Page 11 of Dead Serious Case 4 Professor Prometheus Plume
“And I love them.”
“Exactly,” he replies. “Our lives are pretty much all about murder and death. I don’t really think we should be worried about what other people think. We’ve literally had Death sitting in our kitchen. We saved the world from an apocalypse and stopped a supernatural entity called Chaos from entering our world through a magic doorway in a bookshop. Our lives can’t exactly be measured by the same yardstick as everyone else’s.”
“Oh my god, we should totally have our own comic book series.” I snigger. “When you say it like that, it sounds impossible.”
He picks up an envelope and turns it over in his hands. “What’s this?”
“Well, open it and find out,” I tell him, watching as he then does exactly that. He pulls free the piece of paper I’ve printed off and scans down it. “It’s a year’s membership to Ancestry,” I tell him nervously.
“What?”
“Well, you’ve been so into researching my family and Inspector Franklin, I thought you might like access to all the archives and things online.” I chew my lip.
“It’s perfect.” He beams at me, then leans over and gives me a solid but quick kiss. “Speaking of research, I almost forgot to tell you. Before I left work on Saturday, I was told that my request for access to the Crime Museum and archives has been approved.”
“Really?” I gasp excitedly. “That’s so cool. I’m insanely jealous.”
The Crime Museum is a collection of criminal memorabilia housed at Scotland Yard and is not open to the public. Some of the artefacts actually include items from the Jack the Ripper murders and other high-profile historical cases.
“No need,” he says a little smugly. “Because I have permission to take you with me.”
“No way,” I squeak. “Oh my god, that’s so awesome.” I bounce up and down. “Also, also”—I wave my hands excitedly—“now that we’ve finally pried Madam Viv out of the spare room and back into the bookshop, I thought we could set up a personal office in there for you. We could get a fold-out sofa bed for if people want to stay over, but all your research and paperwork are kind of everywhere in the flat. I figured you might want to have it all in one place.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Why would I? It’s your home too.”
“I would love that.” He watches me and for a moment, his expression is unreadable. Then he clears his throat. “So you never told me what you got in Hen’s naughty Secret Santa.”
I groan. I should’ve known he’d ask; after all, he’s had to listen to me go on about it for the past month.
“What?” he prompts. “Is it that bad?” I wince. “How bad are we talking? Arseless chaps and a riding crop bad or ball gag and gimp mask levels?”
“For fuck’s sake, Danny, it’s the office Secret Santa, not hardcore porn.”
“Well, you’re not giving me much to work with,” he points out.
I sigh and climb off the bed, crossing the room and pulling my Secret Santa gift from the bag I brought home last night. Hiding it behind my back, I settle myself next to him.
“Come on, show me.” He laughs as he makes a grab for the package I’m concealing.
“Ah!” I hold my free hand up to stop him. “Before I show you, I’d just like to point out it’s hideously embarrassing and we’re not using it.”
“Now I’m really curious.” He grins and reaches for it again. Relenting with a grimace, I hand it over.
“A candy thong?” He laughs in delight. “From the way you were carrying on, I was beginning to think it was a blow-up doll or a latex nurse’s outfit. What’s so bad about this?” He rips open the box and holds the thong up to his chest. “Your cute little bum would look so delicious in this.”
“Well, you can eat my cute little bum whenever you feel like it, but I won’t be wearing this while you’re doing it,” I tell him primly.
“Aww, come on. Why not?” He leans in and presses his face into where my shoulder meets my neck and nuzzles, playfully nipping me.
“Stop it.” I giggle and hunch my shoulders when his stubble brushes over a ticklish spot.
“Don’t you want me to nibble that thong right off your gorgeous cock?” he teases.
“You know full well I don’t have a problem with you licking or nibbling anything off me,” I reply, and when he sniggers, I know full well he’s thinking about the whipped-cream-and-chocolate-sauce birthday debacle. “Buuuttt…” I continue. “I can’t do it. Hen definitely didn’t get it for me, that would have been bad enough, which means it was one of the others. I cannot get all freaky with you knowing that you are chewing underwear off my nethers that was potentially purchased by my boss, the thought of which is only marginally less horrifying than it being bought by Judy, a very strict grandmother of an office supervisor who sounds like she belongs in Downton Abbey half the time.”
“I take your point. Seems a shame to waste it though.” He takes a bite, crunching loudly. He grimaces and tosses it over the side of the bed. “Ewww, no.” He shakes his head.