“Hush.” Sebastian frowned at the stairs in front of him. “Is the cabin up or down?”
“You are so lucky I’m here,” Wesley said, with a pitying shake of his head. “Otherwise, I’d probably find you wandering the boat deck. Down the stairs.”
Sebastian’s brow furrowed. He carefully wrapped his hand around the railing and stepped down onto the first stair. Wesley quickly moved closer. It was nearly midnight and the few other passengers about were paying them no attention. He might be teasing, but he wasn’t going to let Sebastian tumble down a flight of stairs.
Sure enough, when Sebastian tried the third step, he stumbled. Wesley caught him before he pitched face-first into the stairs. “Steady there, duck.”
“Me encantan los patitos.” Sebastian made a walking motion with his fingers. “Tan lindo pajaritos, como siguen a su mama.”
“A first-class education in Latin, and I’m using it to try to decipher your drunken rambling.” Wesley shiftedbut kept a firm hold on Sebastian’s bicep. They’d been to enough parks that he recognizedpatoandpatito, by now, at least. “I said I wasn’t going to carry you, and yet here I am, keeping you upright while I’m pretty sure you’re babbling about ducklings following their mother. How unacceptably soft I’ve become. At least Arthur and Brodigan aren’t here to see this.”
“They’re not?” Sebastian said, with sincere confusion. “Where did Arthur and Rory go?”
“They’re in second class, which you’ve apparently forgotten. I’m sorry, but you truly have no head for whiskey.” Wesley kept his secure hold as they walked down the stairs. “That’s one flight down, steady on, one more deck to go.”
They made it to C-deck and Wesley guided Sebastian down the hall. No one was about, so he fished Sebastian’s key out of his jacket pocket and unlocked the stateroom, gently pushing him inside. “Into your room, there’s a good boy.”
Sebastian grabbed Wesley by the lapels and tugged him into the stateroom with him. “Call me that again. But take my clothes off first.”
Wesley laughed even as heat surged through him. “You’re drunk, sweetheart,” he said, the endearment slipping out through his own whiskey-loosened lips. “There will be no clothes coming off.”
Sebastian’s arms were twining around his neck. “You want to do it with our clothes on?”
Wesley tsked, trying to push the desire down even as he let Sebastian pull him against him. “Don’t tempt me. That’s not going to get you called a good boy.”
“Call me a bad one then.”
An intoxicating mix of lust and laughter surgedthrough Wesley again, something he’d only ever shared with Sebastian. “You really are a scoundrel.”
“This is our tale of viscounts and villainy.” Sebastian tilted his head back, arms still around Wesley’s neck as he stretched up to meet his lips. “Que hombre tan guapo, listo y dulce eres,” he murmured, as he kissed Wesley far more gracefully than any drunk should be able to kiss. “Todavía no sé cómo tuve la suerte de llamarte mío.”
Christ. Wesley only understood a handful of words—handsome,clever,sweet,mine—but he didn’t need a translation for the warmth in Sebastian’s voice or the caress in his touch. What a magic of its own it was, to be in the arms of this man.
“This is fighting dirty,” Wesley said, against Sebastian’s lips, trying to keep his head, “switching to Spanish so you can get away with saying soft things. And you’re still drunk, so it doesn’t matter how sweet your words in any tongue; nothing is happening but sleep.”
He gently pushed Sebastian down to sit on the edge of the bed under the porthole. Sebastian let him slide the jacket from his shoulders, but he’d furrowed his brow, looking up at Wesley like he’d just remembered something. “I was going to tell you: you don’t have to sleep with me.”
Wesley frowned, setting the jacket to the side and reaching for Sebastian’s bow tie. “Why are you saying that?”
“Wes, the bed is this big.” Sebastian awkwardly held up his hands as Wesley worked at his bow tie, maybe trying to illustrate the narrow mattress. “Es una cama corta y estrecha, is what I’m trying to say, a short, skinny bed. You will get no sleep if I’m in it with you.”
“You won’t get any sleep if you have a blood terror,” Wesley said flatly, as he unbuttoned Sebastian’s shirt.
“They won’t come,” Sebastian said quietly. “They are magic. I’m not. Not anymore.”
Oh please. It wasn’t going to be that simple; Wesley might have known about magic for only months, but it wasneversimple.
“I appreciate you,” Sebastian said, touching Wesley’s cheek with aching gentleness. “But you know people on this ship, and you shouldn’t be seen in my room. And if the Duke of Valemount’s niece is involved in this in any way—if she’s here to spy on us—she will be watching.”
Wesley sighed. “If that’s what you wish.”
He helped Sebastian out of his dress shirt to just the T-shirt beneath, then removed his shoes and trousers. As soon as his clothes were off, Sebastian rolled over, facing the porthole, his eyes closing almost instantly.
Such a lightweight. Still, though Sebastian might be drunk, his point was well-taken: Wesley did know people aboard this ship who would be curious why he was in Sebastian’s stateroom. And if they were being spied on, it would certainly be noticed if they slept in each other’s rooms.
Sebastian had tried to use his magic twice and it hadn’t come. It did seem unlikely the blood terrors could reach him now. And the bedswerequite narrow; two grown men would never fit.
The sensible thing to do would be for Wesley to return to his own room and have a good night’s sleep alone.
