Page 131 of Rears & Vices

But he wasn’t. Not at all. His mouth had gone dry, his lips numbed.

Vitya came closer, steps heavy and sure. Everard remained seated. Vitya had never used his bulk to intimidate him, and certainly didn’t now. Furthermore, Everard wanted him. Like hell was he moving.

When Vitya was within a breath, he bent over the armchair, lifted Everard’s chin. He placed trembling hands on either side of Everard’s face, pulled him even closer.

“He’s had you?” Confirmation, not accusation.

Distantly behind them, D’Arcy snorted. “Such faith.”

“Er. Yes,” Everard said.

Vitya kissed him, sudden, fierce, and encompassing. Everard moaned against it, overwhelmed. It was the first hard, thorough kiss Vitya had bestowed upon him since before Galveztown; the rest had been soft, cautious, sweet. The contrast was dizzying.

Vitya broke off, forehead on Everard’s. “Good. I’m sorry. I waited as long as I could bear.”

“You waited quite a bit longer than that!” Everard protested. If Vitya would only keep kissing him—Everard was tired, but surely he could be hauled to the cot and kissed some more—“You can’t just pass me off, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Vitya said again. “I trust the lieutenant. He is yours. And,” he whispered, “I want too much. I want everything.”

Everard shook his head. “You needn’t have waited to come in, at least. Right, Preston?”

Best to have it out there, really.

“A-men,” D’Arcy said. He was going round, locking the doors to the companionway, the printing parlour. All things considered, it was a smart move. Rather considerate. Forward-thinking. Everard dearly hoped it was forward-thinking. That there would soon be something worth locking a door for.

“I will keep it in mind,” Vitaliy said, “for the future. Thank you. But for tonight…”

He looked up over his shoulder, found what he wanted.

Which… which…

I want everything.

Oh. Oh.

D’Arcy laughed when he caught Vitya’s gaze. “Oh, hell. Really, Vee? Now? I should’ve gone, shouldn’t I?”

Despite this declaration—whatever it meant—he sat at the desk and began to remove his boots.

“No,” Vitaliy whispered. His eyes were back on Everard; it was like being in a corner, stalked and waiting to be eaten. “Your place is here, Lieutenant.”

D’Arcy made a skeptical noise. “Happy to oblige, in any case.”

“I beg pardon,” Everard said, “But I am well and truly lost.”

D’Arcy laughed again, slightly brittle. “He wants me as proxy, Everard.” He removed his shirt, tossed it aside. “So he can wreck you. Without wrecking you. Yes, all right, Vee.”

Vitya nodded his acknowledgment.

“What?” Everard exclaimed. “That’s not… Is that quite fair? I don’t need a bloody… proxy. And what… what d’you mean by wreck?”

Vitya didn’t look away. He smiled.

What did he mean, indeed.

“In better world,” Vitya said patiently, “I’d have you both. But I cannot. I have only this one. These circumstances. And you”—he pointed—“do not argue, matelot—you are still recovering. So. Do you want to watch me fuck him until he cannot stand?”

Everard stared. Behind him came a soft curse.