Chapter 15

“So,” Simon said. “Hold me, and…and tell me you love me again…and in the morning we’ll rescue my brother from embarrassing personal blackmail?”

“Sounds like a plan.” They settled back into bed. Ben rescued the sheet and blanket from the heaps Simon had kicked them into, and kept his husband warm. Whispered, “I love you, you make me want to be your hero, you make me believe in heroes again, every day,” as Simon fell asleep again, entwined in his arms.

The collar he’d brought smiled in a curl of black leather from the nightstand, flexible and pleased. That meant home too; and Ben smiled back, and shut his eyes.3

The morning dawned clear and opalescent and chilly: the crisp pale jewel of upscale London sprawled out under clouds in grey and brick, twinkles of color in traffic lights and shopping-bags, scarves and sweaters. Ben always had liked cool weather; he liked the bite of a deep breath, the bracing clarity of being present and real and alive.