Page 17 of The Wild Charge

~*~

Tenny glanced only briefly at the printed-out photo Eden passed him and then handed it along to Reese, who took it with greater care. The girl smiling up from the page was young, and very bright; her lipstick was very red, and the way it reminded him of the kind Stephanie so often wore brought to mind, quick and unbidden, the way Tenny had looked the night they’d taken her together, at the same time: the harshness of his face, the way his blue gaze had burned. And that in turn spawned a mental picture of the night it had just been Reese and Tenny, alone; Tenny’s head pressed back against the coverlet, his scarred neck stretched out and vulnerable, the way he’d groaned quietly while Reese thrust inside him.

He set the photo aside quickly, and tried to tamp down the burgeoning heat in his belly.

“She’s not related,” Tenny said, impatiently, lighting a cigarette. They’d both showered and dressed, and returned to the common room to join the impromptu meeting taking place. Eden had gone to fetch them coffee, and she’d even remembered how much sugar Reese took in his.

He sipped it now, as Ghost made a quelling face. “She might be. God knows how many girls have gotten dragged into this.”

“An op is an op,” Fox said. “And, besides: I thought you werebored?”

“That’s not an op,” Tenny said. “That’s patting a grieving mother’s hand. I’d hardly think you’d trustmewith that.” He was dismissive and mocking – but a little bitter, too, Reese thought.

Later, maybe, if they ever wound up lying side-by-side on his bed again, in the soft aftermath, Reese would suggest that maybe if Tenny wanted to be thought of as sympathetic, he ought to show that side of himself a little.

“Obviously I’ll be along too to make sure you don’t fuck it up,” Fox said easily.

“Think of it like a trial run,” Ghost said, with a quick, sharp grin that was all teeth, and no humor. (The fact that Reese could read that in him left him a little giddy, honestly. He couldreadpeople, now. Some.) “Your first big assignment as patched members.”

“Big,” Tenny deadpanned.

“Come on, boys,” Ghost said. “Roll Tide.” He made a face. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

~*~

The intercom on Ian’s desk chimed politely. Candace’s voice filtered through the speaker: “Mr. Shaman? There’s a Mr. Fox here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment.”

Curiosity piqued, Ian pressed the button and said, “That’s fine, I’m between meetings. Send him in.”

He lifted his head, expectantly, as he heard the latch disengage, but when the door swung open, it was not the Fox he’d expected who greeted him. Ian had to shift his gaze a fraction higher to meet that of Charlie Fox’s younger brother – also a Fox, apparently, though all the other siblings from that family bore different last names – who stood uncertain and lovely a moment in the threshold.

Ian grinned, slow and wide, just for the pleasure of watching him blush. “Well, this is unexpected. Do come in. Sit down.”

He came in, and sat down. Ian noted that, rather than a suit for a role he was playing, or the stolen tac gear he’d worn on their last encounter, he was dressed in tight jeans, harness boots, and a black motorcycle jacket under his cut. A pair of mirror-lensed aviators sat nestled in his glossy, dark hair, and Ian supposed that, although this was clearly a costume of sorts, too – because this was a broken boy whose closet was full of nothing but disguises – it was a costume that he had chosen for himself, for his own pleasure.

By the time he’d propped an ankle on his knee, the blush had gone, and he’d smoothed his expression into a cool smirk.

“Tennyson, isn’t it?” Ian asked.

A nod.

“Fox?”

“For now.” Airy – but a flicker of muscle in his jaw, quickly suppressed. A nerve touched.

“Coffee?” Ian offered.

“No, thank you.” His accent was as polished as Ian’s own, but the edges hinted at training, rather than breeding – even if he was beautiful. With an inward sigh of appreciation for beautiful things, Ian tucked away his admiring side.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t use his wiles, though, to get to the bottom of this most unexpected visit.

He sat back in his chair, and propped his elbow on the arm of it. Let his expression go languid and inviting, the old mask he’d worn once upon a time, as a dancer. He’d long since weaponized it, but, occasionally, and now more than at first, he used it on Alec, for fun. It never failed to get a reaction – and it got one now, judging by the way Tennyson’s throat jumped as he swallowed.

“To what,” Ian drawled, “do I owe this very handsome surprise?”

Tenny froze a moment, fingers caught in the act of tapping seemingly-absently against his thigh. He blinked, and then they started up their rhythm again, faster now. His blush returned.

“Darling,” Ian said, chuckling, “you’re very handy with a gun, but you’re shit at playing coy.”

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