“You asked for it.”
He grabbed the smaller man, and pushed into his body, slowly but without stopping, making Stephen take his entire length in one long stroke. Stephen cried out with desperation and relief, and Crane fucked him punishingly hard, ruthlessly imposing his size and strength with every stroke till Stephen wailed aloud. He could hear the heavy gold ring Stephen wore on a chain round his neck thumping against his chest as it swung with each impact. Crane held him down throughout, gripping his narrow shoulders and pushing them into the bed, and soon enough the younger man came, in shivering spurts and with a sound like a sob, as the magpie tattoo fluttered frantically on his back.
Afterwards Stephen lay facing away. Crane curled an arm over his shoulder, brushing a finger softly over his sparse chest hair, and they lay body to body for a while in silence, as the tension drained out of Stephen and his knotted muscles relaxed.
Finally Crane said, “Will you tell me?”
A few moments passed before Stephen answered. “You asked if Rackham could get me on a watch list.”
“And you said he couldn’t. I take it that wasn’t true.”
“He doesn’t have to. I’m already on one.”
Crane’s hand stilled. “A watch list names suspected warlocks. You are suspected.”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“A few weeks. I found out two days ago.”
“Why?”
Stephen shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does! You, a warlock? I’ve never heard such bollocks. You! Are they bloody mad?”
Stephen reached for Crane’s hand. The electric prickle of his touch wrapped warmly round Crane’s slender fingers. “Thank you, Lucien. It’s nice to have a defender.”
“What about your partner? Why isn’t she defending you?”
Stephen’s fingers twitched. “Because she’s watching me.”
“The bitch!”
“It’s not her fault,” Stephen snapped. “She wasn’t even supposed to tell me. She’s had orders, she can’t ignore it.”
“Ignore what? Why would anyone think that?”
“It’s stupid,” Stephen said. “It’s mostly a misunderstanding, really. It’s you.”
“Me?”
Stephen sighed. “Lucien, every time we, you know, do anything, it leaves me flying. You, in me, the Magpie Lord, the power. I can’t hide it. People notice. I’ve got a source of external power and nobody knows what it is and…”
He tailed off. Crane waited, unsure of his meaning, and then abruptly realized what he didn’t want to say.
“Are you telling me your colleagues think you’re stripping people?” Crane had seen firsthand the effects of that practice, when warlocks used other people as sources of power and drained the life from them in the process. Stephen had told him that particular exploitation was what defined a warlock. “But for God’s sake, Stephen, you wouldn’t do that. Surely they know you wouldn’t.”
Stephen winced. “There’s nothing else obvious to explain the power. I don’t have an explanation. What are they supposed to think?”
“Can’t you just tell them the truth?” Crane thought about that for two seconds and added, “Your partner, at least. Without going into detail.”
“I could tell Esther what happens when you take me to bed, yes,” Stephen said. “I really don’t want to. Or I could simply explain that you are an immense source of power and hope she doesn’t ask how I get at it, although of course she would. But yes, either way, I could tell her you’re the source, and then she could take it back to the Council to explain why I shouldn’t be on a watch list.”
“Right. And you’re not doing this because…?”
Stephen twisted round to face him. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time practitioners knew about the power in your blood?”
“They were warlocks.”
“They were practitioners. Lucien, you’re a human source like none other. And you know how desperate we can get. You’ve seen it. The hunger for power makes the drive for money or sex look like a, a hobby, and you’re a walking fountain of it. Don’t you see? It would be like telling a pack of hungry dogs about a particularly juicy bone.” He gave a half-laugh. “For God’s sake. If word got round about what happens when we go to bed, there’d be a queue all down the street for your services. You’d have half the Council ready to bend over for you.”
“How good-looking are your Council?”
“Not.”
“Damn.”
“It’s the least of your worries,” Stephen said. “Because the other half would already be thinking of how to get their hands on your blood, without consideration of your preferences.”
“This is your Council you’re talking about. They must be reputable people, surely?”
“Oh, it would all be reputable. There would be a ‘need for study’. A ‘consideration of the Magpie Lord’s legacy’. An ‘assessment of the greater good’. But it would mean they’d get their hands on you and not let go. Maybe they might let me see you—”