Wesley stole another glance at Sebastian.
Hell if it wasn’t fucking worth it, though.
They crossed another street and picked their way over the train tracks, heading for a run-down structure on the edge of the Hudson River that must have been a factory at one time. At present, it was deserted, the windows broken and the door boarded shut.
“We could be at the hotel right now,” Wesley pointed out, both of them picking up the pace as the rain continued to needle them. “I could be watching you strip off most of your clothes.”
“Wesley.Priorities.”
“What could possibly take priority over that?” Wesley said, without apology, as they reached the dilapidated structure. “Do you have any idea how good you look at twilight, as the glow of city lights starts to dance along your skin?”
Sebastian side-eyed him. “That’s very romantic.”
“Particularly when I finally get your trousers off and your legs over my—”
“What happened to the romance?” Sebastian said, as they ducked beneath the arch that sheltered the building’s front door, tucked away out of sight and away from the rain.
“Please, I’m a fucking poet,” Wesley said. “Miss Robbins should have me on her speakeasy stage at the Magnolia, not acting as errand boy.”
Sebastian grinned. “I could listen to you for hours,” he said, gaze on the empty street. “And you agreed to run this errand because no matter how grouchy you pretend to be, you’re a very good friend who would do anything for Jade. It’s a short list of people she trusts to help her with bootlegging.”
And in the hidden shadows of their shelter, he tilted his head up and brushed his lips against Wesley’s cheek, light and soft.
Wesley stilled. The kiss had been over in an instant. Subtle enough that it might have been missed even if they’d been standing in a crowded room, innocent enough that Sebastian could have gotten away with telling Americans that he’d absentmindedly slipped into a Spanish cultural habit. Sebastian had even checked the street for prying eyes before he’d done it. Wesley had been blown by a stranger in a public park on no less than three occasions, all of which had brought a far greater risk of discovery than that tiny kiss.
They hadn’t been seen and Wesley wasn’t afraid that they had. He was hyperaware of the action for a more aggravating reason.
Sebastian had gone back to watching the street. Wesley surreptitiously touched his cheek. The kiss had been subtle, sweet, and innocent. An affectionate gesture to go with affectionate words, and Sebastian had given it without a second thought. Meanwhile, Wesley was already giving it third, fourth, possibly infinite thoughts.
Casual affection was, of course, a thing. He obviously knew that. It was a thing some couples did, andmore to the point, a thing Sebastian sometimes did, and a thing Wesley secretly appreciated; he craved Sebastian’s touch the way he craved nicotine and was quite on board with having as much of it as possible.
But if more touch was an option, Wesley also wanted to give it, to get his hands and lips on Sebastian even when they weren’t having sex.
And he didn’t have the first fucking clue what to do with that feeling, or how to go about it.
“Wes, look.” Sebastian pointed. “I think I see Rory.”
Wesley raised his eyes heavenward. Christ, how very Sebastian, to send Wesley spiraling into the insensible world of emotion and not have the decency to even know he’d done it.
Rory was crossing the street, shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. His hounds-tooth newsboy cap was pulled low over blond curls and he was eying their building suspiciously from behind round black glasses.
Yes, he was short and young, and that was how he physically appeared. It had been all Wesley had seen, when they first met. But Rory had been aged emotionally by a hard life and his volatile magic. His psychometry let him see the past of objects—and he’d become stuck in those pasts more than once, Wesley had learned from Arthur, Wesley’s ex-lover-turned-friend and Rory’s current beau.
It wasn’t fair or nice for Wesley to harp on his youth, especially considering Rory had once saved Wesley’s life. But then, Wesley had never claimed to be a fair or nice man.
Sebastian ducked out from under their shelter, waving tentatively. He was getting more confident of hisnew status as friend, but he’d once kidnapped Rory. It never seemed to matter that Sebastian had been under the control of blood magic at the time and that everyone else had forgiven him; he still struggled to let go and forgive himself.
But Rory genuinely brightened. “Hey Seb,” he called to Sebastian, waving back, which made Sebastian break into a real smile.
And yes, Wesley was going to call Rory an infant, likely forever, but at the end of the day he’d also do anything for someone who could make Sebastian smile like that. Maybe friendship was complicated; Wesley was, admittedly, still fairly new to the concept.
A moment later, Rory had joined them, squeezing into their tiny shelter under the roof. “Look at you, out of Arthur’s sight,” Wesley said. “How is he coping? Should we telegram and assure him that you haven’t been mugged or, I don’t know, unacceptably jostled by passersby?”
Rory gave him a disgruntled look, which seemed to be his default expression around Wesley. “I can handle myself.”
“I’m well aware,” Wesley said. “Arthur is the one who needs constant reminding. I can’t believe he’s letting you bootleg unsupervised; it seems very out of character for him.”
“Well,” Rory said grudgingly, “he didn’t want to. But that’s why you two are here. I told him to stop worrying and stick with his brother; John needs his help and the three of us are gonna be fine.”
