Wesley reached into his coat pocket for the matchbook. “Here, if you insist on a fire. You do realize it’s not particularly cold out?”
“You’re right. It’s coldandwet.”
Sebastian reached for the matches, and their hands brushed. Sebastian’s fingers were like ice, and Wesley had an unfamiliar urge to wrap them tightly in his own. “You’re ruining your reputation as a dangerous rogue, you know,” he said, forcing himself to drop his hand. “Apparently you’re a delicate orchid who ought to be sheltered in the greenhouse with the other tropical flowers.”
Andfinally, his tone came out right, not mocking but the tease he wanted, and he got to watch Sebastian sputter. “I’m notdelicate.”
“Oh yes, that magic business,” Wesley said wryly. “I don’t suppose you’d consider that for helping me quit the smokes?”
“Mymagic? You are joking, yes?”
“Why would I be?” Wesley said. “I reach for my cigarettes, you knock me on my arse. Dashed good bargain, I’d think.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, but a grudging smile was on his lips. “I am not going to knock you on yourarse.”
Christ, he was fucking adorable. “Why not? I bet you want to, everyone who speaks to me does. I’m the worst person most people have met.”
Sebastian smiled, soft and kind of sad. “You are not the worst personI’vemet,” he said, sweet and patient. “And the first time you met me, I was literally kidnapping someone. If you want to be the villain of the two of us, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to try harder.”
Wesley opened his mouth, then closed it. No, Sebastian wasn’t going to judge him for addiction, or even for his sharp tongue. Sebastian’s judgment was apparently reserved for himself.
“You should take the bed,” Wesley said, because abruptly things like army ranks and being lord of the manor didn’t matter. What mattered was that he make Sebastian more comfortable.
But Sebastian shook his head. “As we said, I am your bodyguard, yes? I will sleep on the couch and keep you safe from any magic.”
Ugh, wasn’t that typical. For once in his life, Wesley wanted to be the chivalrous one and Sebastian had to go and effortlessly outshine him.
“It’s a big bed. We could share,” he said lightly. He never shared his bed to sleep, not even with his lovers. He had a very nice guest room for exactly that reason. Wesley didn’t keep men in his space longer than it took to fuck them—not because he disliked touch, but because he enjoyed ittoomuch, and it would be too easy to crave as uncontrollably as a cigarette. He had to keep himself in check.
But they’d only be sleeping, and he already craved Sebastian to distraction anyway. It would be exquisite torture to be so close, but he wasn’t going to make the man suffer just to spare himself an aching cock.
Except Sebastian’s sad smile had returned. “You do not want to sleep next to me,” he said, like it had a deeper meaning. “You take the bed. It’s my fault you didn’t sleep last night.”
