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palacechristianPadding across the tiles and clad only in his silk pajama bottoms, Christian headed for the breakfast table, scratching idly at his chest as he walked. Another beautiful day, he thought, looking out the window as he bent his head to plant a light kiss on Michael’s shoulder. “Morning.” he said before he noticed the large, rather angry looking bite mark on the other man’s neck. “Oww. Sorry.” he apologized, sliding into the chair opposite and reaching for the coffee.
“Badge of honor.” Michael grinned at him over the top of the paper, a smear of apricot jam on his upper lip. “You’re late getting up.” he added, taking another bite of his toast “And you slept bloody soundly too. Dunno how you manage it with all that . . . noise coming from down the hall.”
Christian grinned. “If I can sleep through a rocket barrage, my friend.” he said “I can sleep through just about anything, Orlando and Harry included. Which is why moving back up here didn't bother me. Besides, it won’t hurt to miss one morning.” he looked out the window again. “Might go later.” he said mostly to himself.
“Might want to watch where we have our assignations in future, too.” Michael commented idly, turning back a page in the newspaper. “We made the gossip column.” he told him.
Christian rolled his eyes. “We did?” He grabbed some toast and bit down, not bothering with butter or condiments. “What’s it say?”
Michael’s smile flashed white and he looked down at the print, reading aloud. “Not long after, the randy prince is at it again, this time in the very halls of Palace, with another of Palace’s incredibly lovely libertines, this one at least an old and dear friend.” Then he looked across at Christian, waiting for his reaction.
Choking back a laugh, lest the toast go down the wrong way, Christian shook his head in mute disgust. He didn’t really care what they said about him, not personally, but if it got to be too much, Father wasn’t going to be pleased. “Well at least they got the ‘lovely’ part right.” he complimented easily. “Dunno about the ‘randy’ bit.”
Michael laughed, glossy dark hair swinging about his shoulders as they shook with mirth. “I’ll testify.” he teased, holding up one hand as a pledge. "I'll take notes if we go back to bed after breakfast."
Christian chuckled and tossed Michael a wink. “Deal. What’s the ‘not long after’ bit referring to?” Christian asked with idle interest.
“Umm . . . let’s see.” Michael tucked his hair behind his ear as he began again. “Spotted most recently in company with a Sweet Young Thing it seems now that he has more than one SYT in his extensive and well-thumbed little black book, as evinced by the night he spent with a beautiful young laddie, whose delicate torso is decorated with what appears to be body art of the BDSM variety. Mind you,” Michael went on, “they do have the decency to refer to you as ‘sexy’, which is . . . Christian? What’s wrong?”
Shit! Christian went still, breakfast and Michael forgotten for one split second. Johnny had just been vividly described, written up in the most-read gossip column in the city and if anyone . . . “Crap!” he said aloud, getting to his feet. “That’s Johnny she’s talking about.” he explained quickly to Michael as he shot back into the bedroom and pulled on some clothes.
“Yeah, so?”
“So,” Christian stuck his head out, leaning on the door jam while he pulled on his jeans. “if the wrong people read that” he ducked back in, reaching for socks and boots “then Friday’s raids will net us precisely nothing.” Boots on, he strode back into the living area, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he walked. “We’re gonna have to move it up.” he muttered, thinking aloud. “Before they have time to react.”
Bypassing the breakfast table, he went over to the stand in the living room and picked up his com. “That today’s paper?” When Michael affirmed that it was, he grunted his thanks, mind whirling. “Today’s Tuesday . . . didn’t Johnny say something about Summerfair . . . yeah, Summerfair. . . . tomorrow night. Mmm. . . ”
Christian paced to and fro, working it out, the com held loosely in his fist. He stopped and looked up, choosing Michael as his sounding board. “We can be ready by Wednesday.” he said. “Do it tomorrow instead. Yeah. Call the Guard station, the Ranger’s hostel . . . Harry . . . Mads . . .Sean . . . Father.” he ticked them off his mental list. “Yep.” he said finally, his fingers already busy pressing buttons. “Can do.” While he waited for the first call to connect he shot a rueful look at a bemused Michael. “Sorry,” he grinned. “Change of plans.”
“Badge of honor.” Michael grinned at him over the top of the paper, a smear of apricot jam on his upper lip. “You’re late getting up.” he added, taking another bite of his toast “And you slept bloody soundly too. Dunno how you manage it with all that . . . noise coming from down the hall.”
Christian grinned. “If I can sleep through a rocket barrage, my friend.” he said “I can sleep through just about anything, Orlando and Harry included. Which is why moving back up here didn't bother me. Besides, it won’t hurt to miss one morning.” he looked out the window again. “Might go later.” he said mostly to himself.
“Might want to watch where we have our assignations in future, too.” Michael commented idly, turning back a page in the newspaper. “We made the gossip column.” he told him.
Christian rolled his eyes. “We did?” He grabbed some toast and bit down, not bothering with butter or condiments. “What’s it say?”
Michael’s smile flashed white and he looked down at the print, reading aloud. “Not long after, the randy prince is at it again, this time in the very halls of Palace, with another of Palace’s incredibly lovely libertines, this one at least an old and dear friend.” Then he looked across at Christian, waiting for his reaction.
Choking back a laugh, lest the toast go down the wrong way, Christian shook his head in mute disgust. He didn’t really care what they said about him, not personally, but if it got to be too much, Father wasn’t going to be pleased. “Well at least they got the ‘lovely’ part right.” he complimented easily. “Dunno about the ‘randy’ bit.”
Michael laughed, glossy dark hair swinging about his shoulders as they shook with mirth. “I’ll testify.” he teased, holding up one hand as a pledge. "I'll take notes if we go back to bed after breakfast."
Christian chuckled and tossed Michael a wink. “Deal. What’s the ‘not long after’ bit referring to?” Christian asked with idle interest.
“Umm . . . let’s see.” Michael tucked his hair behind his ear as he began again. “Spotted most recently in company with a Sweet Young Thing it seems now that he has more than one SYT in his extensive and well-thumbed little black book, as evinced by the night he spent with a beautiful young laddie, whose delicate torso is decorated with what appears to be body art of the BDSM variety. Mind you,” Michael went on, “they do have the decency to refer to you as ‘sexy’, which is . . . Christian? What’s wrong?”
Shit! Christian went still, breakfast and Michael forgotten for one split second. Johnny had just been vividly described, written up in the most-read gossip column in the city and if anyone . . . “Crap!” he said aloud, getting to his feet. “That’s Johnny she’s talking about.” he explained quickly to Michael as he shot back into the bedroom and pulled on some clothes.
“Yeah, so?”
“So,” Christian stuck his head out, leaning on the door jam while he pulled on his jeans. “if the wrong people read that” he ducked back in, reaching for socks and boots “then Friday’s raids will net us precisely nothing.” Boots on, he strode back into the living area, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he walked. “We’re gonna have to move it up.” he muttered, thinking aloud. “Before they have time to react.”
Bypassing the breakfast table, he went over to the stand in the living room and picked up his com. “That today’s paper?” When Michael affirmed that it was, he grunted his thanks, mind whirling. “Today’s Tuesday . . . didn’t Johnny say something about Summerfair . . . yeah, Summerfair. . . . tomorrow night. Mmm. . . ”
Christian paced to and fro, working it out, the com held loosely in his fist. He stopped and looked up, choosing Michael as his sounding board. “We can be ready by Wednesday.” he said. “Do it tomorrow instead. Yeah. Call the Guard station, the Ranger’s hostel . . . Harry . . . Mads . . .Sean . . . Father.” he ticked them off his mental list. “Yep.” he said finally, his fingers already busy pressing buttons. “Can do.” While he waited for the first call to connect he shot a rueful look at a bemused Michael. “Sorry,” he grinned. “Change of plans.”
