Page 66 of Rears & Vices

“You could,” Vitaliy said. “If you wanted.”

Everard had his doubts. He was still wondering what had happened to the dark intent behind Vitaliy’s sidelong glance.

“He’s the donkey, not you,” Everard declared. “And I don’t like him.”

Vitaliy’s face remained calm, unmoved. He nodded, as though taking this into serious consideration. He jerked his chin towards the Stanhope. “Is it as you expected?”

“Oh, yes. Every screw accounted for, and not a bit of rust. Thank you. She’ll do beautifully.”

“Good.”

Sometimes, Everard thought, there was such a thing as too much patience.

But then, perhaps it was intentional. You could. If you wanted.

And if that was what Vitya wanted…? To be led?

“I’m too tired to set type tonight and test it properly, though.” Everard stretched. His shoulders ached from turning the wrench in wide arcs, over and over. That wasn’t why he stretched. “Tomorrow.”

Vitaliy was faultlessly observant. “Shame,” he murmured. “I could watch you pull that thing all night.”

“Oh?” Everard stepped a bit closer—not close enough to touch. “As it happens, I like to be watched.”

Vitaliy said nothing. His lips twitched, and he raised his chin.

Invitation.

Everard reached down to the fall of his breeches. He drew his prick free from drawers and let it bob. “This is what you meant?”

Vitaliy’s gaze slid south, back up again. Surely it was.

Everard undressed. Shoes, socks, drawers. Clothing duly banished, he took himself in hand.

Vitaliy shifted once to readjust—a very necessary maneuver—but otherwise remained still as Everard stood before him, stroking himself, up and down.

Facing Vitaliy like this was like facing the sun as it hung low on the horizon: warm and golden, throwing everything it touched into sharp relief and saturated colors. Just bright enough that when one turned away, it glinted at edge of one’s vision. One wanted to stare, but knew one mustn’t.

Everard did anyway.

“Next time,” Vitaliy said, voice low and rough, “the apron and nothing else.”

Everard hastily paused. “God.” He groaned. “You want this to end, then, as soon as may be. What happened to all night?”

Vitaliy lifted an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“Says the man with nothing urgent in his hand.”

“I want to look.” Vitaliy blinked, slow. “Looking is fine?”

“Mmm.” It was, Everard thought, quite obviously more than fine. “Yes.” But…

You could.

“If I have further plans for you, Vitya?”

Vitya inhaled. Leaned there, staring and wanting.

“Fine, too,” he whispered, at last.