Shortbread and Shadows - Amy Lane Page 0,54

one of their necks when they’re visible, and see if that gives them some stability. Hopefully, with that link to us—and real time—we can pull them back to the here and now instead of the somewhere and somewhen they’re fading in and out of.” His yawn was only slightly less awesome than Bartholomew’s.

“Well, we all need sleep,” Alex said. He looked at Josh and Kate, who were practically asleep on each other as they sat. It was clear none of them were feeling up to fixing the world that night. Dante and Cully hadn’t been in any pain, or even any urgent need. Lachlan thought it was probably the greatest of wisdom to let everybody figure out their own business before they dove in to help their friends who needed them the most.

“How about I walk you two home,” Jordan said on another yawn.

“Me and Glinda will come with you,” Alex told him. “I’ll sleep on your couch tonight.”

Jordan gave him a look of naked gratitude. “I didn’t want to ask,” he said. “But Helen’s house is quirky at the best of times.” He shuddered, and given that Lachlan had seen it—small, with peeling paint, a crooked frame, and an army of cats parked out in the front garden, standing like gargoyles—Lachlan could see why sleeping there alone might be one of the bravest things Lachlan could possibly think of.

“I hear you,” Alex said. He looked at Lachlan and Bartholomew. “And you two have to get up early tomorrow. We should probably let you shower and sleep.”

“Sure,” Lachlan said blandly. “We’ll sleep.” Well, yes. They’d sleep really well for part of the time, but not all of it. He’d make sure of that.

Bartholomew’s bedroom was plain in the furniture area, with a twin bed with a navy blue comforter and a plain area rug the color of vanilla-and-caramel swirls. His walls were covered, though, with baking show posters and framed shots of perfectly iced cakes and a few black-and-white pictures of chocolate that were downright pornographic.

He had a laptop—well used—sitting on an ancient desk of pasteboard and peeling veneer, a thing that offended Lachlan on a cellular level, and an end table and desk with lamps shaped like cupcakes.

“Gifts?” he said, enjoying the way they both had sprinkles on the shade that sent flecks of multicolored light throughout the room.

“For my birthday, from the coven,” Bartholomew said. “Here, you shower first. I’ll make a sweep around the kitchen and—” His face was red and he was shifting from foot to foot, self-conscious.

“Sure, Tolly,” Lachlan said gently. “I’ll shower first.” He’d brought in his backpack with extra clothes and a shaving kit, and he grabbed it now and went to the communal bathroom in the hall. When Bartholomew emerged about ten minutes after Lachlan, he came into the room with a towel wrapped around his slender waist, obviously embarrassed.

“I forgot to bring briefs,” he muttered. “And sleep pants and a T-shirt….” He started rooting through his clothes, and Lachlan chuckled a little and sat up in the small bed.

“Tolly?”

“Yeah?” Bartholomew didn’t look behind him.

“Drop the towel and get into bed with me.”

And that was when Bartholomew turned around and realized he was naked.

“Omigod,” he muttered, the hand at his waist slipping and showing just enough of his hip bone to remind Lachlan of all the goodies that lay beneath.

“Tolly, come here.”

Bartholomew nodded and turned off the light on automatic. He dropped the towel and slid into bed, and he really must have known some magic tricks because he managed to leave a strip of about two inches between their bodies where they weren’t touching.

Lachlan fought the temptation to scream—maybe beg a little.

“Tolly?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to touch me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then touch me. Don’t be afraid of me. Trust that I’ll want to touch you too.”

His hands, tentative at first, but bolder as Lachlan reciprocated, began to glide over Lachlan’s chest. Lachlan sank into the touch and rolled over, half-pinning Bartholomew beneath him but mostly getting in position to kiss him.

And then to ravish him, as the kiss grew hotter, from tentative to scorching, in a few aggressive thrusts of Bartholomew’s tongue.

Oh yeah—he did want Lachlan, very much.

On and on, skin to skin, until their groins pressed frantically together, cock to cock, and Lachlan thought that maybe they should think about upping the level here.

“Tolly?” he whispered, grasping Bartholomew’s cock and stroking hard.

“Mmf?”

“I can stroke us both off here, or we can do the full fuck. I know you’re tired, baby, but I need you