by Kara Greenan
He takes that as his cue to start climbing, holding on for dear life. The rungs keep sinking down, pulling the outside rope against his shoe so tightly he has trouble getting his foot free. Not that there’s much support to begin with. He’s relieved when he reaches the top and Potmore grabs his shoulder, all but dragging him onto the roof.
“This fucking sucks,” he complains.
“Don’t be a baby,” comes London’s voice.
Sebastian narrows his eyes. “Did you fly up here?”
London laughs, head back and free. “I’m just not as slow as you. Now move, follow Will. I need to roll up this ladder. Can’t have them following us.”
“Bit of a problem,” Sebastian murmurs, nodding to where Potmore is already standing on the opposite rooftop. The foot wide plank stretching between the two buildings is probably of London's doing too.
It’s lit from below, like someone is shining a flashlight up.
“Police?” London half mouths, half whispers.
Sebastian shrugs, biting his bottom lip. Being thrown shoulder-first into the building by the rope ladder has loosened his bun and strands of hair have escaped, getting into his eyes. He pushes them back quickly, far too on edge to worry about it now.
London doesn’t peek over the edge – which no doubt would be a stupid thing to do – just looks over at where Potmore is staring at them. He holds up five fingers before drawing a circle in the air. London nods and gives him a thumbs up.
“What does that mean?” Sebastian asks when London grabs his wrist, dragging him along the rooftop.
“Five days,” London murmurs, tugging harder before letting go completely. Apparently, it’s time for them to run. “We’re meeting up in five days. Until then, we lay low.”
“Right.” Sebastian puts some effort into his sprint but it’s still difficult to keep up. “I mostly switched off when he started droning on about the backup plan.”
“You’re a terrible crook.” London suddenly changes direction for no apparent reason, but Sebastian is just going to give him the benefit of the doubt here.
“I had more interesting things to think about,” he says, running behind London and staring at his arse.
London skids to a halt when a dark figure appears over the edge of the roof. “Fuck, that fire escape was our way down.”
Sebastian stumbles behind him, getting dragged along. It’s amazing how his heart can go from beating a mile a minute because hello London’s bum, to beating a mile a minute because hello, people chasing them down.
“Come on, one route left that doesn’t involve jumping in the water.”
London’s fingers slide between his and they run in yet another direction.
Well, third time’s the charm, right?
Sebastian is being chased by Venetian police in a gondola, with a fucking adrenaline junkie as his companion. Wonderful. And to top it all off, he didn’t learn the canal layout around here. The streets, sure, but he hadn’t exactly anticipated escaping by boat. “I don’t know my way around here.”
“That’s okay.” London looks at him, smirking widely. “Just do as I say and you’ll be totally fine.”
“Is it really the time for innuendos?” He barely gets the words out; he’s pushing the steering oar so hard. A quick glance over his shoulder reassures him the police haven’t caught up, yet.
“Take a left here,” London instructs, pushing them off the wall when they inevitably crash into it at the sharp turn. Sebastian really, really hopes London remembers the layout of the labyrinthine water streets around them. And then, even though Sebastian can already feel the sweat running down his back and the soreness in his hands, London says cheerfully, “And I’m going to need you to speed up now.”
“Says the guy sitting and looking pretty,” Sebastian puffs, arms and torso straining.
“Oh, I don’t know,” London says, his gaze travelling down Sebastian’s form. “My view has its advantages, too.”
Sebastian would give him a piece of his mind, if only he had the breath for it.
London directs him down several streets, seemingly taking turns at random. Thankfully, the gondola steering takes up most of his faculties and he only gets to worry about their pursuers between dragging in deep lungfuls of air and trying to shake life back into his fingers without losing speed. He doesn’t want to admit defeat, but he can feel his muscles burning, he knows he can’t keep this up for much longer.
“There,” London says, pointing to where several gondolas are moored for the night. “Head for the free spot.”
He does, watching gratefully as London throws the rope over the mooring post, their gondola slotted in perfectly between the others. Together, they heave the dripping rowing-oar on board before London pulls him down, both of them lying flat toward the stern, the blanket that had been so lovingly draped over the seats now over them. He attributes the fact that he doesn’t immediately realise what’s happening to his rapidly beating heart and the distinct burn in the muscles of his arms and torso. But then London shifts and suddenly Sebastian realises what they’re doing.
Spooning.
He grits his teeth as London’s bum rubs against him, which really doesn’t help at all.
“This is the worst plan, ever.”
“You were running out of steam,” London says matter-of-factly. He wriggles some more and Sebastian has to screw his eyes shut.
It doesn’t help.
London half turns in his arms, pressing against him harder. He smirks. “You don’t seem too opposed to this either.”
Sebastian clamps his arm harder around London’s torso; hand flat on the middle of his chest in the hopes of calming down.
London traces his fingers, no doubt feels them tremble.
“Calm down, gorgeous,” he whispers.
“How’re you so calm?” Sebastian gasps, trying to hide his face in London’s shoulder. He feels like he might start hyperventilating any second now.
London looks at him for a long moment, entwining their fingers on his chest. He shrugs. “It’s fun.”
Sebastian doesn’t manage to hide the incredulity. “Fun?”
London shifts, his shoulder sliding along Sebastian’s chest.
“Do you…” he licks his lips, gently rolling his shoulder. “Do you have a nipple piercing?”
“Two,” Sebastian whispers.
London groans softly, moving into a proper spooning position again and rolling his hips, pushing back hard.
“How is that supposed to be calming?”
London doesn’t reply, just brings Sebastian’s hand to his mouth, lips sliding along his index finger.
Sebastian jerks in surprise, his crotch rubbing against London’s arse.
It’s London who groans now, shoving two of Sebastian’s fingers in his mouth and pushing back against him. He’s circling his hips and tongue alike, and Sebastian can’t help but grind against him hard, feeling the soft fabric of London’s cat-burglar suit shift as they both aim for maximum friction without actually rocking the boat.
“That suit is driving me nuts,” he whispers against London’s neck.
And because they are apparently doing this now, he pulls his fingers out only to push them back in.
London doesn’t say anything, just swirls his tongue around Sebastian’s digits. It feels amazing, the way he traces the pads, gently biting down to hold his fingers in place.
Sebastian feels the gentle rippling of the waves beneath them change, like there’s something that’s disturbing the almost still water nearby, much more than any movement they’ve been making.
“I think they’re outside,” he breathes into London’s ear. Instead of freezing, London shoves Sebastian’s fingers as far as they’ll go into his mouth, sucking intently.
It’s thrilling, sure, but what really drags him in is London’s unabashed response. He hadn’t known what to expect of him, having been so purposefully distant. The complete absorption in his task, the way he lets go of how the
y’d previously conducted themselves, is amazing. Sebastian feels drunk on the way London has opened up and seems completely unfazed by taking exactly what he wants.
He bites London’s neck, because it’s right there and he needs to feel it, needs to make sure he’s real lest he lose his surroundings completely.
The waves seem to calm again but Sebastian doesn’t want to move. He wants to rub against London’s bum while shoving his wet fingers down the front of his soft trousers. He wants to make London come like that while they’re lying here on this gondola, hidden away under a blanket, rocked by the gentle sway of the boat.
“We should get going,” he says, hating to be the voice of reason. He pulls down the blanket inch by inch, until he’s blinking at a nearby light source.
London whines softly, clutches Sebastian’s wrist and drags his lips over the pulse point, letting his teeth brush where the skin is thinnest.
Sebastian shivers. “Stop it.”
London turns in his arms, looking radiant and flushed, the smile on his face far too cheeky for their current predicament. “You were the one who kept pushing this. You made me get invested.”
Sebastian curses everyone and everything, but especially their timing. He hates the moment when he makes himself pull back, when he carefully lifts his head to look around.
The night air is cool on his face, clearing his mind a little as his eyes scan the surrounding area. “Come on,” he says and his voice is too deep, gives him away. “We need to go.”
London pouts, looking gorgeous with his hair disheveled, cheeks flushed and lips shiny.
Sebastian tears his eyes away, knowing if he doesn’t they’ll finish what they started, right here and right now. Instead, they gather their stuff, Sebastian wedging some money into the side of the seat.
“What’s that for?”
He shrugs while watching London drape his backpack over his shoulders. “Isn’t the person’s fault we wrecked their boat.”
London stares at him, like he’s just received a brand new piece of the puzzle that is Sebastian. “You do know about insurance, yes?”
“Well, then it’s to compensate for the shitty days they have ahead. I’ve dealt with insurance people before. I’ve pretended to be one. Not fun.”
“I wouldn’t know,” London says as they head off down a narrow walkway, both staggering slightly after having had the rhythmic swaying of the water beneath them. “Insurance sounds boring. I don’t do boring.”
No, Sebastian thinks. No, London definitely doesn’t do boring.
And for the first time in his life, he wonders if he can keep up.
London, present day
"Stop glaring at the mark," Hale hisses.
The tray in his hand filled with glittering champagne flutes doesn’t waver as he steps around London easily and continues on his way, like he’s just offered him a glass and not reprimanded him for his staring. London isn’t staring. Well, not much. Not at their mark, at least. She just happens to be shamelessly flirting with Sebastian.
For a moment London’s frown deepens, the muscles in his forehead aching. With a calming breath he schools his features into blatant disinterest, quite like the other attendants of this exclusive party. But unlike them, he isn’t just another trust-fund baby out to spend Daddy’s money in the most obnoxious way possible.
No, he’s working. So he probably should get it together. Right. This might be an easy enough job, but it’s still supposed to test their team and their ability to work together. It wouldn’t be a great idea to blow it before it even begins.
Across the room, Frankie is reclining on one of the many couches, deep in discussion with two women. Very unlike her usual eclectic sense of dress, she’s similarly adorned with diamonds and gold, her silk dress expensive and flattering. Their gazes meet for a split second, Frankie’s animated face and blue eyes freezing ever so briefly.
It’s enough. If even Frankie, easy-going and fun loving Frankie, is concerned, London's staring must have been pretty unsubtle. He discreetly pinches his left wrist with his right index finger and thumb, anchoring himself and slipping back into a much clearer headspace. Good. It wouldn't do to be distracted on the job.
There’s money on the line after all, even if it isn’t the big heist they’ve been planning for months.
Resolutely not turning around and thereby avoiding the source of his distraction, his eyes flit over the girls sitting with Frankie, his mind quickly calculating the value of their jewellery. It isn’t close to what it could have been, even though pearl necklaces and ruby earrings are clearly displayed. Unfortunately, fake jewellery looks close enough to the real thing nowadays. Even the rich have caught on to the fact that cut pieces of glass set in a real gold band will withstand anything but the closest scrutiny. And it’s not like London could go up to one of these girls, inebriated or not, and pull out his jeweller's loupe to decide whether the diamond exhibited inclusions or had the perfection of a lab grown fake.
Almost by accident, he turns his head, watching a fit guy walk past. Short cropped blond hair, casual looking yet expensive clothes. And on his wrist, a real Rolex Daytona in rose gold. London's fingers twitch and he takes an unconscious step closer. The watch isn’t worth that much, maybe around twenty thousand pounds. Half of that if he wants to get rid of it quickly. But then again, he's never even seen a real one. Still contemplating if a quick lift would be worth his troubles, his eyes are drawn to the lean figure across the room again. All thoughts of jewellery evaporate, head turning on invisible marionette strings without his consent.
Expensive dark shoes, real Italian leather, with a heel almost too high for a man, followed by long, long legs. At first glance, the trousers seem too tight for a classically cut suit. But this customised piece by Westmancott clearly has the wearer's preferences in mind. The suit jacket sits perfectly across his broad shoulders, its clean edges contrasting alluringly with the soft curls framing the wearer's face.
This trendy, upscale party is exactly the place where you would find a twenty year old with blond Mick Jagger hair and a suit worth almost ninety thousand pounds. Now that’s a lift London wouldn’t mind, for that suit. Not so Sebastian would be naked, of course; London has promised himself there will be no more of that. The blonde woman he’s chatting to is significantly older. Both her neck and wrists are adorned with white gold chains and dangling diamonds. Of all the diamonds in this room, London suspects those have the best chance of being real.
Sonya Steel leans towards Sebastian, deep cleavage revealing a rather impressive pair of silicone boobs. London winces. He’s neither straight nor drunk enough for this. But conversation is flowing smoothly between those two, light touches of hands to arms affirming where this is clearly heading. London purses his lips when Sebastian leans in again, lose hair falling into his eyes as he not-so-discreetly places a business card into Sonya's eager palm. He holds her hand and scribbles something on the back of the card.
This is supposed to be their trial run. London is supposed to wait until Sebastian gives him the signal before heading up to her room. There are more diamonds up there, and he’s never had much of a problem with hotel safes. But instead of giving him the signal, Sebastian leans in again, whispering into her ear. London's teeth grind when those gorgeous lips drag languidly over her skin, unheard words causing a faint blush to rise on her cheeks. She nods eagerly when he pulls back and London wonders, not for the first time, if pulling is this easy for everyone or if it's something in Sebastian's DNA. He watches Sonya head for the double winged doors leading to the reception area. Just as she reaches them, she turns slowly, throwing a heated look over her shoulder.
Her rooms are upstairs; her husband wouldn't dare spring for anything but the suite even in a hotel this expensive. People talk and Keith Steel knows all about that. Which is why he's kept his wife's indiscretions under wrap for years, allowing her flirtations and more. There’s no doubt in London’s mind that Steel takes the same liberties as his wife.
When Hale had presented him with the dossier on both of them, he’d barely skimmed it, getting the idea of their arrangement quickly enough.
London snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and throws it back in one long gulp. He hears Frankie's discontented hum over his earpiece. If it wouldn't blow their cover, he'd flip her the bird. Yes, this is a job. Yes, he's drinking alcohol. But they veered off script some time ago, so the others can bite him. He turns back in time to see Sebastian drop his own brandy tumbler on a nearby table. He smooths the front of his shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and follows Sonya discreetly. Once at the door he turns in an eerie copy of her move previously. His eyes find London’s.
He winks.
London fucking hates him.
London follows a few minutes later and storms past Amelia on the staircase where she’s been waiting for him.
“Bastard changed the plan.”
She nods. “Hale told me. I’m going to wait for Frankie.”
London slows, already on the staircase above her. “I – I’ll be upstairs.”
Amelia just sighs and waves him off.
Once he’s on the right floor, he paces the hallway. Sebastian and Sonya have been in her suite forever, and he can only imagine what’s happening inside. Chatting Sonya up at the party is one thing, following her to her hotel room is something entirely different.
It’s not like London is jealous. That would be insane. But it does sting a bit, especially after the other night where Sebastian might have been drunk, but apparently not too drunk for sex. They’d fallen asleep a tangled mess of sweaty limbs, both too exhausted and spent to care much about it. The moment London had opened his eyes the next morning, he’d collected all of Sebastian’s things and deposited them, along with a very sleepy and confused looking Sebastian, outside his front door.
So they’d had sex. That happens, right? And London has no claim to Sebastian, he doesn’t want any claim to Sebastian, but seeing him flirt so effortlessly and successfully sucked, especially after being the last person Sebastian slept with. London stops mid-step. He had been the last person Sebastian has had sex with, right? It’s only been a few days, but Sebastian wouldn’t, would he? And just like that the jealousy that definitely isn’t jealousy is replaced by affronted anger.