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Sebastian inhaled, the heat in his stomach spreading out into his limbs and under his collar. He pushed away the urge to test Wesley’s threat, forcing himself to turn to the ocean and look forward.

“There is no point picking up your weapon until you get the posture right.” Wesley tapped his right shoulder, the touch feather-light. “Shift here.”

Sebastian took another breath. It would have been faster and easier for Wesley to push him into position.

But he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t forcing Sebastian to move.

Maybe because more than anyone else, Wesley understood that Sebastian still had echoes of someone else’s control in his blood, and he wanted Sebastian to be fully in control of his own body—was willing to wait however long it took for Sebastian to move himself.

Sebastian tried shifting toward Wesley’s hand, just slightly, and all at once felt his body align like the watch hand reaching noon, or a compass needle finding north.

“ There, ” Wesley said approvingly. “Feel the difference?” He was shifting behind Sebastian, studying him. “Your posture isn’t terrible now, but you need to breathe.”

“You make me forget how,” Sebastian muttered.

He felt the air move as Wesley startled, felt more than heard the quietly exhaled swear. “Don’t you dare be romantic when I’m trying to focus on instructing you.”

“But it’s true,” Sebastian said, barely more than a whisper. “You’ve always made me breathless.”

“Corporal, you are going to hush right now or find yourself bent over this convenient deck chair right here, and then where are you going to learn to shoot?”

Sebastian swallowed. Wesley was joking, but the idea was tempting. The thought of being manhandled over a deck chair wasn’t raising his nerves. He wanted Wesley to do it, trusted Wesley would let him up if it ever got to be too much.

He forced his thoughts back to the moment, his focus on the ocean.

“Breathe,” Wesley instructed, “then raise your arm and pretend to aim.”

Sebastian did. Wesley’s hand skated across his bicep and forearm, making only the lightest taps so that again all adjustments had to be made by Sebastian himself.

“Keep this arm an inch higher.” Wesley shifted fully behind him. “And bring your other hand up as you would to brace the gun, with steady breaths the whole time.”

He continued the butterfly-faint touches of guidance on Sebastian’s bicep, his shoulder, his hip. “Like this. I’ve seen you dance; I know you can learn what to do with your body.”

“When did you see me dance?” Sebastian said. “You weren’t watching at the Magnolia.”

“Of course I fucking was.” Wesley’s breath was a tiny spot of warmth in the cold, ghosting over the back of Sebastian’s neck. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“But you said you didn’t—”

“I lied, because I’m a coward, and a brooding, jealous prick.” Wesley’s hand touched his hip. “And even when you so sweetly tried to reassure me that you had told your lady friend you were taken, my ego wouldn’t let me admit I appreciated hearing that.”

Sebastian swallowed. “I really wouldn’t have—”

“I know.” Wesley’s mouth was very close to his ear. “It’s an ugly thing, jealousy. I would like to claim I’m above it, but I’m afraid I’m still reprehensibly territorial when it comes to you.”

Words tumbled out before Sebastian realized he was going to say them. “I thought that was just when I had magic in the tattoo. Because the lion used to be yours alone, but now everyone can see him.”

“How convenient that would be for me, wouldn’t it?

If I could pretend all this pesky possessiveness was just the magic’s influence, and without it I’m actually quite a reasonable chap.

” Wesley’s hand lingered on Sebastian’s hip a few seconds longer than was appropriate for public.

“But no, I’m a bastard through and through.

Do you imagine the streets are full of men willing to sacrifice the literal magic in their veins to save my life?

You’re irreplaceable, Sebastian. And your lion is mine more than ever now. ”

Sebastian swallowed again, his throat suddenly tight.

Wesley pulled a little ways back. “Anyway, all of this is exactly why emotions are terrible and ought to be abolished,” he said softly. “But you should never doubt that you have my complete trust. And you’re a gorgeous dancer who’s going to teach me to tango someday so I can toss you around.”

Sebastian huffed a laugh. “I’m too big for that.”

“You wish you were too big for that.” Wesley took a full step back. “All right, you can pick up the gun now. But return to this exact position again, holding it with both hands and aiming off the stern.”

Once Sebastian was armed and facing the sea, Wesley stepped forward to help with tiny adjustments, and Sebastian focused on learning the scant centimeters that made up the difference between what he’d thought was right versus Wesley’s expertise.

Finally, Wesley stepped to the side. “I’m not launching quite yet. Look down the barrel. Keep your gaze open and alert so you’re ready for wherever the trap goes.”

Sebastian focused on the sky, on the churning white waves of the wake disappearing behind the ship.

“Good,” Wesley said. “When you’re ready, take one more breath. Then I’ll throw the trap.”

Sebastian took a breath, taking in the scents of the sea and the ship and gunpowder, and let it out.

Wesley pulled the level, and the clay disk flew up into the sky. Sebastian tracked it, then fired.

And this time, he clipped it—and no, it wasn’t a perfect shot, but he’d hit the damn thing.

“ Yes. ” Sebastian looked over his shoulder, grinning. “Did you see that?”

“I did.” Wesley had a small smile of his own.

“Would Captain Collins have been happy with that?”

“Captain Collins would have been completely distracted by that smile of yours and thoughts of how he could have gotten you into his tent,” Wesley said bluntly. “Now do it again until we run out of traps.”