Page 61 of Gunpowder

“I’m sure I’ve been your guinea pig for worse,” Blair said, and knocked the liquor down his throat.

Wren followed suit, face twisting as he swallowed. It was only then that Blair recovered enough from his surprise at seeing him to look at him. Blair held his empty shot glass loosely between his fingers and somehow kept from dropping it altogether as his brain tried to catch up with his eyes. It wasn’t like Wren ever looked bad, he was attractive even when he hadn’t slept for two days, but the slashes of pale skin revealed by the rips in his black jeans were hitting Blair a lot harder than the drink. That was to say nothing of the navy dress shirt that fit him like a glove.

A bullet was the least of Blair’s concerns, because this gorgeous fucker was going to be the death of him.

But furthermore, what the hell was Wren doing there?

“I thought you didn’t want to come tonight,” Blair said.

Wren hooked his foot around Blair’s calf and pulled him forward. “I changed my mind. I was starting to get bored… I’ve been here awhile,” he said, leaning up to purr against Blair’s neck, “The bartender showed me the video you took at the warehouse.”

Spencer cleared his throat at the display and picked up the bottle of vodka. “The bartender is going somewhere else.”

Blair barely heard, too transfixed by the man pressed up against him.

“Oh yeah?” Blair asked, trying to give the conversation his attention while Wren’s nose brushed behind his ear. The music had stopped, probably for Julian to change out records, letting him hear Wren’s low murmur all too well for him to concentrate.

“Yeah,” Wren said, “Phantom is using a custom security system from the looks of the access panel.”

Blair heard the strum of an acoustic guitar from somewhere in the middle of the room. Julian had started providing his own music, apparently. He was glad for the crowd, though, as it gave him hope that no one was paying them much attention. Blair’s body had melted too far into the other man’s to stand a chance of putting some distance between them, and what little brain power he had left was devoted to processing Wren’s words. His eyes widened when they finally struck home. He did pull away then, far enough that he could actually look at Wren’s face.

“The security system? But I thought you didn’t—”

Wren hooked his fingers in the collar of Blair’s soaked t-shirt and tugged him down. So much for distance. “Well, you were thinking, and that’s a you problem. I also wasn’t done.” He spoke against Blair’s mouth, every word leaving behind the impression of a kiss. “The panel isn’t built in such a way that it could house the necessary components or be pulling enough power to operate on its own, which means that—like with most security systems—it’s connected to a server.”

Blair was now torn cleanly between the excitement bubbling in his chest and the desire to drag Wren up to Spencer’s apartment and fuck the drunken haze right out of those eyes.

Cool it, Blair, he reprimanded himself firmly. Important stuff is being talked about right now.

“Is a server good or bad?” he forced himself to ask.

He more felt Wren smirk than saw it but there was no mistaking the curl of his lips when they hovered over Blair’s own. “Oh, it’s perfect. Do you want to know why?”

“Yeah,” Blair said thickly, willing his lower body not to create an embarrassing problem in front of his entire gang.

Wren was the one to pull back and look at him this time, but gone was the cold stare Blair knew so well. His eyes were alight with excitement and what Blair would dare to call affection. Blair was barely even aware of the dozens of other patrons around them and wasn’t there someone who didn’t know they were together yet? He couldn’t remember, didn’t care.

“Because a server isn’t tied to a specific piece of hardware. It has a signal.” At Blair’s blank expression, Wren said, “It can be hacked.”

Blair grabbed his shoulders with a sudden rush of adrenaline. “Wait, so you…”

“I can get you inside.”

Julian began singing, a few other patrons joining in, and a giddy laugh escaped Blair. “And you will? You’ll help?”

“I’ll help you,” Wren said, tracing the part of Blair’s tattoo exposed by his strained collar. “If it ends up helping your stupid gang, then whatever, but I’m only doing it for you.”

His stomach did a somersault that had nothing to do with the shot of vodka. He couldn’t possibly find the words to respond with, and settled for sealing their lips together in a kiss with as much gratitude as he could convey through a simple touch. Wren made a pleased albeit muffled sound. It was gonna happen. They were going to get Phantom, with Wren.

Someone cleared their throat and Blair pulled back, cheeks burning as he realized how poorly that kiss was suited for being in public. He readied an apology that dissolved on his lips when he saw who interrupted them.

“B-Boss,” he said meekly. He might have stumbled further away just in case he had to incur Felix’s wrath but he was very much trapped by Wren’s legs.

Felix grimaced. “You got shit for taste, kid.” He didn’t give either of them a chance to respond, just held an expectant hand over the bar in which Spencer immediately placed a sealed bottle of Johnny Walker Black. Felix threw his second man a wink. “I’m taking the good doctor somewhere a little more quiet.”

Blair stared after him in shock as he went back across the bar to the newly repaired couch where, unnoticed to Blair until that point, Reymond was sitting. Two empty glasses sat on the table in front of him.

Reymond stood up as Felix approached him, and Blair’s eyebrows shot up as they walked out of the bar together.

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