“Really,” Wesley said dryly. “Because your hands are on my arse, but you’re so tired that I think you’ve forgotten.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes.
Before he could move, Wesley rolled off him, onto his back. “Come on, then. Get comfortable. All you have to do to foil my gambit is stay awake.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, but he had a tiny smile as he shifted onto his side, facing Wesley. But then, instead of putting his head on the pillow, he moved into the crook of Wesley’s arm, so their bodies were pressed together.
Oh. Look at them.Cuddling.
Sebastian was settling against him, closer still. “You’re coming for my body heat, aren’t you, you tropical orchid,” Wesley said, like Sebastian seeking him for comfort was a trifling thing, like it didn’t make the stone he called a heart feel too big for his chest. “You’re basically just a big shameless cat yourself.”
“If you don’t want to cuddle, you could always fuck me,” Sebastian said innocently.
A pulse of want went through Wesley. He was going to put this brat through the damn bed—at least, once Sebastian was actually awake for it. “Look at you, trying to goad me when you’re half-asleep on top of me already,” Wesley said. “I’m trying to besensitiveright now and it’s like wearing a shirt that doesn’t fit, so mind your manners and don’t make it harder for me. Metaphoricallyorliterally.”
Sebastian huffed a quiet sort of laugh. His arm was resting on Wesley’s chest, his shirtsleeve rucked up high enough that Wesley could see the top of the lion’s mane.
The lion that only Wesley could see.
Maybe my magic just likes you,Sebastian had said.
It had to be impossible. No one liked Wesley, and certainly no one’smagic, and most certainly not the wild and dangerous magic of the gorgeous sweetheart who’d just trustingly curled up against him.
But the thought of it, of being liked by Sebastian’s magic, like flowers blooming in the wild of the woods. Of that magic choosing to allow Wesley, and only Wesley, to see the lion hiding in the tattoo—
Wesley quickly cleared his throat, because if he let these thoughts go on, the stone heart in his chest might crack. “Five minutes, and because I’m not interested infair fights, I’m going to fill those minutes with a historical accounting of all of England’s illustrious Viscount Fines. Good luck staying awake.”
Sebastian scoffed. “You can’t possibly put me to sleep by talking about yourself. You’re much too interesting.”
Oh. That was nice. “No flirting,” Wesley chided. “This has to be the topic. I can’t talk about anything except myself.”
Sebastian snorted.
“I’m quite serious,” said Wesley. “I am my own entire conversational repertoire.”
“I like it.” Sebastian’s voice was thick with sleepiness. “Me encanta escucharte.”
“Excuse me, you don’t get to be cute and switch to Spanish, you know I enjoy it and that’s cheating.”
Sebastian smiled, his eyes mostly closed. “It meansI like listening to you.Or maybe,it enchants me to hear you, but I thought you would find it weird if I said that in English.”
“Oh.” No, Wesley didn’t find it weird, he found itfucking romantic, thank you very much, and it wasn’t helping his resolve to let Sebastian sleep without Wesley mauling him through the bed.
Wesley glanced at the nightstand, trying to distract himself. “There’s a book here,Ternura, if I’m saying that right. I think it’s in Spanish, but I can butcher your language if you’d like me to read it to you instead.”
“No, I want to hear about you.” Sebastian’s head rested near Wesley’s heart, a pleasant weight on Wesley’s chest. Why was this so outrageously comfortable? Why did keeping someone else warm make Wesley feel this good? “You’re really going to come to Barcelona with me?”
I might be willing to go anywhere with you.
Or I might be willing to stay right here and never move with you.
Oh, Christ, clearly Wesley was tired too if his thoughts were running in intolerably sappy directions.“I will require plenty of shade,” he said out loud, trying for a suitably detached tone. “So. Viscount Fines. Our story begins with a wretched man in the seventeenth century, because I come by my own wretchedness very honestly, you know, it’s right there in the blood.”
There was no response, except Sebastian’s soft breathing.
“I would dearly love to sayI told you so,” Wesley said, amused. “Except you’re asleep, so I can’t even enjoy being right. You should know I’m always right, and you may as well accept that now because—”
Because Wesley didn’t want to let him go.
