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All in all, Violet’s second hearing at the Barrel had gone a great deal better than the first, Edwin felt, as he waited outside the Library door, along with all of their friends, for Violet to triumphantly emerge.
He rather suspected that the Assembly had agreed to compensate Violet in full for the cost of rebuilding Spinet House and replacing its contents out of sheer embarrassment and a desperate need for some small shred of good publicity. They’d endorsed the search for the Last Contract, after all, and therefore indirectly caused British magical society to lose the power they’d had for so long—a detail that had since become widespread knowledge. To say public opinion of the Assembly could use some boosting was an understatement.
Spinet House was a minor casualty of the whole affair, relatively speaking, and with Violet’s fortune behind it, rebuilding was already well underway. But it was also one of the only bits of damage the Assembly could do much to remedy. And so, the Assembly had just promised, to cheers from the Library’s gallery, remedy it they would.
The door slammed open and Violet bounded out, resplendent in a dress the colour of her name.
‘That was excellent,’ she declared, accepting congratulatory hugs from Robin and Adelaide and then hooking her arm through Maud’s. ‘We shall have to make our plans grander, darling.’
‘You were excellent,’ Maud told her, gleeful. ‘To think you were nervous. I knew they’d crumble.’
‘Like sandcastles at high tide,’ Violet crowed.
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t gloat loudly in the hallway,’ was Jack’s drawled suggestion, although he couldn’t keep the smile off his face entirely.
‘You’re quite right, Hawthorn,’ Violet said brightly. ‘Let’s show some decorum and gloat loudly in private. Oh, there’s the man of the hour,’ she added, beaming, as the door reopened and her dicentis emerged. ‘You’d certainly done your research.’
‘Well, I didn’t want to let you down,’ Arthur Manning said, the picture of modesty.
There was absolutely no reason for Edwin’s prickle of irritation, and yet there it was.
Manning’s eyes landed on Robin and lit up at once. The prickle became an itch.
It must have shown on Edwin’s face, because Jack smirked at him. The hypocrite. As if he wasn’t quick to utilise his most imperious stare with anyone whose gaze lingered too long on Alan.
‘Robin,’ Manning said, reaching out to shake hands. ‘Fantastic to see you again.’
‘And you, Arthur,’ Robin said, in his good-natured Robin way, taking Manning’s hand and pumping it warmly. ‘Brilliant job in there.’
‘Very kind of you,’ Manning said. His tongue darted out briefly to wet his lips. ‘Listen. It’s been ever such a long time. If you ever wanted to get a drink…’ He trailed off, eyes flicking to Edwin, and then withdrew his hand from Robin’s carefully, as though afraid Edwin might pounce if he moved too fast. ‘Just to catch up, of course. Hello, Mr. Courcey.’
‘Hello,’ Edwin said, with cool civility.
Manning fidgeted for a moment and then cleared his throat. ‘Well. I suppose I'd better get to my next meeting. Congratulations, Miss Debenham.’
Nodding at the rest of them—and with one last lingering look at Robin—he walked away down the hall.
***
‘Arthur Manning,’ Edwin said later.
He was standing at the drinks cabinet in the study at the Blyth townhouse, pouring himself and Robin tumblers of whiskey in private celebration of Violet’s victory. He’d thought about ways he might subtly bring this up, but he had never been especially talented when it came to the art of slyly investigative conversation, and as far as he was concerned this was overdue. He’d been meaning to needle Robin over it when he’d met Manning before, the first time Violet was summoned to the Barrel, and then Walter had so thoroughly rattled him it had entirely slipped his mind.
Besides, Robin preferred forthrightness. Best not to beat around the bush.
‘What about him?’ Robin asked absentmindedly.
Edwin gave him a pointed look until he glanced up from the sofa.
His mouth creased with mirth. ‘Edwin.’
‘I’m curious about him,’ Edwin said, tone light, crossing to sit close to Robin on the sofa, angling his body towards him and handing him one of the tumblers.
Robin sipped his whiskey, eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘Are you now?’
‘Yes.’ Edwin, too, took a slow sip from his glass. It was a good whiskey, and its warmth tumbled lazily through his veins. He reached out and brushed Robin’s shoulder with his fingertips, mostly for the pleasure of knowing he could do so, that this kind of casual intimacy was both welcome and unremarkable. ‘He seemed very friendly with you.’
‘You’ve already deduced that we were intimate at one point, I think, and I’m sure you’re not probing for all the sordid details,’ Robin said, reaching for him in kind, hand landing on his leg.
Edwin pressed his knee into Robin’s touch. ‘He doesn’t seem your type at all.’
‘You’re my type,’ Robin said. ‘Everyone else was a tedious stepping stone on the way to finding you.’
‘You had rather questionable taste in stepping stones,’ Edwin told him loftily, hiding his smile behind another sip of whiskey.
Robin sighed. ‘He’s a perfectly decent fellow, and we’ve established he didn’t write the paper that offended you so terribly.’
‘Well, what does it tell you that he couldn’t manage even that?’ Edwin retorted, swirling his drink round the tumbler.
Robin set his glass aside, regarding him with a fond tilt of his head. ‘I see you’re determined to be unreasonable about this.’
‘I am,’ Edwin agreed, putting his whiskey down too, and then he climbed into Robin’s lap and kissed him.
He wasn’t actually jealous. At least, he didn’t feel jealousy of a sort that stirred in him any genuine need to stake his claim. Instead, he was filled with a warm possessiveness that made him want to do so anyway.
Robin, for his part, seemed enthusiastically on board. He took hold of Edwin’s hips and squeezed. He tugged Edwin’s shirt and undershirt from his trousers and slid his hands beneath to touch the bare, ticklish skin of his waist. His mouth beneath Edwin’s was soft and yielding.
‘Shocked as I’m sure we all are to discover I wasn’t a blushing virgin when we met,’ he murmured, when they came up for air, ‘might I remind you that one of your ex-lovers is our very regular dinner guest?’
‘That’s different,’ Edwin told him, tracing the bow of his upper lip with a finger. ‘Jack still barely puts up with me. Manning looks at you like he’d like to have you for dessert and then go back for seconds.’
‘He’s happily married, as I understand it.’
‘Still,’ Edwin said. ‘Only I get to have you for dessert.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Robin breathed, and their mouths met again.
There was no urgency to the kiss. There didn’t need to be. Robin was all his to savour. Edwin felt greedy, wanted to draw this out and out and out.
He let his hands slide up into Robin’s hair and roam down his back and cup his jaw. He dropped his mouth to Robin’s neck and sucked at the skin above his collar. Robin groaned, his cock hardening beneath Edwin, and Edwin ground down against him with a pleased sound.
‘You get to have me,’ Robin said. His voice was husky and soft, words breathed into the barely-there space between them. ‘However you like. Wherever you like.’
‘Some of the places I’d like to have you would be frowned upon by polite society, I think,’ Edwin said.
Robin trailed his lips down Edwin’s neck, one hand at his back, the other unbuttoning Edwin's shirt to get access to the skin beneath. ‘God. Tell me where.’
‘Your desk,’ Edwin said immediately. He could have produced an itemised list.
Robin pulled his mouth from Edwin’s collarbone to peer round him at the handsome mahogany desk on the far side of the room, then frowned up at him. ‘We’ve done that one.’
‘I hardly think that means we shouldn’t do it again.’ Edwin idly plucked Robin’s first few shirt buttons open too. ‘And anyway, I meant your desk at your office.’
Robin groaned. ‘You’ve imagined that, have you?’
Edwin ground his hips down again and said, voice low, ‘I was imagining that days after we met.’
‘Fuck.’ Robin briefly tented his hand over his eyes, as though gathering himself. He peeked at Edwin between his fingers, eyes alight with laughter, lust. ‘Where else?’
‘By the lake in St. James’s Park.’ He reached down and got to work on Robin’s trouser fastenings. ‘That one would be doable with a curtain-spell. And a blanket to lie on.’ He frowned, dwelling on the possibilities now that he was voicing his thoughts aloud. ‘Sit on? Lie on,’ he decided, with a satisfied nod, thinking about pulling Robin down towards him with the blue sky above.
Robin shivered, shifting the angle of his hips to give Edwin easier access. ‘Trust you to have thought about the logistics of this.’
‘Arthur Manning wouldn’t have thought about the logistics,’ Edwin said, tightening his thighs against Robin’s. ‘He wouldn’t have the first clue.’
‘For the love of god,’ Robin begged him, ‘be quiet about Arthur Manning.’
Edwin’s lips twitched. ‘All right, then.’ He spread apart the fastening of Robin’s trousers, then pulled his cock free of his drawers and slid off his lap to kneel on the floor before him. ‘Let’s do something else instead.’
He closed his mouth around Robin’s cock, and Robin sighed out a helpless Oh.
A broad hand came to rest in Edwin’s hair and he moaned, relishing it all: the weight of Robin on his tongue and the silky hot skin and the salt taste of him, the solidity of Robin’s thighs beneath his hands, the delicious tug against his scalp when Robin squeezed his hand tighter in his hair.
He especially relished Robin’s breathy pleas for more of that, yes, oh, I want you so much. He was more vocal than usual, undoubtedly playing it up for Edwin’s benefit. But Robin was always honest, especially in this. He meant every word he said.
The words, and that knowledge, washed over Edwin, warm, rolling waves that made him shudder with pleasure. He pressed a hand against his own stiffening cock through his trousers and took Robin deeper. Robin groaned, visibly fighting to hold his hips still, the hand in Edwin’s hair clenching and loosening. Edwin almost wanted to make him lose control, but Robin begged, ‘Please get up here and let me fuck you,’ and who was Edwin to argue with that?
He pulled off Robin’s cock and stood, shoving his trousers and drawers off his hips. Robin watching him hungrily all the while, reaching for him as he kicked his clothes aside and took his place with his knees astride Robin’s lap again.
‘I’m certain Arthur Manning doesn’t know that clever little spell of yours,’ Robin murmured up at him, hands sliding over Edwin’s waist, thumb stroking back and forth at the ticklish spot just below his ribs.
‘I thought we were shutting up about Manning?’ Edwin asked, as he cradled the spell Robin was talking about. He met Robin’s eyes as it took its form, shining like a soap bubble and then thickening until it collapsed, leaving behind a clear liquid that pooled glossily in Edwin’s palm.
It had felt like a frivolous thing to work on. Now, with Robin’s eyes growing darker and his breathing harsher as Edwin let the slick drip from his fingers to Robin’s, he couldn’t think why he’d have spent time on anything else.
‘I’m just saying. No one can do what you can do,’ Robin said with a smile, reaching round to run a knuckle down the cleft of Edwin’s arse, stretching up to kiss him as he did so.
Robin liked to take his time over this, and today was no different, even as his ragged breaths and straining cock spoke of his own eagerness. Edwin’s eyelashes fluttered at the slow, sure stroke of Robin’s fingers inside him, a soft whine escaping him.
Another time he’d be perfectly content to let him draw it out, might even want Robin to make him come this way. Robin had done that before, taken what felt like hours over it, bringing Edwin close and then easing off, over and over until Edwin was almost sobbing, clenching around Robin’s fingers, finally coming apart with the barest brush of Robin’s other hand on his cock.
And now… yes, he wanted to savour this, wanted all of Robin’s knowledge of his body put to use. But he wanted it with Robin inside him, for them to chase climax together. Wanted to put on full display just how well and how intimately he knew Robin, too.
He kissed Robin hard, and it was all the cue Robin needed to pull his fingers from Edwin’s body and slick his cock. Edwin shifted forwards, rising higher on his knees, reaching back to take Robin in hand and position him so he could guide him inside.
‘Fuck,’ Robin hissed. ‘God. You feel—’
He broke off, hands clutching at Edwin’s back, holding him close, lip caught between his teeth and hazel eyes darkening further as Edwin rose and sank back down slowly, closing his eyes as he let himself get used to the stretch.
‘How do I feel?’ Edwin gasped out, when Robin didn’t complete the thought aloud. He gripped Robin’s shoulders for leverage, falling into a leisurely, familiar rhythm that would build their pleasure in luxurious increments until it drove them both wild. The angle was perfect, each stroke of Robin’s cock sending heat curling up his spine, and Edwin demanded, begged, ‘Tell me what it feels like to fuck me.’
Robin drew in deep lungfuls of air, chest heaving beneath his shirt. His eyes were fixed on Edwin’s, wide and adoring. ‘You know. You know it’s—oh god—never been like this, not with anyone else.’
‘I want you to tell me,’ Edwin insisted, feeling blood rush to his cheeks. ‘I want to hear it.’
He might have begun this in jest, his mostly-feigned jealousy meant mainly as a pretext for sex. But he liked when Robin affirmed his attraction to him, told him how desired, how wanted he was. And he was better, these days, at asking for the things he liked, even if he had to push through his instinctive embarrassment, the knee-jerk sense that he was being too needy.
‘You’re exquisite,’ Robin bit out, kissing one of Edwin’s heated cheeks, then the other.
Edwin’s eyes slammed shut and he moaned—at Robin’s words, at the way Robin filled him perfectly with every roll of his hips, but more than anything at how immediately willing Robin was to give him what he’d asked for.
‘I love the way you feel around me,’ Robin continued, peppering kisses down his neck to the hollow of his throat. His hand closed around Edwin’s cock. ‘I love knowing exactly how you’ll respond when I touch you—yes, just like that, love,’ he groaned, as Edwin’s hips jerked. ‘I love that you’ve—studied me as much as any of your damned books, learned just what I like, taught me so many things I didn’t know about myself—Edwin.’
He pressed a hand over his eyes with a shudder as Edwin gave a ruthless twist of his hips and dropped his mouth to Robin’s neck, biting at the warm crook of it. Robin growled and wrapped an arm around his waist, feet planted and other hand braced on the sofa so he could thrust up to meet him, moving in perfect counterpoint to Edwin.
It was a kind of jealousy Edwin felt. He’d had good sex before Robin—he’d give Jack that much credit. And most of Robin’s past encounters had been enjoyable enough, Edwin knew. He didn’t begrudge him that.
But this. This deep understanding of how to please each other, this meeting in the middle, this knowing exactly, exactly, what would make the other shout, what would make them sigh, what would render them speechless with pleasure—even as they remained eager, always, to discover more of each other, to learn and explore together. It was more than good. It was its own sort of magic. Of course Edwin felt fiercely, joyously protective of it.
He knew, too, when Robin was close. Knew the change in his movements as he drew nearer to his peak, knew the falter in his rhythm. Knew the soft, desperate sounds spilling from his mouth, the flutter of his long eyelashes.
Edwin kissed the familiar furrow forming between his brows, the colour blooming in his cheeks, before putting his mouth to his ear.
‘You’re perfect,’ he told him softly, and then, with a possessive final graze of teeth against Robin’s earlobe, he added, ‘And you’re mine.’
Robin came with a long, choked moan.
Edwin slowed and then stilled entirely, watching Robin in the throes of pleasure and their aftermath as satisfying as any climax of his own. Robin’s eyes were closed, his head thrown back against the sofa, his throat bared.
For a moment, he stayed like that, breathing hard, arm still tucked around Edwin’s waist, other hand loosely circling his cock.
Then his eyes cracked open. ‘I never knew how much I’d like the biting.’ His lips quirked. ‘For example.’
Edwin’s mouth twitched in kind. He shifted his hips. He wasn’t hinting, but Robin took his cue anyway, pushing his way upright and pressing his mouth against Edwin’s. The kiss and Robin’s hand on Edwin’s cock were both achingly gentle, a delicate tease across sensitive skin, and Robin smiled into it when Edwin whimpered.
‘You know,’ he murmured, trailing his fingers up the underside of Edwin’s cock and drawing his thumb over the head, ‘when you come, you’re so beautiful I can’t take my eyes off you.’
Edwin met his steady gaze and tumbled, inexorable, over the edge.
***
‘I’m not proud of it,’ Edwin told him.
They’d ended up lying down on the sofa together. He hadn’t relinquished his hold on Robin and didn’t intend to any time soon.
‘It’s just… it’s rather nice,’ he confessed, running his hand over Robin’s jaw, ‘to think that you chose me.’
‘Nothing wrong with that at all,’ Robin said. He turned his face briefly to touch his lips to Edwin’s palm, and then turned his warm gaze back again. ‘I’m awfully proud that you chose me.’
Edwin buried his face in Robin’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin. He kissed the reddened marks he’d left, and then pulled back to brush his fingers over them.
‘Sorry about those,’ he murmured, contrite. ‘I do know a spell that will get rid of them.’
‘Do they look very obvious?’ Robin asked, reaching up to touch the marks too.
He winced. ‘They do rather, yes.’
‘Hm.’ Robin closed his eyes, drawing Edwin closer. ‘I think I’d like to keep them for now. Let people see you’ve thoroughly laid claim to me.’
Robin could hardly leave the house that way, but it satisfied something primal in Edwin nonetheless.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I do have a lot more to learn about you, after all. Can’t have anyone stealing you away.’
Robin smiled and pressed his lips to Edwin’s forehead. ‘No one could possibly.’