by Kara Greenan
Sebastian’s eyes travel, still sluggish, up the tube from his arm, to where the drip is hanging next to his bed.
He settles back into bed, his pretty lips spreading into a satisfied smile. London watches him as he stares at the wall, watches him as his smile never falters.
"What the fuck are you grinning at? Did you actually fry your brain?" The heart monitor spikes and somehow that’s even more upsetting than the rhythmic sounds.
He stands and Sebastian’s shocked expression morphs into happiness. God, maybe he did fry his own brain.
“There you are,” he rasps, his eyes now travelling down London’s frame, backlit by the window. “Would know the contours of that body anywhere.”
“Shut up.” London’s voice breaks. He can feel the pressure in his throat, the hotness behind his eyes. “You nearly killed yourself.”
Sebastian doesn’t answer immediately. He looks at London, his gaze sweeping over his face, lingering on his lips. “You have the best cheekbones. Ever. And pretty eyes. Pretty everything.”
London steps closer, fear mixing with relief. Sebastian doesn’t ramble, not like this. “Do you need me to call a nurse?”
Sebastian holds out his hand, tubes and wires hanging off it. He quickly steps closer to slide their palms together. “I already know the diagnosis.”
London swallows, tears held back by confusion. “What?”
Sebastian twists their hands together, entwining their fingers. London lets himself be pulled closer to the bed, the heat from Sebastian’s palm spreading up his arm.
"I'm smiling," Sebastian says his voice so scratchy it’s almost unrecognisable, “because I did well. And I finally understand."
London's free hand gently reaches out to trace over his hairline. There’s so much he’s feeling, so much he wants to do. Instead he feels caught here, in Sebastian’s stare, in this dimly lit hospital room smelling faintly of antiseptic. "Understand what?"
Sebastian smiles brighter, radiant, and it lights up the darkened room. "I'm in love with you."
London chokes out a sob, doesn’t know if he’s laughing or crying, but the heat behind his eyes is blurring his vision.
Sebastian squeezes his hand. "What's wrong?"
London settles on the bed, mindful of the cables. "I know you like me," he says softly, looking down at their entangled fingers. "But you're too – I don't know. You're too big to settle down. Your personality, your looks, your talents. They aren't meant for an ordinary life."
Sebastian still smiles serenely. "London, you climbed up and down a lift shaft in order to steal diamonds from a corrupt business just the other day. What exactly is ordinary about that?"
"I don't mean just that. Though I don't plan on doing this all my life, you know?"
"I doubt that very much. You get too much enjoyment out of the thrill."
Well, maybe he’s got a point. "I didn't mean a normal job. I meant a normal relationship." He brings one hand up to cup Sebastian's cheek. He lets his thumb stroke down and it catches on the edge of a full bottom lip. "You're amazing. People are drawn to you. You could never work a day in your life and still spend it on yachts or in mansions all around the world because people will simply throw opportunities your way. Because they want you around. There's no place in your life for a jealous and sometimes irrational boyfriend."
Sebastian looks at him for a long moment. “I like the sound of boyfriend.“
London drops his hand. "Yeah, your brain really isn’t all there, is it? What the fuck did you even do?"
"You mean for the diversion? Potmore knows this guy who set me up with some drugs. Take it and you display the effects of an anaphylactic shock."
That’s what the doctor had been talking about, too.
"Did you know," London starts in a tightly controlled voice, "that an anaphylactic shock can lead to death?"
"Yeah, but that's like, really rare. Statistically speaking –"
"Statistically speaking?" London interrupts him. He starts angrily pacing up and down next to the hospital bed. Back to anger now. He wonders if this emotional roller coaster will kill him before or after he smothers Sebastian. Sebastian, who took something a friend of a friend gave him. Sebastian, who only listens to him when he wants to and who actually thought that was a valid choice. "You almost died, you fucking idiot.”
London stomps around some more. Sebastian is trying to sit up, manages to get as far as his elbows. He crashes back down when London pushes him hard, anger spilling over.
"And then you wake up after two fucking days, and all you can say is you love me?"
Sebastian tries to get back up, but between one blink and the next, London is on top of him, straddling his hips and pushing down against his shoulders. And the two days must have taken their toll because Sebastian offers almost no resistance.
He just smiles when London punches his shoulder. “I do love you.” They both stare at each other, everything silent apart from the beeping of the heart monitor. “See. No spike in my heart rate. I’m not lying.”
“Well, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Want to know something else?”
“No.”
“Sebastian Ernisius Ford.”
London laughs. “What’s that, your new con name? It’s a bit too ridiculous, I think.”
“Oh thank you, London. London like the city I live in and no last name because I refuse to talk to my family. Let’s talk about ridiculous names, I can’t wait.”
“Shut up,” London says and covers Sebastian’s mouth with his hand.
He can still see the smile crinkling his eyes, feels it under his palm. He’s panting heavily, unsure of these feelings, of what to do with them.
Sebastian reaches up with one hand and gently pulls down London’s arm. “Just kiss me.”
“I said shut up. I’m trying to think.”
Sebastian leans forward, brushing their lips together. “Don’t want you thinking when you kiss me.”
“I hate you,” London murmurs. Sebastian’s smile doesn’t falter; he feels it against his fucking lips.
“Okay.”
London shoves him again, weaker this time. "I was fucking worried, you arsehole.”
“Next time, I won’t then.”
And then they're kissing, a fierce pressure of lips on lips. London is trembling, in anger, frustration and maybe anticipation. He wraps his arms around the warmth of Sebastian’s body, the thin hospital gown letting the heat spread everywhere.
Sebastian’s hands feel possessive on his hips, the fingers digging deep into his skin. Is that new, or has he just missed it before?
Either way, it grounds him, evens his breathing, makes the kiss less violent.
"I thought you’d die. I thought – I thought you’d leave me. Again.”
And fuck, he’s not going to cry. Not when Sebastian’s smile, that never-ending smile, is turning into a grimace of regret and shame. He doesn’t want that, not anymore, he wants that cocky smirk back instead. Sebastian slides both arms around him, one around his waist, one hand resting on the back of his head, locking him in place.
"I'm not going to leave you," he murmurs, peppering soft kisses along London's cheek. “You’re stuck with me now, if you can forgive me.”
London doesn't say anything, just clutches him closer. He can’t talk, can’t even fucking think. All he knows is he likes it here, in Sebastian’s arms, his fingers scratching across broad shoulders as he pulls him closer.
Sebastian pulls back, just enough to look at him seriously. “You're right. People do throw opportunities my way. And I never saw the problem of taking them up on it. Free places to stay, parties every night and weekend trips on the private jet." He slips a hand under London's jumper, sliding his fingertips up his spine. The heat from it shoots along his arms and down his legs, making him shiver. "In the last year, I was only doing it because it was the easy choice, routine. I was bored to death."
London drops his head, forehead resting again
st a warm collarbone. “I can’t offer you anything better.”
Sebastian pushes him back until their eyes meet. His lips twist into a lopsided smile. “It’s because I met you that I was bored with it all. I just didn’t know at the time.”
The air catches in London's throat. He really, really wants that to be true. And maybe, on some level, Sebastian even believes what he’s saying. "You don't have to tell me what you think I want to hear. I'll have sex with you anyway, when you’re around. Not like I can tell you no.” He rushes it out, takes a deep breath afterwards. “Trust me, I've tried."
“You want us to – what? Be friends with benefits?”
He’s not sure if they can be friends, not truly. Maybe ’colleagues with benefits’ would be a better way to describe it. He doesn’t say that though, just shrugs. “Sure.”
Sebastian’s expression darkens, like storm clouds pulling in on a sunny day. “I’m not sharing you with anyone.”
London can’t help it, he laughs. “See! We’d combust within weeks. We’re both jealous and paranoid and have a combined relationship experience of an average teenager.”
“We can make our own rules,” Sebastian says stubbornly. “We can learn together.”
“Can’t we just – I don’t know. We’re good at the sex thing. Let’s start there and see where it goes.”
Sebastian shakes his head, his unstyled hair flying everywhere. “Frankie didn’t say much, but she did say that’s definitely a no-go.”
London pulls a face. “Frankie?”
“You trust her, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but –”
“Fine. Call her. Trust her until you can trust me.” Sebastian looks so hopeful. “All that's stopping us is you."
"Me?"
Sebastian nods. "Yes. You'll have to take the plunge and believe in us. Because I’m already there, London. I already do."
They're quiet for a long while, no sound apart from their breathing and the soft rustling as Sebastian gently strokes his hand up and down London's back.
"A plunge? Like jumping off a building?"
Sebastian's grin returns full force. "Like jumping off a building," he agrees.
"I do like doing that."
A small, giddy laugh bursts from Sebastian's lips. "Yeah?"
Fuck it, London thinks. And jumps. "Yeah."
Sebastian is doing a shit job of hiding his excitement. But he pulls some remnants of haughty disdain onto his face and says. "Just so you know, I'm not moving into your warehouse."
London leans back, hands on hips. "What's wrong with my warehouse?"
"Absolutely nothing if you use it as your personal jungle gym. Or as storage space. But I need a proper bedroom. A bathroom with a tub. And a kitchen."
"You don't even own a home! You're basically homeless. A homeless millionaire. And before you get any insane ideas, we are not buying a house together."
“Not yet,” Sebastian corrects.
Warmth explodes in London's chest, expanding through his entire body. “Not yet,” he agrees.
"And of course I have a house." London just raises one disbelieving eyebrow. "It's true. You've been there."
"When have I ever been to your house?"
Sebastian turns his smile decidedly dirty, lying back down on the bed with his arms casually behind his head. London remains perched in his lap, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. Sebastian stretches, clearly enjoying the attention. "Remember when I rimmed you after you disabled that alarm?"
"How could I forget," London mutters darkly.
"That was my house. One of them, anyway. I have a few others around the world."
London shifts his hips, but not enough to dislodge Sebastian's hand where it’s stroking up his leg.
"So you let me break into your own home, even though you knew the code for the alarm?" he asks, his voice saccharine sweet.
"Yes, I thought it would be fun."
"Hmm." London looks at him from under his lashes, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "So what you're saying is, we're dating now?"
"Yes."
"And I'll be moving into the various houses you have all around the world because you don’t like my warehouse?"
"Yes.”
"And you'll be taking me around the world, showing me all the most gorgeous places?"
Sebastian bites his lip, nodding.
London leans forward, brings his lips close to Sebastian’s ear. "Going to make me your kept boy?"
“It’s a bit more than that. I want to wake up next to you each morning. Make you breakfast. Watch you work.”
"And we'll have sex in each and every room you own? In all the houses around the world?"
"That's – a lot of rooms."
London's voice is sharp. "I like a lot of sex."
Sebastian looks like he can’t decide between laughing and crying. He sits up, crushing their mouths together instead.
“I’ve been an idiot. I’m sorry. It won’t be a problem,” he chokes out.
"No? Lots of shagging, whenever and wherever I want?"
"Fuck. Yes. Anything you want."
"What if I want kinky sex? What if I want to call you daddy and I want you to fuck me bent over the sofa with my hands tied behind my back?"
"I've got cuffs, we can definitely do that."
London watches his own hand tracing the bare skin above Sebastian’s hospital gown. "That's no good. I can get out of handcuffs."
"Fuck," Sebastian moans, leaning forward and sucking on London’s neck.
"What if I want to tie you up and you to call me daddy?"
"Both. We can do both. Or either. Whatever you want."
"Hmm," London contemplates. "What if I want to buy a sex swing?"
“Yeah, sure. I’ll buy you an entire sex shop if you want.”
"Nipple clamps?"
Sebastian bites his lip when London pinches his nipple in a weak imitation. "Mm."
"What about –"
"London." Sebastian hands fist in his jumper. “Please shut up.”
"No." London looks up, catching Sebastian’s gaze. "Never."
Something changes in Sebastian’s expression, goes soft and understanding. He nods, tucking his face into the side of London’s neck.
“Never,” he agrees.
London, five months later
“I don't like it."
Sebastian's keys land on the nineteenth century sideboard, the metal producing a satisfying sound on the ebonised mahogany. London had stolen it, piece by piece, from the Victoria & Albert museum several years ago. It's a gaudy monstrosity, the sort of sleek lines and practical look an Englishman produces when imitating Japanese art.
His boots hit the hardwood floor and he stretches his toes while leaning down to arrange London's sneakers.
"What's that?" he asks while peeling off his jacket, wincing when it sticks to his arms. If there's one thing he dislikes about London — the city London, not his London — it's the damn weather. He could have taken an umbrella, but he refuses. They were in Mauritius for an art show not two weeks ago; he's not going to give in to this climate, convincing himself that if he ignores the rain emphatically enough, it will eventually go away.
His heart skips a beat when out of nowhere, London is by his elbow, vibrating with barely contained anxious energy. Sebastian could have sworn he'd seen him sitting cross-legged on the sofa all the way through the arched doorway in the living room.
"I told you to make more noise. This isn't a sound-triggered bank vault." Honestly. He'll have to buy him a bell or something. Smiling at that mental image, he leans down for a kiss but encounters stiff, closed lips instead. He pulls back with a frown. "What's wrong?"
"I don't like it," London repeats. His pout is put on, but beyond it Sebastian catches something deeper, something worrying.
Ten minutes later with skin scrubbed clean and hair curling from the damp, Sebastian emerges in a billow of citrus-scented steam. There's no use in getting dressed, so he just dri
es off before returning the towel to the rack. He gives his cock a friendly stroke before he heads to the bedroom.
His feet hit the plush carpet and he freezes. There's a loud clicking sound when he tries to swallow, managing to almost choke on his own spit. Eyes wide and toes digging into the soft fibers underneath, Sebastian stares unabashedly.
London is propped low – and gloriously naked – against the headboard. A pair of handcuffs dangle from his forefinger, two silk scarves from Sebastian's collection draped partially over his torso.
Sebastian's breath stutters at the tantalising sight and he stumbles forward until he's close enough to touch, leaning over the edge of the bed awkwardly. His hand slides up the inside of London's thigh, squeezing the warm flesh.
"That for me?" he asks in a thick voice.
Something flashes in London's eyes.
"No."
He takes the first scarf and wraps it around his wrist, tucks the end in neatly. Then he does the same with the other side.
And then he pulls out a second pair of handcuffs and leans over to fasten his hand to the headboard. He hooks the second pair on the opposite side with his remaining free hand. The cuff clicks closed with finality, dangles with a certain weight that has nothing to do with gravity and everything with the situation at hand. London holds his still-free wrist up to it.
"Close it," he says, nodding at the open cuff.
The entire situation is laden with so much meaning that Sebastian almost forgets to breathe.
Fuck.
He reaches up with shaking fingers and slips London's scarf-wrapped wrist between the two metal pieces. With a sound that bounces off the walls, they click together. He's surprised he can hear anything over his desperate breaths and the heart hammering in his chest. He checks, but there's still enough space to fit his finger between. He licks his lips. "And now?"
London's right eyebrow arches, half questioning, half teasing. "Now? Isn't it obvious?"
Is it? Sebastian can imagine several scenarios that would definitely prove loads of fun, but he has no idea what London wants right now. And while London might be the one tied up, it's clear as day that doesn’t put Sebastian in charge.