Page 14 of Coffee and Tea

“Because she liked you. You were kind. And you didn’t know anyone was watching.”

“Colby Kent.” Ben shook his head; but he was grinning now. “Never would’ve guessed.”

“I do like to be helpful?”

“Might’ve recruited you, if we’d known. Not at twelve years old, though. Maybe a few years later.”

“Oh, goodness.” Colby did what was almost a tiny hop in place. “Me. A secret agent. Imagine. Although I’m not certain I’d be good at shooting anyone. No offense. Codes and ciphers and disguises and messages, though…I’m good at calligraphy and languages and I know about wines and how to waltz…”

“We could’ve used someone skilled at copying handwriting, in Vienna.” Ben’s grin got more conspiratorial, inviting. “By the way, we liked your latest John Kill movie. Totally unrealistic, but flattering.”

Colby looked at Jason, breathless with the compliment. “He liked our movie.”

“He likes all your movies.” That was Simon, aristocratic voice hushed: not jealous, but flattened somehow, muted. The brilliance of his eyes almost hid the emotion: not quite pain, perhaps self-effacement, holding out a tiny offering into a conversation he knew he hadn’t been part of. Might’ve recruited you, Ben had said about Colby. Praise, and a secret, shared. And that’d been followed by: thanks, it did help, you contributed to that mission.

“Oh…” Colby laughed, an astonished flutter of response. “Thank you? Do you have a favorite? I do love history, and of course romance, and Shakespearean adaptation…”

“Maybe Steadfast,” Ben said. “For all those reasons. A love story.” He touched Simon’s arm, slid his hand to Simon’s wrist. Encircling. Affirming.

Colby noticed that too. Jason saw him notice.

Simon took a breath, let it out, and said, “Colby, I truly did mean to apologize. Not only for earlier, I mean. For everything. I know I was entirely awful, when we were younger. I said things that—that I shouldn’t’ve said, to you, about you. I wasn’t very happy with myself, not that that’s an excuse. I’m sorry.” He said it without artifice, without pretense, with honesty written in blue and gold.

Colby started to speak, stopped. Gazed at him. “You…that is, you and I…”

“I’m really sorry. And I don’t think you’re the most boring person ever, I promise.”

“Well…” Colby held out his own hand this time. “I thought some rather dreadful things about you as well. I didn’t say them, but that was only because I wasn’t rebellious enough. So it’s more or less even, if you look at it that way. And you didn’t have to come here and say it, and you did, so thank you, and I’m so honored that you did; you really are braver than I am. I thought so even then.”

And that was Colby, every word, every sincerity. That was why everyone, from extras on film sets to new acquaintances to old friends, would follow him anywhere. Not for the first time, Jason looked at his husband and thought about kind-hearted old-fashioned rulers, the sort of king who’d smile at his people and tell them how wonderful they were, and remember everyone’s names, and bake them cakes for their birthdays, and give everything he was, open up his own heart if he had to, to make someone else feel better. Even Simon Ashley.

And Colby meant it all. Not an act, not a pretense. Seeing the good in people, believing in it, in deliberate generous defiance of pain.

God, Jason loved him. And the blunt force of that love, as it sometimes did, hit him in the heart and left him breathless, amazed.

“Me,” Simon said, “I nearly didn’t come tonight, I was sure you’d hate me and I knew I deserved it and I didn’t want to ruin your event—and you, you can look at me and say all of that—” He took Colby’s hand, exquisitely gentle about it; and didn’t try to hold on too long, letting go. “Thank you. So much.”

Colby’s smile was real this time, if shy. “I, ah, debated sending regrets. I’m so glad I didn’t. Jason helped me be sure about it.”

Simon lifted both eyebrows, golden demon-wings. “Did he. Because, as it happens, Ben helped convince me…” The look in his eyes, directed at his husband, was hot, fond, unmistakable. “Very thoroughly.”

Thoroughly, Jason nearly echoed. Between Ben’s hand on Simon’s wrist—thumb doing a little soothing motion—and Simon’s choice of jewelry, the leather necklace and heavy bracelets, he was starting to be relatively certain about their relationship. Not a hundred percent. Not confirmed. But so much of that dynamic stood up and shouted in his bones, a recognition, understood.

Colby was looking at Simon’s bracelet choice as well. And said, with what might’ve been only curiosity, “I do like your jewelry. The weight of that, the statement…”

“Ben got me these,” Simon said, and held out an arm; Colby leaned in, not touching, which was both innate politeness and—if Jason’s guess, which was obviously also Colby’s guess, was right—politeness regarding the not-touching of someone’s symbol.

Simon added, “I like the weight of them, too,” with a glance up at Ben, and that was unmistakable, it had to be, it was all but spelled out. “They’d look good on you. Not mine, but something…similar.” This time he looked at Colby. And that was a question, too.

Chapter 4

Ben almost told his husband not to shock Colby Kent with discussions of wrist cuffs and symbolic jewelry and kink. He didn’t, because he was good at reading people, and he was damn sure that Colby Kent, Hollywood’s sweetheart, would get on both knees and hold out those famous wrists for restraints—for Jason Mirelli’s restraints, specifically—with unhesitating eager delight.

Apparently Colby had layers. Lock-picking. Loneliness, as a child, in a way that’d left invisible marks. Deciding on the spot to help with a break-in. Keeping that secret for decades. And keeping a secret about being thoroughly, sweetly, submissive, too. Colby had definitely guessed about the bracelets. Ben knew.

Colby did a little lip-lick. In answer to Simon’s question, murmured, “I might like some, yes…”

“Would you,” Jason Mirelli said. Jason in person could’ve doubled for a small mountain, and gazed at Colby like a knight with a holy mission, a charge to protect at all costs. Ben could probably have won a fight, but it’d be closer than he’d like. Jason was bigger, younger, and a martial artist. Ben had experience, some very dirty.

---