Page 14 of Not With the Eyes

"Ha, haha, ha," Oberon retorted.

Scones grinned as he grabbed up his toiletry bag and clothes and vanished into the bathroom.

Oberon hated he was disappointed Scones wouldn't be changing out here. Honestly, what the hell was wrong with him? Just days ago he'd have been happy to slit Scones's throat. Why was he now giving more consideration to fucking the bastard than he wanted to admit?

What would Margaux have to say about her oldest mortal enemy fucking her son?

That wasn't the way to go about this, though. If he really wanted to fuck Scones, it should be because he wanted to fuck Scones, not because he wanted some petty revenge Margaux Lachapelle would never care about anyway.

Sighing, Oberon sprawled out on his back across the bed.

He didn't bother to sit up as Scones came out of the bathroom, simply yawned and enjoyed the view. Like him, Scones was in boxers, but he wore a tanktop rather than a t-shirt, and my what lovely muscles the bastard had. Oberon had already known that, but seeing them with no clothes in the way was something else entirely.

Oberon stifled another sigh at himself and sat up—and stopped to see a little leather portfolio on the floor, the kind meant to hold a picture or two. "You dropped something," he said, and bent to grab it.

"No!" Scones said, and moved across the room so fast Oberon was left reeling. "Sorry, it's just—"

"I understand 'private' when I hear it shouted," Oberon said dryly. "I wasn't going to pry, anyway."

"Sorry," Scones said. "It's… someone important to me. I shouldn't even have the photo, but I couldn't resist taking it when the chance presented itself. It's about the only thing I always carry with me no matter what I do or where I go."

He hadn't said 'picture of someone I'm in love with,' but he may as well have. Oberon didn't say anything, just yawned as he watched Scones tuck the leather fold away in his dufflebag. Curiosity burned, but it was clearly something Scones didn't want to talk about, so Oberon let the matter drop. "Which side of the bed does the mighty sniper prefer?"

"Closest to the door, so move over," Scones said as he finished toweling his hair dry and absently combed through it in a completely failed attempt to tame it. He went to the door and fussed with all the locks, then also dragged over a chair to put in front it. Last, he put a gun on the bureau and another beside him on the nightstand.

Oberon snorted as he got comfortable. "You must be fun in a crowd."

"I don't do crowds," Scones replied.

"That tracks," Oberon said, and turned off his light. If he pretended he was going to get some sleep, instead of lying there thinking about a hundred different things, maybe his brain would trick itself into actually doing that.

He wasn't going to be that lucky, but he could try.

Two hours later, he gave up and climbed out of bed and went to sulk at the table. Thanks to rooming with a paranoid sniper, he couldn't even stare mindlessly out the window.

A groggy voice, sexier than it had any fucking business being, said, "Are you always this restless, or is tonight unusual?"

"Eh," Oberon replied.

Scones rolled out of bed and vanished briefly into the bathroom. When he came out again, yawning, hair tousled, ridiculously pasty skin almost glowing in the weak light from the bathroom before he turned it off, he mumbled, "Any way I can help? Last thing we need tomorrow is either of us exhausted."

Oberon mentally listed out every single reason he shouldn't say what he was about to say, and then said it anyway. "Not unless you want to fuck."

He'd never seen someone choke on nothing before, but that was definitely what Scones did, wheezing out a moment later, "What."

"You heard me," Oberon said, heat prickling along his spine, tingling across the back of his neck, because he definitely knew an interested party when he saw one. "Yes? No? Do you want to be tied to the bed and persuaded?"

"Not really my thing," Scones said dryly. "Yes. If you're offering, I'm accepting."

Prickling heat turned into buzzing anticipation. Who would have thought he'd ever want to fuck a goddamn Lachapelle? "How do you want me?" he asked, standing up and prowling toward Scones. "Tits? No tits? Cock? Pussy? Combo platter?"

Scones laughed and reeled him in close the moment he got within grabbing distance, nuzzling along his jaw and cheekbone, as thought content simply to hold and breathe him in. "Combo platter. You're ridiculous. I want you however I can have you. I told you, I like everything."

"Fine, but now's your last chance to get the watermelon tits of your dreams."

"Shut up, shut up," Scones said, laughing harder even as he pressed an almost shy kiss to Oberon's mouth.

Such a strange and intriguing mix of contrasts, this one. Oberon never would have pegged Scones as the shy type. Pegging Scones, hmm. Definitely a thought to save.

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