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The smoking room was paneled in dark mahogany, the wall’s carvings accented with mother-of-pearl under an intricate ceiling. There were several card tables, and club chairs upholstered in burgundy leather. Attendants in black tie flitted about the space, serving drinks and bringing cigars.

Wesley picked a pair of chairs in a deep corner, where they could watch the room and the door.

Sebastian had seemed a bit subdued during dinner, even declining dessert despite his fondness for sweets.

Being off food might have been expected if Wesley’s dining companion had been Rory Brodigan, but the seas were calm and Sebastian didn’t suffer from seasickness.

Wesley thought they had put the issue of reputation to rest; maybe once they were alone again, he could tease out whatever was eating at Sebastian.

An attendant came by with a box of cigars. “Drinks, gentleman?” he said, offering Wesley the box.

Wesley grabbed a cigar at random. “Whiskey neat.”

“Same,” Sebastian said, shaking his head at the cigars.

Wesley carefully kept his face blank. No one ever owed him or anyone else an explanation for why they were or weren’t drinking. But Sebastian’s abstention had seemed like it might be due to a lingering hope that his magic was still around.

Maybe Sebastian had given up even that.

Wesley didn’t comment on it. Nor did he comment on the second whiskey, as they chatted together in the corner of the smoking room and watched for Lady Nora or her male companion to enter. The whiskey was strong and the pours generous; Wesley would need to pace himself if he wanted to keep his head.

So when Sebastian not only ordered a third, but made his a double, Wesley cleared his throat. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”

“Why?” The smoking room was dim, but Sebastian’s eyes were shiny enough already to reflect the low lights, and there was more color in his cheeks than usual.

“Just thinking of the last time you drank two whiskies,” Wesley said nonchalantly. “Perhaps you don’t recall? You passed out on the floor of Shepherd Hall and I had to put you to bed.”

“I was a different person then,” Sebastian said, more quietly.

“Yes, but duck,” Wesley said, slow and patronizing, “there are plenty of lightweights without magic.”

“Why would I be one?”

“Because you’re not as big as you always think you are?” Wesley gestured at his own second whiskey, which was still half-full. “At the very least, are you sure you want to outdrink me? I’ve had years more experience with my own alcohol tolerance and I’m bigger than you to boot.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Barely bigger.”

“It’s not barely ,” Wesley said. “And if I get you under me, you’re going to see our size difference is more than you think.”

Oops. Damn, it was strong whiskey. Wesley needed to watch his tongue.

Though the comment didn’t seem to have made Sebastian nervous. His gaze was on Wesley, sweeping over him before coming back up to his shoulders, his lips. Sebastian wet his own lips. “All talk, no action,” he said lightly.

Heat rolled through Wesley. “Your efforts are impressive, I’ll give you that,” he said, pushing his desire down.

“But you’re trying to change the subject, and that doesn’t work on me.

I assure you, no action of any kind will be taking place if you get yourself drunk.

” He leaned in. “Talk to me,” he said, in a whisper that wouldn’t reach beyond Sebastian. “What’s going on tonight?”

Sebastian’s shoulders dropped. He was silent a long moment, staring into the smoking room but not seeming to see anything.

“Sebastian,” Wesley said, still quiet, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Sebastian let out a sigh. “I tried to use my magic again,” he finally said. “But nothing happened. It’s gone, Wes. It’s really gone.”

“Oh, duck,” Wesley said, and this time there was nothing patronizing about the endearment.

“I don’t regret it,” Sebastian said, with feeling. “I don’t ever want you to think I regret it. I’m so grateful I was able to save you. I’d do it every time.”

“I know,” Wesley said truthfully, because he did know, and it was still humbling, the knowledge that Sebastian had chosen him over magic and would do it again.

“And I don’t blame you,” Sebastian said, with just as much feeling. “You were only in that attic because you had come to save me .”

“I know that too,” Wesley promised. “The fault was Langford’s, and Alasdair’s, and whoever might have been masterminding their actions.”

He leaned even closer. “But it’s all right if you wish you could have me and magic.

You’re allowed to miss it.” His gaze softened.

“How difficult this all must be for you, missing your magic but thinking you have to conceal those feelings lest you hurt my feelings. I can’t bring your magic back, but I can promise you don’t have to hide your heart too. ”

Sebastian looked at him with a kind of helpless gratitude. “Thank you, Wes,” he whispered.

The waiter was approaching with Sebastian’s drink.

“We will find out who was behind this,” Wesley promised.

“Lady Nora’s mysterious man doesn’t seem to be showing up, but we’re on a ship—he can’t conceal himself all week.

” A rueful smile curled on his lips. “And for tonight, if you’re determined not to listen to my better judgment, you can find out for yourself what happens if you keep drinking those whiskies. ”

He pointed at Sebastian. “But I’m not going to carry you back to your stateroom. I am not actually a sucker and I do draw the line somewhere.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sebastian said loftily.

Wesley picked his glass back up. “Sure you will.”

* * *

“Wesley. Wes. Wes, I think the floor is moving.”

Wesley tried not to smile as he watched Sebastian inch across the smoking room as tentatively as if he was walking on a tight rope. “Christ, I love saying I told you so .”

“It’s not whiskey, it’s waves.” Sebastian gingerly stepped through the lounge doorway and into the ship’s carpeted hall, one hand braced on the wall. “Las olas del océano. You know? The ocean waves are making the inside of the boat move.”

“You think so?” Wesley said. “And here I’m walking just fine.”

“Well, maybe I’m just not as good as you at…walking.”

“I bet that sounded like a really clever retort in your head.”

“Hush.” Sebastian frowned at the stairs in front of him. “Is the cabin up or down?”

“You are so lucky I’m here,” Wesley said, with a pitying shake of his head. “Otherwise, I’d probably find you wandering the boat deck. Down the stairs.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed. He carefully wrapped his hand around the railing and stepped down onto the first stair.

Wesley quickly moved closer. It was nearly midnight and the few other passengers about were paying them no attention.

He might be teasing, but he wasn’t going to let Sebastian tumble down a flight of stairs.

Sure enough, when Sebastian tried the third step, he stumbled. Wesley caught him before he pitched face-first into the stairs. “Steady there, duck.”

“Me encantan los patitos.” Sebastian made a walking motion with his fingers. “Tan lindo pajaritos, como siguen a su mama.”

“A first-class education in Latin, and I’m using it to try to decipher your drunken rambling.

” Wesley shifted but kept a firm hold on Sebastian’s bicep.

They’d been to enough parks that he recognized pato and patito , by now, at least. “I said I wasn’t going to carry you, and yet here I am, keeping you upright while I’m pretty sure you’re babbling about ducklings following their mother.

How unacceptably soft I’ve become. At least Arthur and Brodigan aren’t here to see this. ”

“They’re not?” Sebastian said, with sincere confusion. “Where did Arthur and Rory go?”

“They’re in second class, which you’ve apparently forgotten. I’m sorry, but you truly have no head for whiskey.” Wesley kept his secure hold as they walked down the stairs. “That’s one flight down, steady on, one more deck to go.”

They made it to C-deck and Wesley guided Sebastian down the hall. No one was about, so he fished Sebastian’s key out of his jacket pocket and unlocked the stateroom, gently pushing him inside. “Into your room, there’s a good boy.”

Sebastian grabbed Wesley by the lapels and tugged him into the stateroom with him. “Call me that again. But take my clothes off first.”

Wesley laughed even as heat surged through him. “You’re drunk, sweetheart,” he said, the endearment slipping out through his own whiskey-loosened lips. “There will be no clothes coming off.”

Sebastian’s arms were twining around his neck. “You want to do it with our clothes on?”

Wesley tsked, trying to push the desire down even as he let Sebastian pull him against him. “Don’t tempt me. That’s not going to get you called a good boy.”

“Call me a bad one then.”

An intoxicating mix of lust and laughter surged through Wesley again, something he’d only ever shared with Sebastian. “You really are a scoundrel.”

“This is our tale of viscounts and villainy.” Sebastian tilted his head back, arms still around Wesley’s neck as he stretched up to meet his lips.

“Que hombre tan guapo, listo y dulce eres,” he murmured, as he kissed Wesley far more gracefully than any drunk should be able to kiss.

“Todavía no sé cómo tuve la suerte de llamarte mío.”

Christ. Wesley only understood a handful of words— handsome , clever , sweet , mine —but he didn’t need a translation for the warmth in Sebastian’s voice or the caress in his touch. What a magic of its own it was, to be in the arms of this man.

“This is fighting dirty,” Wesley said, against Sebastian’s lips, trying to keep his head, “switching to Spanish so you can get away with saying soft things. And you’re still drunk, so it doesn’t matter how sweet your words in any tongue; nothing is happening but sleep.”

He gently pushed Sebastian down to sit on the edge of the bed under the porthole. Sebastian let him slide the jacket from his shoulders, but he’d furrowed his brow, looking up at Wesley like he’d just remembered something. “I was going to tell you: you don’t have to sleep with me.”

Wesley frowned, setting the jacket to the side and reaching for Sebastian’s bow tie. “Why are you saying that?”

“Wes, the bed is this big.” Sebastian awkwardly held up his hands as Wesley worked at his bow tie, maybe trying to illustrate the narrow mattress. “Es una cama corta y estrecha, is what I’m trying to say, a short, skinny bed. You will get no sleep if I’m in it with you.”

“You won’t get any sleep if you have a blood terror,” Wesley said flatly, as he unbuttoned Sebastian’s shirt.

“They won’t come,” Sebastian said quietly. “They are magic. I’m not. Not anymore.”

Oh please. It wasn’t going to be that simple; Wesley might have known about magic for only months, but it was never simple.

“I appreciate you,” Sebastian said, touching Wesley’s cheek with aching gentleness. “But you know people on this ship, and you shouldn’t be seen in my room. And if the Duke of Valemount’s niece is involved in this in any way—if she’s here to spy on us—she will be watching.”

Wesley sighed. “If that’s what you wish.”

He helped Sebastian out of his dress shirt to just the T-shirt beneath, then removed his shoes and trousers. As soon as his clothes were off, Sebastian rolled over, facing the porthole, his eyes closing almost instantly.

Such a lightweight. Still, though Sebastian might be drunk, his point was well-taken: Wesley did know people aboard this ship who would be curious why he was in Sebastian’s stateroom. And if they were being spied on, it would certainly be noticed if they slept in each other’s rooms.

Sebastian had tried to use his magic twice and it hadn’t come. It did seem unlikely the blood terrors could reach him now. And the beds were quite narrow; two grown men would never fit.

The sensible thing to do would be for Wesley to return to his own room and have a good night’s sleep alone.

No matter how temptingly touchable Sebastian looked in that bed.

Wesley straightened up. As he did, he caught his own reflection in the mirror above the marble sink.

The man staring back at him was unexpected, and almost startling—color on his cheeks, lips flushed, eyes more blue than gray.

In their short, stolen minute, Sebastian had even managed to muss his hair.

Wesley was used to the man in the mirror looking cold and severe. Untouchable and undesirable.

But this man in the reflection was none of those things.

He looked like someone’s lover.

Wesley looked at himself for another moment, then stood all the way up. The hell with it: he had never done what other people wanted him to and he wasn’t starting now.

He stripped off his own tailcoat and hung it along with Sebastian’s tuxedo jacket in the closet.

Then he turned off the light, slipping into the bed behind Sebastian and pulling the covers over both of them.

Sebastian made a soft noise, shifting into him as Wesley wrapped his arm over his waist and pulled him against him.

There was nowhere near enough space for them both, but this was bliss all the same: Sebastian’s closeness finally satiating Wesley’s relentless cravings, bringing elusive peace to his mind and body.

He rested his head on the same pillow as Sebastian and let himself enjoy it.