Page 10 of Short Stack 3

He starts to laugh, the sound as endearingly merry as ever, and I watch him, loving his face and every inch of him. “Most men have stated that belief at some point or another.”

“Ah, but you know what an enquiring mind I have, Dylan.”

“I do indeed.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose Iamyour husband. If you’ve got to experiment on anyone, it should probably be me.”

“You’re so good to me.”

He heaves a brave-sounding sigh. “It’s my curse in life.” I grin at him, and he winks before shoving at my head and pushing me below the covers. “Off you go, then, my little scientist. Experiment away.”

Five minutes later, I lick my lips, chasing the last stray drops of come as I emerge from the covers. Dylan is lying with his hand over his eyes, his chest heaving and his cheeks cherry red.

“Are you still alive?” I ask, amused.

He groans. “I think you might be onto something with that experiment.” His hand drops from his eyes, and he stares at me, the love evident. “Is it okay if I don’t do you? I might throw up,” he says rather pathetically.

I bite my lip but can’t stop the loud laugh that comes out. “Fucking hell, Dylan. You silver-tongued devil. It’s like living between the covers of one of Jude’s romance novels.”

He grins, still looking pale. “I’ll owe you.”

I fall back onto the pillow, resting my head on my arms and staring at the ceiling. “You will indeed,” I say with relish, already planning how he can repay me.

A few hours later, a knock on the door distracts me from my papers. “Yes?” I call.

The door opens, and Alistair pops his head into the room. “Magnus is here, Gabe.”

I throw my glasses down on the desk. “Thanks. Tell him to come in.”

Alistair vanishes, and in a few seconds, the door opens and Magnus saunters in. He’s dressed in his usual hand-tailored, three-piece suit, this one pinstriped.

I met him years ago at a legal conference and found him noteworthy for his supreme confidence and charming sarcasm. We’d bonded over whisky, piss-taking, and the fact that we both liked relationships with our sexual partners to last barely longer than an ice cube in a heatwave. He was one of the few friends I allowed to get close before Dylan came along and changed everything.

Magnus is now a renowned KC and married to a famous artist, but he never changes. One of his most charming characteristics is the ability to be himself in any situation.

“Good morning,” I say, grinning at him as he slides into the chair opposite my desk. “I must say I’m bloody ready for lunch. Congratulations on the Frobisher case. It’s always heart-warming to see criminals released back into society just in time for Christmas.”

He winks, his eyes full of humour. “Ah, my friend. I am the gift that keeps on giving. I am sure Mr Frobisher will make a valuable contribution to society.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“We’re lunching at the Ivy, and you’re buying, seeing as you’re the conquering hero.”

“I like that description. Make sure you tell Laurie.”

“It won’t change his attitude towards you.”

“Ah, and that is my punishment in life.” He crosses his long legs, flicking a piece of lint from the expensive material of his suit trousers. I note the pink and green Nikes adorning his feet with amusement. “Speaking of Laurie, I must do an errand for him before we eat.”

“Is it painting my portrait? I’m sure he’s dying to do that.”

“It is his only wish, you understand, yes? What is the Prince of Wales next to Gabriel Foster?”

“He’s painting William? Well, that’ll put the value of his paintings up. I might even buy a few.”

He smirks. “You are a cultural desert.”

I laugh and stand up to grab my jacket. “Oh, definitely. What errand?”

---