Sebastian gave him a narrow-eyed look, but Isabel said, “Thank you, Lord Fine,” and pointed past the dining room.
Wesley pointedly pulled on Sebastian’s shoulder. Outnumbered, Sebastian gave in and went with him.
Past the dining room, Wesley found a short hall and then a decent-sized bedroom with a writing desk in the corner and two narrow beds side-by-side. It was gently lit by one small lamp on a nightstand, and by the sparkling city lights outside the large window that framed a beautiful view of Paris. The Eiffel Tower rose the highest, lit in the bright colors of the Citroën advertisement, glittering in oranges and yellows against the night sky.
Someone else might have found the sight romantic. Someone who wasn’t Wesley, of course.
“I can’t believe you’ve made me come to fucking Paris, and during a bleeding world’s fair at that.” Wesley held the door open for Sebastian. “I am not one of those saps who gets sentimental over this city. I despise people. I particularly despise tourists. And yet here I am, because of you.”
Sebastian gave him a suspicious look. “Are you going to say the bit about how you think everyone gives beautiful people whatever they want so they’re all very spoiled?”
“We do and you are.” Wesley leaned on the door to shut it firmly behind him. There was even a lock, wasn’t that nice. “And I hope what you want is to be in one of these beds with me, because that’s whatIwant and I haven’t made that a secret. But you look about to keel over.”
That got a tired smile, at least. Sebastian sat at the foot of one of the beds and ran his hands through his hair. “Iamtired,” he admitted. “But I do not know if I can sleep. I am—what is the expression, too locked up?”
“Tookeyedup.” And Wesley could think of a few ways to solve that problem. He casually turned the lock on the door as the music from the living room drifted in. “What’s this music called?”
“It’s a Cuban contradanza,” said Sebastian. “The musicians are from Havana.”
“Oh.”
There must have been something in Wesley’s tone, because Sebastian looked up. “Do you not like it?”
“Actually, I like it very much,” Wesley said truthfully. “It’s just—well. Do you dance?” He shook his head immediately. “A pointless and ridiculous question, ignore—”
“It is not pointless or ridiculous,” Sebastian said. “And yes, I do. At least, I did, a long time ago. Why?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying went. Wesley might as well confess. “Growing up, I was expected to dance with ladies at society events. I’m not like you, you understand, I’ve never fancied a woman. But I didn’t mind an occasional dance, because I knew the steps, and if I felt no desire for the woman in my arms, well, no one could see through my charade. But I always wondered what it would be like to dance with someone you’re attracted to.”
He stepped closer, nearly to Sebastian’s knees. “And now, I’m rather wildly attracted to a man from San Juan, and we’re listening to music from Havana in Paris. But all I could ask him to do is waltz.”
But Sebastian held his hand out. “You could teach me to waltz, and we’ll try it with a contradanza,” he said, “and another day, I can teach you what I know, and we can try a rumba to an English march.”
Wesley took his hand. In one smooth pull, he had Sebastian on his feet, only inches between them. “This isn’t the right time signature for a waltz,” he said, even as he pulled Sebastian close, sliding his hands around his waist to feel the muscles of his lower back firm under his palms.
“We’ll make it work,” Sebastian promised.
His face was nearly touching Wesley’s, the first shading of stubble on his jaw. They’d shared a morning shower far away in Yorkshire and the trace scent of his own soap was distracting when it was layered on Sebastian’s skin. Standing so close, their height difference once again became obvious, the way Sebastian had to tilt his head back to keep his eyes aligned with Wesley’s, the way he fit in Wesley’s arms as perfectly as a hand inside a bespoke glove.
“Actually.” Wesley slid his hands down from the small of Sebastian’s back to his arse, turning his face just enough to brush his lips against Sebastian’s temple. “Fuck the dancing. Let’s go straight to you flat on your back.”
Sebastian let out a surprised laugh as Wesley gave him a pointed shove that tumbled him to the mattress. Wesley followed him down, and their lips met.
Sebastian’s exhaustion was so palpable Wesley could taste it. Wesley slowed the kiss, watching Sebastian’s eyelashes flutter. His hands were on Wesley’s hips, but they weren’t moving, weren’t pulling desperately at his clothes the way he had the night before.
Ugh, Wesley despised doing the sensitivething.
“I’m going to make another bargain with you,” he said, against Sebastian’s lips.
Sebastian looked up, his eyes hazy, giant black pupils ringed with golden-brown. “What bargain?”
“In five minutes, I will do any filthy thing to you that your mind can dream up.”
Sebastian’s tongue darted out and wet his lips. “I like this bargain. What’s the catch?”
Wesley kissed his jaw. “You have to be awake in five minutes.”
Sebastian huffed. “Of course I’ll be awake.”
