Chapter Text
It was the middle of December, and the streets of York were full of slush. Although the clock had only just struck four, it was already dark outside, and starry. John Segundus stood outside The Cockatrice, a small, two-story inn he had just happened upon, and contemplated his options. If he left York immediately, he could probably make it back to Starecross before midnight, but it would be a cold and hungry journey, and likely lonely besides. On the other hand, he could obey the beckoning of the golden light that spilled from the windows of the inn, and leave for home tomorrow, with a full stomach, and maybe even company in the stagecoach.
A room for the night would cost him, though, and he was ever short on money. Except ... there was always the pouch in his pocket ... but that was Mrs Lennox' money, meant for the fitting and furnishing of Starecross.
Segundus agonised over it for another minute, until a hand clapped him on the shoulder. "Always tough the first time, eh?" The man was red-cheeked from the cold, broad of face and shoulders, a workman, judging by his hands. He smiled reassuringly at Segundus. "It's worth it, though, I promise. You'll find what you need at The Cockatrice, no doubt, and it's real discreet."
It was a good, if a little confusing, recommendation, thought Segundus, who found himself smiling back at the man. "Well, then I believe I shall go in."
And they proceeded up the three steps and into the light and the warmth together. "Enjoy yourself," said the man with a wink, and left for a table where another man was waiting for him. A handful of patrons were scattered throughout the place, either in pairs or alone, and the noise level was pleasantly low.
Segundus let the heat of the common room soak into his chilled body, breathed in the mixed smells of tobacco, ale and food, and decided this had definitely been the right choice. He would pay Mrs Lennox back later.
He crossed the common room, weaving his way past the handful of tables, nodding politely to the curious patrons he passed, and finally stopping at the bar, behind which a handsome young man was ready for him.
"I'd like some supper and a room, if you have one available."
He was shown to a table close to the staircase. He put his bag on the floor, his hat on top of the bag, and hung his jacket over the back of his chair. It felt good to sit down, stretch out his legs and rub life back into his stiff fingers.
While he waited for supper to arrive, Segundus let his eyes wander some more. In the furthest corner of the room, a man sat alone, smoking a long-stemmed pipe. He wore a black coat of an old-fashioned cut, as worn and shabby as Mr Segundus' own, and he had mud on his boots. An old top hat rested on the table next to a folded newspaper. The man's long hair hung down over his shoulders like a sheet of rain, and he was looking at Segundus, eyes black and fierce in his dark face.
Segundus was made terribly uncomfortable by that queer gaze, and was glad when the boy arrived with his food, which gave him an excuse to ignore the man.
That was, until the man rose and came over.
"What are you doing here?" the stranger demanded in a rough, Yorkshire accent.
Segundus looked up at him in some confusion, before gesturing to his plate of potatoes and sausages. "Eating?"
The man cocked his head to the side and looked long and hard at Segundus. It was very unnerving.
"Can I help you with something, Sir?" Segundus asked firmly, signalling his displeasure.
The man's eyes widened. He drew a breath as if to speak, but changed his mind, exhaling again and glancing around briefly. "Forgive me," he said finally. "I did not mean to come off so rudely. I can tell you are not from around, so I wondered whether you were by any chance come from London."
Segundus shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Sir. Yorkshire has been my home for the past few years, and I have not travelled beyond it for some time."
"Oh. Then I'm sorry for having bothered you." He made a little bow and stepped back stiffly, returning to his chair in the corner where he unfolded the newspaper and pretended to read.
But Segundus could still feel the weight of those dark eyes return to him intermittently. Come from London. What nonsense. The man was a very poor liar. Determined to ignore this strange turn of events, he applied himself to his meal, which was quite excellent. Afterwards, he ordered a glass of wine, and brought out his notebook with the intention of reviewing his day. He had been to see several craftsmen, and visited a few shops, placing various orders that would be ready to be picked up in a few days time. He had even met two of the former magicians of the York society, and they'd had a pleasant, if somewhat awkward, chat.
Segundus read through his notes, and made some new ones, but eventually lost the battle against his own curiosity and glanced over at the stranger. Was there something ...? No, he did not know him. He was quite certain he had never seen the man before. It was probably just because he was so odd that Segundus could not simply ignore him. Also, he was handsome. Despite his dangerous looks, for there was something less than respectable about him, he was quite beautiful.
Segundus cleared his throat and returned to his book. None of that now. That sort of thinking was for the privacy of his own room only.
The workman and his friend passed by Segundus' table on their way out a little later, and gave him a cheerful wave goodbye. Segundus figured they must be a little drunk, the way they walked so close to each other.
He had put his notes away and pulled a different book out of his bag, this one for reading, when another man approached his table. He was tall and blonde, with a button nose and large, blue eyes.
He bowed. "Pardon me, Sir, but I couldn't help but notice you were reading a book about magic. I am terribly interested in the art myself, but must confess I have not had the pleasure of seeing this particular book before. May I enquire as to its contents? Is it good?"
A fellow magician! This inn really was full of unexpected encounters. Segundus happily surrendered his book to the man's inspection. "It's Milt Klem's The History and Nature of English Garden Magic. While it has a great deal of overlap with The Magic of English Soil by S. Clarke, the chapter on roses is very interesting."
The man turned the book over in his hands before handing it back. "You seem terribly well-read, Sir. I have not come so far in my studies myself, but am most eager to learn. Will you share a drink with me? I would love to compare our knowledge."
Segundus lit up at the prospect of an evening's rousing discussion of his favourite subject, and with a potential pupil nonetheless. "Why yes, I would be delight-"
"No, the gentleman would not like to discuss magic with you." The dark-eyed stranger was back. Though shorter than the blonde man, he seemed to loom over him. He looked angry.
The blonde man received the newcomer with some irritation. "I advise you to return to your table, Sir. I saw you earlier; just because you were turned down does not mean you must ruin the enjoyment for the rest of us."
Turned down?
The stranger's darkening expression was a great deal more intimidating than anything the blonde man could summon. Segundus found himself embarrassingly captivated by the fire in the stranger's eyes, though on the whole the situation had him rather confused.
"The gentleman," the stranger said slowly, "does not know what you are offering him."
The blonde frowned. He looked down at Segundus, then back to the stranger, then down at Segundus again. "How could he not?"
"He's not from around here." It was spoken with some significance that was lost on Segundus, but caused the blonde man's eyes to widen.
"I am sorry, Sir," he said to Segundus, who was now getting rather irritated himself. "I did not know. I will withdraw." He bowed again and walked rapidly away to his table, where he gathered his things, shrugged on his coat and made for the door.
Segundus watched him go with confusion. "What on earth is going on?"
The stranger sighed like Segundus was being very vexing. He grabbed a chair from the adjacent table, dragged it noisily over and sat down. "Look around you, Sir. What do you see?"
Segundus did not like to be imposed upon in this manner, and he especially did not like to be spoken to like a child, but he obeyed with only a huff of disapproval. "I see patrons sharing a drink."
The stranger kept looking at him without speaking.
Segundus tried again. "I see ... I see three pairs of men drinking and talking. What am I supposed to be seeing exactly?!"
"There are no ladies present," the stranger said enigmatically.
Segundus stared at him. "So what?" Single ladies did not come to places like these, and if there were no families or couples present, well, that could be sheer coincidence.
The stranger leaned closer and said meaningfully, "There are never any ladies at The Cockatrice, Sir."
Realisation struck. Segundus blushed to the roots of his hair. "Oh."
The stranger sat back in his chair with a sigh. "Now he gets it."
"So that ... gentleman ..." Segundus gestured to the door where the blonde man had disappeared.
"Has likely not read a word about magic in his life, but was certainly hoping to show you his wand."
Segundus blushed more deeply. "Sir!"
Now that the danger was over, the man seemed to be amused, damn him! He smiled as he rose from the chair, but as he turned to go he happened to glance at the book in Segundus' hands, and said, "You were wrong, by the way, about Klem."
"Oh?"
"His chapter on roses is also lifted from Clarke. Klem stole everything he ever wrote." He grinned, a quick flash of teeth and mirth like he was remembering an old joke.
"But there was nothing about roses in The Magic of English Soil."
Was it his imagination, or did the stranger wince? He was half turned away and it was hard to tell. The reply came quickly, though. "Clarke wrote a sequel called The Magic of English Gardens. It is rare."
Segundus was getting excited. "I've never even heard of it, and I'll tell you I pride myself on having read most of the books about magic available in England. Do you have this book, Sir?"
The stranger shook his head. "I read it long ago."
Segundus deflated, sinking back in his chair. "Allow me to guess. It is currently in the possession of a certain Yorkshire gentleman."
The stranger nodded. "Aye." He was still quietly smiling.
"Will you tell me about it?" Segundus was surprised to hear the words come out of his own mouth. He ought to be telling the man to get lost, not inviting him to sit again! But he had read through his own little library a hundred times and burned for new knowledge, and something told him that this man, however mysterious, however rude, was honest. That Segundus could trust him.
The man seemed as surprised as Segundus, and not entirely happy. "Sir ..."
Having made up his mind, however, Segundus rose and held out a hand. "John Segundus. Pleased to meet you ..."
The stranger rolled his eyes. "Please do not give your name away so freely in a place like this."
Oh! Yes, that. But Segundus did not back down, or retract his hand. "Why? Do you wish to harm me, Sir?"
He was given a shrewd but appraising look for his stubbornness. The stranger took his hand. "You can call me John."
Segundus twisted his lips. "If you're going to make up a name, at least make it different from mine."
The man huffed a brief laugh. "I didn't make it up. John is my name too. Part of it anyway." He winked, and left to get his hat and newspaper from his table.
Again there was a niggling feeling, something about the way his bound hair hung down his back, the confident ambling stride ... But then the moment was gone, and Segundus reprimanded himself silently for not letting it go. And for staring.
John joined Segundus at his table, they ordered another round of drinks, and Segundus was soon quizzing his companion on every detail of this elusive second book of Clarke's. John was a little reticent at first; not like he was withholding information about the book exactly, but he appeared to be choosing his words with some care. Segundus gave him time. Slowly, they learned how to speak to each other. Two hours and a half later, they had discussed half a dozen different authors, challenging each other's views in warm debate and with increasing familiarity. John had long since taken his overcoat off, and had lowered his shoulders. The scent of his tobacco smoke clung to them both now, and he had given Segundus many smiles, even laughed in his quiet way, and Segundus was so fascinated by him at this point that he did not mind if the man was laughing at him.
"Upkirk was a drunkard and a rogue," Segundus was saying. "How on earth can you put any stock in his writing?"
"He was a damn good theoretical magician. I'll give you the drunkard part, but we could use a few more rogues in this field."
Segundus found himself smiling even as he shook his head. "Rogues like you?" he asked, quite without meaning to.
He got a crooked smile in return, but no answer.
It was getting late. The other patrons trickled out the door, some alone, some together. The last to go, two fair-haired, nervous young men, did not leave the inn, but took themselves upstairs, making a clumsy effort to be subtle by having the second boy follow the first after a few minutes. Somehow this only made their intentions more obvious. Segundus felt his face heat as the second boy climbed the stairs, while John rolled his eyes.
"Pups," he said. Then he gave Segundus a searching, narrow-eyed look. "... You didn't run."
Segundus cocked his head to the side. "Run?"
"When you realised what kind of place this is. I thought you'd leave right away. Most gentlemen would not want to be seen in such a place, much less associate with its patrons."
Segundus shrugged slowly, looking at the table. "There are many vices in this world. I tend to think love should not be considered one, so long as it makes people happy."
"In my experience, love rarely makes anyone happy." John addressed the observation to the bottom of his whisky before downing the last of it.
"I wouldn't know," Segundus said quietly. A thrill of fear went through him in the silence that followed. He wondered at his own recklessness; to reveal himself so to a stranger.
But he liked John. Very much. He liked his intelligence and his wit, his fierce eyes and crooked smile, and his big hands around the little bowl of his pipe. His hair the colour of thunder.
He looked up, and was surprised to find John looking at him with an expression almost of pain.
"What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed.
John shook his head and pushed himself to stand. "It's time I was on my way. I did not mean to stay this long." He grabbed his overcoat and put it on.
Segundus did not know what had prompted this sudden change, but found he really did not want his new friend to leave. But what could he say?
John put his hat on, leaving the newspaper on the table. "I have had a most pleasant evening. Thank you, John Segundus." He touched his hat in farewell, and turned to the door.
Segundus grabbed his arm. "Wait." John stopped. Segundus did not let go of him. He knew what to say now; "You knew what this place was when you came here."
"Aye." That deep, rough voice sent a pleasant shiver down Segundus' spine.
"And yet you have not sought out any company."
"I really should go."
Segundus' heart was beating hard against his ribcage. "I did not run." He did not know where this sudden bravery was coming from. "I may not have known about this place, but that does not mean I do not ... belong here." It was many long years since another had known about him, long years of burying his emotions and denying himself pleasures, but this stranger awoke a longing in him so strong it made him feel reckless.
John was breathing a little faster.
"Please stay," Segundus whispered.
"How can you not ..." John said through clenched teeth, but did not finish the question. He seemed to shrink, becoming small inside his big coat. "You will regret this come morning."
Segundus frowned. "I may not know all about the world and its ways like you, but I assure you I am not helpless, and I do not make this offer lightly."
John shook his head. "I know you-" Again he stopped himself. "You will still regret it. I promise."
Segundus rose deliberately, slowly, feeling like any sudden movement might prompt John to flee like a startled deer. "Why?" He let his grip on John's arm relax, trailed his fingers down until they were brushing against his hand.
John drew a breath like the touch pained him. "I'm more of a rogue than you know."
"No."
John looked at him in surprise.
Segundus reached up and took the hat from his companion's head. "I think you are a good man pretending to be a bad one. I think you have an honest heart and a great deal of kindness in you. And while I may be plain and a little inexperienced, I want to please you, very much."
John snarled suddenly, grabbed Segundus and drove him up against the wall, making the hat tumble from his grip. They were momentarily alone in the common room, so no one saw John take Segundus' face in his rough hands and kiss him deeply on the mouth.
The kiss struck a fire in Segundus' belly that warmed him to the tips of his ears. The fire blazed when John shoved him harder up against the wall, pushing their bodies firmly together. Segundus pushed himself eagerly into the solid presence of the other man, moaning at the wild desire he was feeling.
John broke the kiss only to bite at Segundus' neck, a hand winding into his hair to pull his head back. "Is this what you want?" he asked, before sucking on the same spot hard enough to bruise. He let go of Segundus' hair only to grab his chin and force their eyes to meet. "Do you think me gentle? You're no less a pup than those little ones who slinked upstairs a minute ago, and at least they had the sense to tumble each other and not ask a wolf to bed. You think you'll be as eager once you've got my teeth in your neck and my cock up your arse?"
"Yes!" Segundus was gasping for breath, hot and dizzy and already throbbing because this was the filthiest speech anyone had ever made to him and he wanted more, and damn if he would let John see him hesitate even for a moment.
John on the other hand looked as scared as he was trying to make Segundus feel. "Remember," he mumbled against Segundus' lips, kissing him like he couldn't help it. "I promised you would regret it. Tell me to stop now, for you will not get a second chance; I am not myself."
Segundus didn't bother answering. He pushed hard, spinning them around and pinning the other man in turn, and then he kissed him, not hard or deeply like before, but softly, fully. "You will not hurt me," he whispered. He pulled back and smiled gently at John, who looked at him like someone lost and far from home.
Once more, Segundus was grabbed, this time to be pushed unceremoniously up the stairs.
"Wait-! Our things-"
"Billy will take them up to us later. You have the key?"
Segundus nodded, since it was in his pocket, and got another push for his trouble.
They found the right door down a short corridor, and came into a room that had been lit with candles and a fire in preparation for Segundus' withdrawal. It may not be a high-end establishment, but they apparently knew how to take care of their guests. Segundus thought that it was perhaps natural, seeing as they were dependent on the discretion of their guests to avoid the condemnation of the Law. It reminded him suddenly of the illicitness of the coming act, one that he himself had initiated! Then he turned and saw John discarding his jacket and thumbing open the buttons on his old-fashioned waistcoat, all the while watching Segundus with his fierce, dark eyes, and all Segundus could do was moan his want and go to help. Which also brought him in reach of John's hands, and what a strange, thrilling pleasure it was to have one's clothes dragged from one's body.
The first time they embraced chest to naked chest, they both moaned. They kissed as they fumbled with the remaining buttons. Segundus' breeches fell first, and he shut his eyes because he was nude in front of a lover for the first time in years and could not bear to see John looking at him.
But John only rumbled his approval and stroked Segundus' hip. "You've nothing to be shy about."
They took a moment to just kiss some more, and this was also a skill that Segundus found he must relearn, though he was uncertain if he had ever been very good at it, his schoolmate lover having been as virginal and awkward as himself and so probably no great judge. John was certainly confident enough, taking Segundus' lips in slow, drawn-out kisses, or holding him still and licking into his mouth like he meant to pry his secrets from him.
Segundus was restless and burning, and did not want to be naked all by himself, so he returned his hands to John's breeches to get them off at last, but John broke their kiss and pulled back.
"Take yourself to bed. I'll follow."
He nodded to Segundus' shoes and stockings, still on, and his breeches trapped around his ankles. Segundus blushed and bent awkwardly down to get it all off, and while he did, John began to put out the candles.
Segundus shivered a little as he slid under the cool blankets. The bed was just big enough for two, if they lay close. It even had two pillows; how very thoughtful. He tried not to think about all the other men who had lain together in this same bed. Segundus lay back and wondered if this was how virgin brides felt on their wedding night, this blend of excitement and embarrassment with just a touch of apprehension.
The room darkened as John put out the candles one by one, until only the little fire in the hearth burned, along with a single candle that John carried with him and placed at the bedside table. Then, finally, he divested himself of his breeches and smalls.
He came to the edge of the bed and stood there, half draped in shadows like some erotic creature out of Faerie, but with the lean build and face of a wolf, and for a moment Segundus was afraid, almost believing that he had invited a true demon to bed.
"Remember my promise," John said, and contrary to all reason, Segundus' fear disappeared, because there was something vulnerable in John's voice, almost a plea, and it humanised him again.
Segundus rose to his knees, and with a flock of butterflies all battering around inside him, he placed one hand on John's hip and the other on the base of John's hard, proud cock, ruddy in the firelight. He felt it throb in his hand, and it was pleasingly thick, the skin smooth over the hard core. "Teach me how to please you," he said, and kissed John's stomach.
John groaned, deep and pained. "Heaven forgive me," he mumbled.
Segundus felt cold for a moment as he imagined that perhaps John's strange comments came from shame at his own urges. He pulled his hands back. "If you do not wish to do this-"
John climbed onto the bed and pushed Segundus down on his back. "I want you very much, Mr Segundus. I cannot remember the last time I wanted anyone so much."
"Then do not punish yourself anymore." Segundus reached up and tucked his lover's long hair behind his ear. "I want you too."
John sighed, and bent to kiss him again, reaching blindly for the blankets to keep the chill from their bodies.
"Do you think there is magic in this?" Segundus murmured, tracing John's shoulder with his fingertips. He was awed at all this skin that was his to caress. It was so new.
John lay on his side, supported on one elbow, while the other hand roamed over Segundus' chest, palm flat and encompassing. "There is magic in beauty and magic in the grotesque. Otherwise, faeries wouldn't be so obsessed with it."
"But magic in bodies? In sex?" The word tasted bitter and secret like the space behind the bark of trees.
John swept his hand down and enfolded Segundus' erect cock, giving it a deliberate stroke that scattered Segundus' thoughts and made him gasp.
"Yes, I think so."
"Then," Segundus continued, voice high and breathless as John continued to stroke him. "Then after tonight I will-ah! ... consider myself a practical magician." He laughed at himself, and reached for John to share the pleasure he was feeling.
John's shoulders were shaking with quieter laughter. He shifted closer, giving his body to Segundus' curious hands. "We will make those London magicians fear us yet."
Outside, winter was descending on England with inevitability. The slush in the streets of York hardened, and the straw and heather on the moors beyond the city became edged with white rime.
In the pocket of John Childermass' ragged overcoat, his deck of cards breathed magic, moved perhaps by their master's moment of weakness, his selfish choice. Or perhaps this moment too had been planned and foretold, as inevitable as the chill of the English winter.
Segundus was, for once, entirely unaware of the magic wreathing around him and his mysterious lover, though he should be forgiven on this occasion for mistaking the source of his dizziness, as it must be quite difficult to think clearly when you're taking your first cock in years, and spending most of your time with your face smothered in the pillow. His cries were growing in urgency as John put more force behind his relentless thrusts. The sheets were a cruel, unsatisfactory caress against his own standing cock, but there was something unexpectedly amazing in being taken that enhanced every other sensation.
If the heat in the hearth was dying and their candle burning down, they scarcely took any notice of that either. They were warm enough anyway, their bodies slick with sweat. John licked the salt from the top of Segundus' spine and growled his triumph, every thrust demanding, but the victim moaned his joy along with the conqueror, so who could say who was truly master here?
Finally, John returned his mouth to the place where he had bit Segundus' neck before, and dug his teeth in again, rutting hard against the other man as he found his peak. Segundus took the pain of the bite with closed eyes, body tensing as he waited it out. John was trembling over him, mouth wet, hips jerking. Segundus found himself growing tender despite his own throbbing need.
"There," he whispered. "There you are."
John released his neck at last to pant damply against his skin.
Segundus' patience was rewarded when, moments later, his lover roused himself, detangling their bodies and urging Segundus to turn over onto his back.
"You know," Segundus whispered hoarsely as John leaned over him. "It is said that England itself is always speaking to us."
Once again, John took Segundus' cock in hand and began to stroke him, tight, short strokes made slick by precum.
Segundus's breath shuddered out of him and he spread his legs a little, hips rising eagerly. "There is ... ah! ... There are secrets written by the rain when it taps on your hat, and by the patterns of flowers in the moss."
John was devouring him with his eyes, and they were brown now, thought Segundus, not dark at all, but full of light and wonder.
"I see-" the sentence broke on a hitched breath at a particularly delicious stroke over the crown of his cock. "I see them all the time, but I can never quite tell what they mean."
John groaned like Segundus was speaking filth, and began to kiss his way down Segundus' sternum.
"Maybe it is foolish," Segundus continued a little frantically, fighting to keep his train of thought even as John's hot, wet mouth sank down on his cock. "But I feel as if I can read the candlelight in your hair, on your hands. I feel close-" He arched up as John sucked hard on the underside of his cockhead, and had to bite his lower lip viciously to stem the rush of orgasm building in his groin. He needed to speak now, quickly, before he returned to his senses. "I feel closer to magic tonight than I have ever been." Had he not been so completely enchanted, he would never have dared to say anything so foolish out loud. "Even when it has been performed right in front of me." He pulled the second pillow behind his head to raise himself enough to be able to meet John's eyes, which watched him with hunger. He reached down and threaded his fingers in John's hair, urging him to take Segundus' cock deep again.
"There is more magic in your touch," Segundus whispered, even as he knew he was going to cum now. "Than in any book in all of England."
John groaned around Segundus' cock, and it was too much, the vibration and the heat and the tight pressure. Segundus' eyes fell shut and he could speak no more as for a moment he was overcome by pleasure akin to agony. In the throes of orgasm he swore he could hear the whole world singing to him.
Afterwards, John moved to lie beside him. He was quite amused, as it turned out, and Segundus, in those minutes of sleepy clarity that come after the peak, thought back on his declaration with embarrassment. "If you want to pretend I did not say any of that, I would happily do the same."
John shook his head mercilessly. "I'd rather remember it, if I may. It was ..." The smile turned into something sweet, transforming his face so that even in the low light Segundus found him painfully dear. "It was kind."
It was true, Segundus thought, but absent the courage of arousal, he did not dare to speak, only leaned in for a kiss instead.
Segundus fell asleep with John's arms around him, quite exhausted. He did not notice when his companion left the bed to rebuild the fire, or know that he did not return, but remained seated in a chair before the hearth, idly shuffling his cards and staring into the flames. Once, the man grasped the top card as if he meant to turn it, but he never completed the motion, instead putting the deck away into his coat pocket.
The candle on the bedside table went out with a hiss, a trail of smoke curling towards the ceiling. John saw it and snorted mirthlessly. "So dies the dream," he mumbled.
He rose. There was a pitcher of water and a basin on the dresser. With quiet efficiency, he washed, and put on the rest of his clothes, before returning to the bed. Segundus was sprawled on his back, his hair a dark disarray against the white pillow. John sat down very carefully, so as not to disturb him, brushed errant curls away from his face, and placed a palm lightly on Segundus' forehead.
His lips moved as if in incantation, until, with a hiss, he suddenly pulled his hand away. He shook his head bitterly.
"John?"
The motion had awoken Segundus, though he looked more asleep than awake, eyes distant under heavy lids.
"I must go," John said gently. "But it is early yet. Go back to sleep."
"Don't go," Segundus mumbled. "I would have you again."
John's hand on the blanket was seized by a sudden trembling. Segundus fumbled to free his own hand to grasp his lover's, with muzzy wondering on his face. John squeezed the hand before turning it palm up and placing a kiss there. Then he kissed Segundus' shoulder, and finally his mouth, lightly. "Go back to sleep." It was almost a spell.
"Will I see you again?"
John extricated his hand and stood up, remaining for a moment a silent silhouette. He did not reply. He retrieved his overcoat and hat, and left the room without looking back.
Segundus felt the loss of him like a hollowness behind his ribs, but he was not ready to examine his own emotions just yet, and so rolled over, pulled the blankets up properly, and went back to sleep.