Page 129 of Rears & Vices

Everard stared. Somewhere behind him, Romilly René was cackling and muffling it—ineffectively—in her sleeve.

D’Arcy sighed again, rather less contented this time.

“Please, God,” he muttered, “tell me there’s been a recent rum take?”

René came forward and rescued them all, drawing Lady Princey away into her long-nailed grasp.

Another matter for another time. Everard was intent.

He put his fingers to his lips. “I think I can do you one better than rum.”

D’Arcy’s own lips drew up into a lopsided smirk. “Oho?”

Everard glanced over. Vitya was watching them steadily, eyes wide and knowing. But before Everard could make any sort of invitational gesture, Vitya flushed, ducked head and shoulders—a sort of nod, almost not one—and walked across the gangway to the Enemistad.

Away.

As clear as day.

Fine, then.

Predictably, D’Arcy did not require convincing.

“When, where, and how d’you want it, again?” he asked breathlessly. “Quite like that?”

Having been informed of the plan, D’Arcy had been enamored. So enamored he’d bent Everard over his desk in the greatcabin, removed his sapphire ring—Because why not prove your point now? I know you can take it. It could be now. He could walk in any moment, he’ll come in and see you spread for me, see how well you take it—and had him then and there with his fingers, steady and fierce and fast.

Everard’s head hadn’t yet stopped spinning, but his heart still beat; he hadn’t perished in extremis; D’Arcy was really very, very good.

Even if Vitaliy hadn’t come in.

D’Arcy added into his ear, “Or something more drawn-out, perhaps?”

Everard groaned. “Get… off,” he said clearly, “and give a man a moment.”

D’Arcy straightened and complied, stepping back with a last swat and affectionate caress over Everard’s skin; he didn’t seem to want Everard to reciprocate. His boots clacked on the deck, and only then did Everard realise neither of them had earnestly disrobed.

It had been a long few months.

D’Arcy gave him more than a moment: he washed hands, tossed the basin water down the head, replaced it; then walked to where he’d thrown off his coat and rummaged in its pockets. Everard decided to make a night of the fading light. He cleaned up, shucked shoes and breeches and stockings, and sat in the armchair. The rest would bide. Vitaliy would return eventually.

He put his head back against dizziness. Even undressing was still a bit tiring. “Missed you, Preston,” he murmured.

D’Arcy brought forth from his coat pockets two bright fuchsia pitahaya fruits and a small knife. He sat on the arm of the chair, cut the fruit and peeled it, then put a slice of it on the knife end, pushed it close to Everard’s face.

“Eat.”

Everard scowled at the white-fleshed, black-seeded stuff. “I do eat. Whatever happened to ‘missed you, too’?”

“I said that a dozen times at least, three fingers deep.” D’Arcy pushed the fruit closer. “But if you hadn’t heard it, I suppose I can’t blame you, poor, deprived thing, you.”

Everard glared.

D’Arcy smiled tranquilly. “I don’t mind doing what Vee won’t. Eat, or I will call in Rob the cook with a full spread.”

Everard ate. “Vitya’s concern is silent,” he accused, when he had chewed, swallowed, licked his lips. “And unforced.”

D’Arcy gave him a look and put forth another slice. “Forced. Surely. Any louder with your assent, Ever, and Vee would’ve heard you on the Enemistad.”