Chapter 61: Entertainment

Chapter 61: Chapter 61: Entertainment

The adjoining sitting room had been prepared for two, something Sebastian noticed before he paid any attention to the food.

A smaller dining table had been moved beside the tall windows overlooking the rain-dark forest, close enough to the medical wing that Roberta could probably reach him within a minute if something went wrong, yet separated from it by thick doors, warm wood paneling, and enough distance that the faint chemical smell of disinfectant had finally disappeared beneath coffee, fresh bread, and the low-burning fire set into the narrow stone hearth.

Two place settings waited beneath the pale afternoon light.

Sebastian looked at them, then at Nero.

Nero had stepped through the doorway ahead of him, apparently satisfied enough with the arrangement that he was already turning toward the table when Sebastian reached out and placed his hand against the center of his back.

Sebastian let his palm settle between Nero’s shoulder blades, felt the immediate tension beneath the fitted black shirt, then deliberately slid his hand lower along the line of Nero’s spine before removing it just above his waist.

Nero stopped walking.

Sebastian continued past him as though nothing had happened.

Behind him came several seconds of silence.

"What," Nero asked eventually, his voice suspiciously controlled, "was that?"

Sebastian pulled out one of the chairs and sat.

"What was what?"

He did not need to look over to know exactly what expression Nero was wearing.

That was becoming part of the entertainment.

Sebastian needed entertainment.

Preferably enough of it to occupy every spare corner of his mind before those corners began filling themselves with receptors, secondary-gender restructuring, new glands, changing pheromonal responses, and the increasingly undeniable reality that the body he had understood for thirty-one years was becoming something else without asking whether he was emotionally prepared for the process.

The physicians could call it successful progress.

Sebastian could intellectually agree.

That did not mean he wanted to spend lunch contemplating it.

Nero, on the other hand, was an amazing distraction.

Especially now that Sebastian had discovered something genuinely extraordinary.

He could make Nero nervous.

That discovery alone deserved scientific investigation.

Nero finally crossed the room and took the chair beside him instead of the one opposite, because apparently agreeing to lunch together had translated immediately into remain within touching distance at all times.

Sebastian looked toward the empty chair across the table, then slowly turned his head.

Nero unfolded his napkin with perfect composure.

"No."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "I did not say anything."

"You were considering telling me to sit over there."

"I was considering whether you were physically capable of sitting more than half a meter away from me."

"Yes."

Sebastian waited.

Nero reached for the bread.

"I simply see no reason to demonstrate it."

A quiet laugh escaped Sebastian before he could stop it.

Nero’s hand paused above the basket.

Sebastian had known Nero for most of his life, and there had never been anything remotely shy about him. Nero knew exactly how beautiful he was, had known since adolescence, and possessed none of the embarrassment most people developed when complimented too often.

That particular quality had come from both sides of his family.

Christopher could reduce a room to silence simply by entering it correctly, while Dax had spent decades behaving as though exceptional looks were another perfectly reasonable royal resource alongside wealth, intelligence, and military power.

Nero had inherited all of it and made it worse.

He knew when people stared.

He had used his smile in negotiations, photographs, public appearances, and more than one interrogation where the person opposite him had mistaken beauty for kindness and discovered the error too late.

Embarrassment simply did not belong naturally to him.

And yet Sebastian touching his back had made him freeze.

Sebastian found that delightful.

He reached toward Nero’s sleeve while taking the breadbasket and allowed two fingers to trail lightly across Nero’s forearm.

Nero’s eyes dropped to the contact.

Sebastian continued serving himself.

"You are doing this deliberately."

His tone remained smooth, but Sebastian had known him too long to miss the faint tightness beneath it.

"Doing what?"

Nero turned his head.

Sebastian looked back with an expression of polite innocence that had worked on ambassadors, ministers, professors, furious relatives, and nearly anyone possessing enough intelligence to appreciate charm when it was directed at them.

Sebastian had never needed to dominate rooms the way Nero did.

He generally did something far more effective.

He made people like him.

He remembered names, listened properly when people spoke, knew how to make someone feel interesting without flattering them obviously, and could soften an argument with a smile before anyone realized they had stopped being angry.

Nero had watched people adore Sebastian for years.

Apparently he had never prepared for Sebastian behaving that way with him.

"You touched my back," Nero said.

"Yes."

"And my arm."

"You remain tragically intact."

"That is not the issue."

Sebastian leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice as though sharing something private.

"What is the issue?"

Nero stared at him.

Sebastian could almost watch the systems fail behind those violet eyes.

He smiled.

Not the dry little expression Nero had been receiving from him for years, but something warmer and deliberately charming.

Nero’s hand tightened around the bread.

Sebastian nearly laughed again.

This was much better than thinking about his glands.

"You’re enjoying this," Nero said.

"Immensely."

"I noticed."

Nero recovered enough to place the bread on his plate with insulting elegance, though a faint warmth had begun gathering beneath the room’s neutral air, a restrained flare of pheromones carrying the suggestion of fire and smoke before Nero pulled it back under control.

Sebastian could feel it anyway.

His changing receptors responded immediately.

That part was still strange.

He refused to think about it.

Instead, he let his knee rest against Nero’s beneath the table.

Nero looked at him.

Sebastian picked up his spoon.

"You cannot possibly be this innocent."

"I have never claimed innocence."

"No, but until yesterday you treated casual affection toward me as though it required parliamentary approval."

Sebastian paused.

That was fair.

He took a spoonful of soup, considering the point, while Nero watched him far too closely.

The change probably did seem abrupt from Nero’s side.

Sebastian had spent years rationing every expression of affection around him, careful not to encourage something he believed could only end catastrophically, and now, within less than a day of admitting he wanted him, Sebastian was touching him whenever opportunity presented itself.

Perhaps that should have felt unnatural.

It did not.

Once Sebastian stopped preventing himself, affection came easily.

His hand wanted to settle against Nero’s arm when he spoke.

He wanted to straighten the loose strand of white-blond hair resting over Nero’s shoulder.

He wanted to smile when Nero said something ridiculous instead of immediately hiding the reaction.

Apparently restraint had required effort. This did not.

Nero had not understood that yet.

Sebastian suspected neither had he.

"You’re staring," Sebastian said.