Page 130 of Rears & Vices

Too true. Everard harrumphed and ate. It was a good pitahaya anyway, perfectly ripe and hardly bruised at all from being unceremoniously dashed onto old-growth pine. D’Arcy ate two of eight slices from both fruits himself; the rest he gave to Everard.

“He does ensure I eat,” Everard said, feeling as though he must defend Vitya. “Only, he doesn’t lob threats to do so. And he has done so since Galveztown. Along with… everything else involved in my convalescence.”

D’Arcy nodded. “Of course.” He squeezed Everard’s thigh. “He loves you, and was terrified to lose you.”

“I don’t see why,” Everard said lightly. “He wouldn’t have let me do anything but survive, I think.”

D’Arcy raised eyebrows. “Don’t make light. He’s quite aware how lucky we are you lived. Nothing doing with his will or anyone’s. Except maybe yours.”

“Speaking of his bloody will: Ought we discuss where, what, and when?”

Sable brows climbed higher. “Oh, you were speaking seriously?” Then they lowered in sheer Gallic disapproval. “Talk is one thing. A bloody exciting thing, I’ll grant you; but I’m not going to ambush a man with the draw of a knife like that.” He put up a restraining finger. “Much less a man with an arbitrary count of yeses he must meet to proceed in receiving fellatio. No, sir.”

Everard was flabbergasted. He’d felt sure D’Arcy would agree, and then they’d just done what they’d done…

“But—what? You waited for his yes—surely, he won’t mind! Given the number of times you and I—in his presence—” His presence and then some, he added mentally. Under his touch.

“I waited for his yes because I’m not suicidal,” D’Arcy said, “nor a bastard. Come off it, Ever.”

“Only that?”

“All right, and because I’m fairly fond of him, in spite of him. Because you love him. No, I shan’t set him up against his consent.”

“It wouldn’t be⁠—”

“Oh, no? Did he explicitly say he’d like to walk in upon us fucking, on the off chance?”

“Well—”

“Or set a date for it? Or—no, listen—did he, in reality, walk onto a different bloody ship at the first obvious opportunity for it? Hmmm?”

“He would never walk in knowing—” Everard paused. “Ah.”

D’Arcy threw up his hands. “And thereupon we have reached it.” He stood. “I’ll fuck you even if he won’t, Ever, but I won’t manipulate him into doing so.”

“It’s not manipulation,” Everard insisted, fairly horrified. “He isn’t obliged to— The man likes proof, is all. If only he saw me—and you⁠—”

D’Arcy looked him up and down. “And so you have it alrea⁠—”

The door to the printing parlour crashed open.

D’Arcy spun, drawing his pistol from somewhere; Everard thought maybe the floor. By the time Everard could look round him, D’Arcy had cocked the thing, levelled it, and just as hastily pointed it to the floor again.

“Vee, what in hell. Warn a man.”

By the looks of it Vitaliy hadn’t even flinched being drawn upon: he was a man with singular intent. His pupils were huge, whites showing all around beneath careless rings of kohl, lips pressed so tight, they were ivory white. His blue stare flicked up and down, assessing the threat of his fellow spy, dismissing it.

“Loaded?” He was breathless like he’d run the length of the two vessels, and taken a turn rowing the Birch, too.

“Yes,” D’Arcy said sheepishly. He shook his head and set the pistol down whence it came. “Always.”

“I’m sorry,” Vitaliy said, “for startling you.”

“Not at all,” D’Arcy said. “You’d do the same.” He sidestepped out of the way so that Vitya’s blue-hot gaze fell right upon Everard.

“Yes,” Vitaliy said.

Another man might have mistaken Vitaliy’s state for rage, or jealousy. Not him. No—Vitya was burning with sheer, untethered desire. After the past few weeks enduring its presence, Everard would’ve thought himself slightly more inured.