“Talking of trouble,” Crane said. “How bad is this for you? Honestly, please.”
Stephen propped his elbows on the table and ran the tines of the fork over his thumb. “Well. The justiciary have no obligation to investigate normal, unskilled crimes, as such.” He tapped the points of the fork thoughtfully. The metal tines peeled apart, like flower petals. “If Rackham reports me to the Council or the justiciary for vice, it would be quite awful and humiliating, but no more than that. There aren’t enough justiciars for them to discard any lightly.” He ran a finger along one of the tines and watched it spiral. “But abusing one’s powers to cover up one’s crimes of any kind is a different matter. If I came to the attention of the police for, you know, what we do—well, I’ve always intended to deal with that situation by, er…” He waved the fork vaguely.
“Abusing your powers?”
“In a controlled way.”
“Naturally,” said Crane dryly. “But is there any reason you couldn’t do that now? Would Rackham be able to tell, or prove, you’d done that?”
Stephen didn’t answer immediately. His attention was apparently fixed on the other three tines of the fork, which were weaving themselves into a plait.
Crane, who hadn’t got rich by jumping in to fill silences, waited.
“If I was on a watch list, it would be difficult,” Stephen said finally. “That is, if one is suspected of warlockry, or abusing one’s powers, one’s partner and colleagues can be tasked to keep an eye out, and to come down hard at any sign of impropriety. When you’re on a watch list, you’re a marked man, and there is no benefit of the doubt. If I was on a watch list, and I had a run-in with the police, I could be in a lot of trouble if I used my powers. And if I didn’t use them, I’d be in a lot of trouble too, because I’d be arrested. So, yes, that would be bad.”
“And Rackham could get you put on a watch list?”
Stephen wrapped the thin metal handle slowly round his finger, as if it were paper. “No. No, he couldn’t do that. Not at all. I’ve spoiled your fork.”
“I have more.”
“Rich in forks.” Stephen dropped the coiled metal onto the table. “Let’s talk about this later, Lucien. I want to go to bed.”
It should have been a loving night, especially with the frustration of separation burned off. Crane felt a vulnerability in Stephen that filled his own body with a strange pain, and he made love accordingly, carefully and cherishingly. Stephen burrowed into him and he stroked the nape of the smaller man’s neck as he kissed his ear, lavishing attention on the sensitive lobe till Stephen’s breath was ragged. He kissed and stroked and licked his way along Stephen’s body, holding him tight, then moved down to gently take his balls into his mouth, rolling them lightly with his tongue till his lover moaned, sliding an oiled finger into Stephen’s arse and pressing with care, to arouse and not to tantalise. Stephen was warm and yielding and pliant tonight, and Crane felt a rush of tenderness as he watched the other man’s face, eyes shut, head tilted back.
“It’s all right, sweet boy, sweetheart,” murmured Crane, moving to kneel between his legs. “I’ll take care of you.”
Stephen’s eyes opened, and he met Crane’s look with a wide amber gaze for a second. His expression was unreadable; it looked almost bleak. Then he shook his head, drew up his legs and rolled over to a kneeling position, facing away.
“Stephen?”
“Like this,” Stephen said, his voice a little muffled.
“I can’t kiss you like that.” There was no position on earth that would let them kiss when they fucked. Crane didn’t want to say that he wouldn’t see distress on Stephen’s face, or read his pleasure, or the lack of it, through the prickling of his hands. “Stephen, are you sure—”
“This, Lucien. Hard. I need this. Please.”
Crane opened his mouth to protest, and stopped himself. Stephen had a taste for submission, of course, but on occasion he also used his body to quiet his mind, letting intense physical sensation block out sensitivities to things Crane couldn’t see and memories Crane was glad not to share. At those times he had a craving for rough treatment that Crane found slightly alarming, mostly because he was so much larger and stronger that he feared causing real hurt, and just a little because he was manhandling someone who could kill with a thought.
But Stephen knew what he wanted. Crane was disappointed, even irrationally angry, that his lover’s needs were so unusually out of kilter with his own desires. But it was obvious that the last few days had taken their toll, Stephen had made himself clear, and mostly, Crane couldn’t make him take loving if he needed fucking.
“You want it like this?”
“Yes,” said Stephen through his teeth.