Eleven
“Idon’t understand why you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry,” Paul said as he handed Gates his overcoat.
“You’re still angry,” Reginald accused as he followed. “You wouldn’t speak to me all the way home.”
“It was a short ride,” Paul answered in a low grumble as he headed for the decanters in the sitting room and poured himself a drink.
“You’re angry because I’m not taking Lord Winterstone seriously,” Reginald guessed but Paul shook his head.
“I’m not angry.” But Paul bit back a curse and washed it down with what looked like whiskey.
“Whatever this is, it doesn’t look like fun.” Reginald took Paul’s glass and sipped from it while they stared at each other. Paul was the first one to break and snorted as he reached for another glass.
“I’m frustrated and I’m concerned,” Paul conceded as he poured. “I’ve been bowing and kissing lords’ and ladies’ fancy asses for weeks and then you turn up, rambling about hacking and an inner net—”
“Internet,” Reginald corrected, then bit down on his lips when Paul gave him a threatening look. “As you were saying,” he prompted and Paul sighed, deflating as he studied his whiskey.
“I’ve been asking the same tired questions and coming up with the same useless answers while Lord Winterstone and Sir Francis laughed behind my back for weeks. I’ve done nothing but waste time and make a fool of myself and then you come along, wasting time and making a fool of yourself and me. And yet, somehow, you manage to figure it all out in less than a day.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve stolen your thunder.”
“Stolen my thunder?” Paul squinted at Reginald. “I don’t give a fuck about thunder. I could have saved a life or two and now I’ve got to keep you from getting yourself killed.”
“No, no, no!” Reginald put his glass down and took Paul’s from him. He set it next to his and hooked his arm around Paul’s. “This is not a time for sulking. Let’s see if Gates has any champagne.” He steered Paul toward the foyer and gave his chest a pat. “I’m the one who’s been tripping over this one for weeks. I’m the one who feels like a fool.”
Paul covered Reginald’s hand with his as he stopped them. “What if we had joined forces weeks ago? How many young women could I have saved if I’d found you earlier and asked you for help?”
“Paul, that’s absurd. You’re missing the point. You exist in the Dark Ages of criminology and forensics. I have countless advantages you’ll never fathom and I already knew who the bad guys were so I knew where to look.”
“Maybe you really are a time-traveling wizard,” Paul chuckled wryly. “You keep saying this is a nightmare or you’re hallucinating but it feels more like a fairytale to me. I think I’d believe you if you told me you were a wizard and this was some kind of spell.” He swayed closer and coughed softly as he brushed his lips against Reginald’s, creating a spark. Reginald shivered and held onto the lapels of Paul’s coat.
“That was magic. Again,” Reginald whimpered and shut his eyes. Paul’s lips covered Reginald’s and they both groaned as their tongues swirled and thrust greedily.
“Christ, Marston,” Paul growled as he stumbled back, pulling Reginald with him as he reached behind him for the banister.
“Please. Say my name. I need—”
“Reginald.” Paul kissed him again. Hard. Reginald was crying as their lips mashed and they tripped up the stairs. “Reginald.” He made Reginald’s eyes roll as Paul lapped at his lips, his cheek, his neck. “Oh fuck, Reginald…” Paul panted his name as he backed Reginald into the wall.
“Yes! Don’t stop!” Reginald ordered and tore at Paul’s coat and his collar as he pushed him toward the bedroom.
“I can’t! I can’t fight this anymore.” Paul captured Reginald’s face and kissed him savagely, swearing, lapping, and sucking desperately as they bumped into each other and flung clothes out of the way. “You have to tell me… I don’t know how…” Paul mumbled, then gasped when Reginald pressed their naked bodies together. Their feet were still bound by their trousers, their inexpressibles, and boots so Reginald pulled Paul with him as he fell onto the bed.
“Don’t worry,” Reginald huffed as he kicked and twisted until his legs were free and he was on top. “Oh, that’s more like it,” he said as he took in Paul in all his naked glory. So much was achingly familiar but there were different scars and this Paul had never manscaped. Dark curls dusted Paul’s chest, abs, and the trail of hair he normally kept neatly trimmed was fuller and led to a thick bush. “Sweet Jesus.” He dropped and buried his face between Paul’s pecs. Reginald made a euphoric sound as he rubbed his nose and his lips all over Paul’s body, basking in his scent, his taste, his heat, and the sound of his strangled pleas.
“That’s…!” Paul yelped as Reginald’s face pushed into his armpit. “Reginald!”
“Mmmmmm!” He moaned rapturously, filling his nostrils. “You smell just like you but more. It’s incredible!”
There were traces of milled soap and the bitter hints of aftershave on his neck and jaw but the rest was pure, clean, primal Paul. Reginald was in heaven as he nuzzled the hairs at the base of Paul’s cock.
“I’ll probably die when I get to your arse but this is…!” Reginald moaned and filled his lungs, intoxicated and so turned on, he’d probably come if Paul made the bed bounce. “Thank God there aren’t any springs,” he murmured but refused to think about what was in his mattress.
“My ass?” Paul asked as he got his elbows beneath him.
“Yup!” Reginald purred wickedly, enjoying the confused lust in Paul’s eyes. Reginald stretched his jaw and held Paul’s gaze as he licked along the slit in the head of his shaft.