The Dark Side of Ambition

           “James? Take off your clothes and come back to bed.”

            James Norrington stubbornly continued to frown at his reflection in the mirror as he fussed with his cravat, only sparing Andrew Gillette the briefest of glances when the man rested his chin on James’s shoulder and wrapped his arms firmly about his middle. Warm lips murmured the words against his jaw, ghosting tempting kisses over the sensitive spot, the one that never failed to make him shiver, just below his right ear. Norrington’s eyes fluttered closed momentarily, but he quickly collected himself, steadfastly ignoring his lover’s persistent advances and frowning in concentration as he made another minute adjustment to his already impeccable appearance. 

Sunlight flooded through the open windows of his bedroom and the ghost of a breeze lazily fluttered the heavy sapphire curtains. It was only mid-morning, but the air in the room was already heavy and stifling, and James tugged uncomfortably at the tight, perfectly wound neck cloth, swallowing hard as one of Andrew’s hands slid down over the front of his breeches, fondling him through the stiff fabric. The temptation was almost too much, but he stopped Andrew’s roving fingers as they teased and toyed with the buttons. One of them had to show some self-control, after all. Andrew’s reflection was frowning at him in displeasure as James twined their fingers together, bringing the wayward hand to his lips to brush a soft, mollifying kiss to the back of it. 

“Was that an order, Lieutenant?” James asked with an arched eyebrow, smiling wryly as he leaned back into Andrew’s embrace.

“Oh yes, a direct one, sir. I believe the Admiralty is planning on amending the Articles of War to include it. ‘Article 37 – Any devilishly handsome Commodore of His Majesty’s fleet, being invited to attend the nuptials of a backstabbing former fiancée who painfully and publicly rejected him for a blacksmith in a ridiculous hat, shall henceforth be exempt from attending said nuptials, and shall instead spend his precious time buggering a dashing, eager First Lieutenant through the nearest mattress or reasonably stable surface of choice; any Commodore found neglectful of his duty and being convicted thereof by the sentence of court martial shall be punished with sexual enslavement to the aggrieved First Lieutenant, servicing every wantonly debauched delight said Lieutenant can think of thereafter.’” 

James turned to nuzzle Andrew’s lightly freckled cheek. “Punishments are supposed to be a deterrent, Andrew, not an incentive to commit the crime. And sexual enslavement to a dashing First Lieutenant doesn’t sound so very horrible to me. Besides, that would seem to contradict Article 29. Or has the Admiralty rescinded that one and no one bothered to tell me?”

“A recent study conducted by an intimate team of professionals has found that a spot of buggery does wonders for the health and morale of His Majesty’s officers,” breathed Andrew, sucking softly at James’s earlobe and eliciting a delicious shiver. A small smile played at the corners of James’s mouth and Andrew traced the soft curve of his soft lips with one broad, calloused thumb. “The evidence is incontrovertible, Mr. Norrington. The study found that after only a few weeks of intensive treatment, the subject’s health improved drastically.” 

“And the research that went into this study was quite…thorough, I presume?”

“Mmmm, exhaustive. The patient was subjected to a battery of rigorous tests, and his response so far has been overwhelmingly positive. Though there are still a few tests to be run before the subject can be given a clean bill of health.” Andrew’s hands smoothed over James’s broad shoulders and down his arms, circling the man’s wrists in a loose grip. There was no resistance from James, and Andrew hid his small smile of triumph against Norrington’s throat. So far, so good, he thought, feeling his lover’s pulse pounding beneath his lips.

“Oh? Such as,” James asked with a look of polite interest, all ignorance and innocence.

It was all Andrew could do to stop himself from snorting with laughter. James Norrington, the Paragon of Innocence. And Teddy Groves was the Pope. Andrew gave himself a mental pat on the back for keeping a straight face as he regarded James with the most solemn, businesslike mien he could muster. “While the subject responded favorably to desk buggery and threesomes, it has yet to be determined how he will react to a bit of light bondage.”

James immediately pulled his wrists free from Andrew’s grasp and crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. “If you think chaining me to the bed will keep me away from Miss Swann’s wedding, you are sadly mistaken Andrew.”

“Who said anything about chains? I was thinking more along the lines of the creative implementation of cravats.” Andrew’s teeth rasped against the tender flesh of Norrington’s throat as he reached to tug at the ends of James’s faultlessly tied neck cloth. “Think of it as a sacrifice for the sake of naval medicine. It’s a fact; happy, healthy officers make for happier, more efficient ships. The Board of Admiralty couldn’t possibly argue with the results of such a meticulous and groundbreaking study.”

 “I think you greatly underestimate the Lords Commissioners’ capacity to argue,” replied James absently, slapping away Andrew’s hands before they could untie his cravat and returning to the compulsive straightening of his cuffs and lapels. “We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry,” he added with dogged single-mindedness, wiping a smudge of chalky powder from the tip of Andrew’s nose where it had bumped against the curl of his wig.

“And since when do you care about weddings? You hate weddings, James.” Andrew grabbed James’s fidgeting hands between his own, stilling them before the man could start adjusting his cravat again. It felt so good, having James warm and solid within the circle of his arms, and he was loathe to let go on account of anything; especially if that anything involved Miss Swann. “And stop fussing, you look perfect. Too perfect to be wasted on Miss Swann’s circus of a wedding,” he added, voice laced tighter than a corset with resentment.

James ducked his head in a futile attempt to hide the blush creeping up his pale cheeks. When he chanced a glance up, there was a look of fierce desire and possessiveness in Andrew’s eyes that left him breathless. He opened his mouth to say something but quickly snapped it shut, at a total loss for words. It was still so new to James, having anyone look at him that way, as though he was priceless, coveted beyond all others. He couldn’t help but think it was ridiculous for anyone to want him that badly, but he wasn’t about to question his luck, either.

Andrew laughed softly at the adorably befuddled look on James’s face; the man had never learned how to take a compliment, a characteristic that was both endearing and exasperating at times. Pressing the rare advantage of catching James Norrington off guard, Andrew circled in front of him, blocking James’s view of the mirror as he caught the man’s lips is a slow, sultry kiss. With smooth dexterity more befitting a pickpocket than a gentleman, Andrew’s hands stole under the weighty layers of James’s uniform, reaching around to cup the firm curve of his arse, giving the tight contours an appreciative squeeze though his perfectly snug white breeches. Both men moaned as Andrew pulled James’s body in perfect alignment with his own, one thigh nestled irresistibly between the Commodore’s long legs. Andrew could feel James’s hands, long and elegant, splayed against his chest and slowly sliding down, palms radiating heat even through the layers of his own shirt and half-buttoned waistcoat. He allowed himself a victorious grin as he felt James responding, hungry and aroused, returning the pressure until he had Andrew backed up, pinned against the mirror.

Well, that was easy, Andrew congratulated himself, making a mental note to have Mr. Yates, Norrington’s trusted steward, take round a note insincerely apologizing for their absence at the wedding. He knew he could make James see things his way, with the right sort of persuasion.

When James finally broke the kiss, there was a look of such disgusting smugness on his face that it left a breathless and slightly dizzy Andrew momentarily puzzled. But it was only momentary. A second later Andrew felt long, nimble fingers drumming lazily on his chest, and when he looked down it was to find the insufferably stubborn man had done up his waistcoat instead of removing it. Every gleaming button was perfectly in place, and James was in the process of smoothing out the wrinkles over his shoulders. James quirked his eyebrows and smirked with an amount of self-satisfaction deserving of a court-martial.

“You cheated,” Andrew grumbled, pulling away from James. “Bloody cock-tease,” he huffed as he stalked over to the armchair on the opposite side of the room and flung himself into it, a thoroughly sour look on his disgruntled face. He was disappointed, and not a little insulted. As far as Andrew was concerned, the first and only thought in James’s head when they kissed ought to be him. Well, that and the most time efficient method of getting them both naked. It was bad enough that James’s attention was currently divided; it was even more insulting to be sharing it with Elizabeth Swann. Seeing the determined look on James’s face, Andrew resigned himself to a day spent in her shadow. Still, he didn’t have to like it. 

Andrew gave a dramatic sigh for James’s benefit and cast his gaze about for his shoes.  They had been polished to a high shine the night before by Mr. Yates, and lay ready and waiting beside the chair, silver buckles sparkling in the bright morning light. Andrew bent to pull them on, audibly grumbling something about arrogant, conniving, duplicitous, treacherous, no-good dirty-rotten bastards the whole while. A few, choice swear words were peppered throughout the litany; James recognized most of the French and Spanish ones, though there was something that sounded vaguely Welsh thrown into the mix that he did not recognize. Whatever it was, he was sure it was equally insulting.

James ignored the mumbling as he crossed the room with a brush and took his position behind Andrew’s chair.   Once his lieutenant had finished dawdling with his shoes, James yanked him upright and set about the task of untangling the long, thick strands of Andrew’s cinnamon colored hair, quietly laughing to himself as he carefully worked at the knots his own fingers had snarled the night before. His mirth was short lived, however; one darkly murmured threat from Andrew involving the phrases ‘sleeping on the sofa’ and ‘go bugger yourself’ shut him right up. 

The brush caught on a particularly nasty tangle, making Andrew yelp in pain. James leaned in to kiss the top of his head, taking a brief moment to breathe in the clean scent of Andrew’s hair as he rubbed the man’s scalp in apology. “Sorry, love. Just hold still, will you?” 

Andrew crossed his arms over his chest and gave James an openly mutinous look. James merely rolled his eyes and kept working at his tousled red hair. “And I’ll have you know Commodores do not cheat!” he added, almost in afterthought.

“James, you cannot kiss a man like that and then put his clothes back on!” Andrew sulked, taking the cravat James pressed into his hands and eying it as though the poor, defenseless cloth had personally insulted his manhood. “That was a low and flagrant violation of the rules of engagement. You…you attacked under false colors; that’s what you did. Your lips were waving a white flag, saying I surrender, while your hands secretly hoisted a jolly roger, boarded my person and disabled my rudder chain! Erm…” Andrew bit his lip, clearing his throat uncomfortably. An embarrassed red flush crept up the back of his neck as he wound his cravat around it.

 “Never use that analogy ever again,” said James flatly, a look of mingled amusement and horror on his face. “I outmaneuvered you, fair and square. That was merely a display of superior tactics. It’s hardly my fault you became distracted by your own diversion. Or that you misread my signal; my lips were very clearly saying I’ll let you bugger me when we get home, not I am your sex slave, take me now. Besides,” he added, reaching for a length of midnight blue ribbon on the dressing table, “I do not understand why you aren’t happy. Shouldn’t we both be celebrating Miss Swann’s marriage to Mr. Turner? If young William hadn’t proclaimed his love for her in such a flash manner, then I would in all likelihood be the one set to marry Miss Swann this morning. Which means you and I would not have spent last night, or likely any other night, together. And if you enjoyed last night even half as much as I did, I would say we owe them both a great debt of gratitude.”

“I don’t owe that silly chit or her blacksmith anything!” Andrew growled, turning his head to glare up at James. “You are not that harlot’s leftovers, you’re mine! Is that why you insist on going to their wedding? As a gesture of thanks?”

“Hold still,” snapped James, forcing Andrew to face front again. He gathered Gillette’s thick auburn hair into a tight tail, his agile fingers neatly securing it with the ribbon. James heaved a weary sigh as he reached out again, this time for Andrew’s wig, waiting perfectly curled and powdered on the dressing table. “And stop calling her a harlot. We’ve been through the reasons before, Drew. Yes, I am partially attending as a gesture of good will to William and Elizabeth. You may still harbor hard feelings towards them – and I won’t begrudge you that,” James quickly added, silencing Gillette before he could start on his usual tirade. “But I do not. They followed their hearts. If only I had followed my own heart sooner, I would never have proposed to Elizabeth in the first place, which would have saved everyone a lot of heartache.”

 “But you did care enough about her to propose,” Andrew stubbornly pointed out, trying and failing to keep the suspicion and jealousy and yes – dammit to hell – that was definitely insecurity, from his voice. He couldn’t help it, when it came to James. My James, he thought possessively. He wondered idly if James would consent to getting a tattoo reading ‘Property of Andrew Gillette’ on his backside. 

Andrew was still entertaining the pros and cons of that idea (however nice it would be to stake his claim, it would, he thought, be a shame to mar the pale perfection of that smooth, round, biteable arse) when James jabbed him with a hair pin, bringing him tumbling back to reality with another pained yelp.

“Ouch! What the bloody hell was that for?” Andrew griped, rubbing at his sore scalp as James settled the wig in place and poked in another pin with what he considered unnecessary roughness.

James knocked away his hand and mumbled through the pins held between his lips. “Of course I cared about her!  I still care about her! I wouldn’t propose to someone I didn’t at least care about, what kind of man do you think I am?” James voice dripped with censure and Andrew winced in shame as the final pin was stabbed into place.

            “James, forgive me, I didn’t mean –“ he started, but was cut off by a curt wave of Norrington’s elegant hand. James stepped in front of him, glaring down from his lofty height and inspecting Andrew’s appearance with a cold, intense sort of scrutiny that made Andrew squirm uncomfortably in his seat.   No wonder the Dauntless’ midshipmen always squirmed like errant toddlers during inspection.

            The intimidation was short lived however; the effect was ruined as James stood back and tilted his head to the side, bottom lip caught adorably between his teeth as he inspected his handiwork.   He tugged Andrew’s wig slightly to the right and nodded in satisfaction before kneeling on the floor before him and starting in on the woefully tied cravat.

            “Just because I cared enough for Elizabeth to warrant a proposal does not mean I ever loved her. At least not in the way I love you,” he said quietly in that voice as rich and deep as black velvet. James’s eyes were fixed on Andrew’s throat as his fingers carefully rewound the length of cloth about his neck. The Commodore’s fingertips brushed over the small love bite he had left in the hollow of his Lieutenant’s throat, and Andrew swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he stared at the top of Norrington’s bewigged head, gaping speechlessly.

            James sighed wearily, glancing up briefly from beneath long lashes and a critically raised eyebrow. “I’ve known them since they were both lonely, grieving children, crossing an ocean to an uncertain future.” James fell silent, and the haunted look in his downcast eyes was proof of where his thoughts had strayed – to the blood-washed decks of the Viper where his sister Janet had died in his arms – to the memory of losing his family, of his own childhood being ripped apart.  Of course he felt some sort of kinship with the two young people, especially with William. Andrew shivered, hearing Norrington’s soft voice in his head as clearly as he had heard it only three weeks ago, eerily calm while telling the story of his fateful encounter with Black Cat Brigger and the bloodthirsty pirates of the infamous Viper. Once upon a time…

            Andrew laid a comforting hand on Norrington’s shoulder, rubbing gently until the man finally stopped fidgeting with his now perfectly tied cravat and looked up. “I’ve got you now, Drew. And I’m happy that William and Elizabeth have each other. And that’s that. While some might consider it a part of my duty as Commodore to attend the wedding of the Governor’s daughter, I am going because it’s Elizabeth and William, and I want to. And if it also happens to silence the infernal gossips in this town that still like to think I’m the woebegone jilted lover nefariously plotting revenge, well that’s good too,” he added as an afterthought, the shadows in his eyes swept away like clouds before a stiff breeze, revealing a sunny, roguish glint.

            “Aha! I knew you had to have an ulterior motive!” Andrew crowed triumphantly, standing abruptly and pulling James to his feet. He strode to the mirror and took a quick look at himself. In another life, James might have made a fantastic valet. “Back to my first point, you hate weddings! All of this love rubbish alone wouldn’t be enough to drag you to one if there wasn’t something in it for you as well. Let alone one bound to be as huge and crowded and full of prying, pushing society matchmakers as this one surely will be.”

            Andrew turned to retrieve his coat, which Yates had laid out for him on the bed, only to be smacked in the face with it when James tossed it unceremoniously across the room. “What did I do this time?” Gillette asked peevishly, slipping the spotlessly brushed coat over his broad shoulders.

            If James rolled his eyes any harder they were bound to pop out of his head. “Of course there’s something in it for me. The less people gossip about me the better, don’t you think? I know you’re stalling by the way, and it isn’t going to work. And I’ll have you know I do not hate weddings. Not in principle at least. I hate wedding receptions. There is a difference,” he sniffed.

            After one last scrutinizing look in the mirror, Andrew turned to his lover with a skeptically arched brow. “Do enlighten me to these so-called differences, dearest, I’ve got all day,” he smirked.

            “No, you’ve got one minute to get your arse downstairs. And as for weddings and wedding receptions, it’s really quite simple. Weddings are meant for the couple, to solidify the bond of their love in holy matrimony and so on, etcetera. Wedding receptions were the evil invention of the single female relations of the bride as a way to trap unsuspecting bachelors who just came for the free food and wine all for themselves,” James said in his most, superior, matter-of-fact tone. “Women are like sharks. One shark – the bride – makes the initial kill, and the others swarm, attracted by the blood in the water and hoping to tear off a bit of flesh for themselves. It’s a bloody feeding frenzy for them; eligible men, full of good cheer and good wine, suddenly find themselves surrounded by pretty, eligible lasses. Through the guise of celebrating the joining of the happy couple, they create a target rich environment for the hunt. They lure you in with the promise of wedding cake and rum punch, and the next thing you know you’re surrounded by breasts and coquettishly batting eyelashes.  I swear to god the real reason they wear corsets is to hide their dorsal fins,” James rambled, taking a deep breath as his rant finally came to an end. 

            “Don’t worry James, I’ll shield you from the lure of coquettish breasts,” Andrew said with a straight face but he just couldn’t hold it and doubled up laughing a moment later at the vexed look on James’s face. When he finally straightened a few minutes later, he was wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. 

“So, does this mean we at least won’t be attending the reception then? A shame that, the cake was the only thing I was looking forward to today. Teddy tells me the Governor commissioned Miss Delancy to make it, and you know how good Rosie’s sweets are.” Andrew took the few steps toward his scowling lover, casting an openly lecherous look up and down his body. “I guess you’ll just have to find a way to make it up to me, won’t you love?” Andrew said in a seductive whisper, wrapping his arms around James and pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m thinking a naked Commodore, tied to my bed and liberally drizzled with honey might just appease my sweet tooth.”

James hung his head and heaved a long-suffering sigh. “As much as I approve of that plan, I’m afraid the reception is, regrettably, mandatory.”

“Mandatory? No one can force you to go to the bloody reception if you don’t want to, James. I doubt anyone actually expects us to show up.” 

Thanks to somewhat deceptive orders from Dr. Rediker’ and Ben Yates cleverly spreading a bit of false gossip throughout the garrison, the whole town had been under the impression that Norrington and Gillette had been suffering from a tropical illness, resulting in them being on sick leave for the last three weeks. Only Teddy Groves, Rediker, and Ben knew that that was bollocks; the truth was that Admiral Donovan, concerned with rumors of James overworking himself into ill health and instability, had ordered the leave personally. When James had reacted badly to the news of indefinite suspension, Dr. Rediker had wisely stepped in to repair the rapidly deteriorating situation. He had invented the illness to cover the real cause for the forced shore-leave. This had effectively put a stop to the gossip that had spread like wildfire around the Fort that James was mentally unfit for command and consequently saved Norrington’s reputation with his men. And knowing that Norrington really was under an enormous amount of emotional strain, and that the last thing James needed just then was to be alone with nothing but his own company for weeks on end, the good doctor had given Andrew leave as well, to save James’s sanity by giving him a bit of companionship and friendship during his temporary exile from work. Whether Rediker, always so shrewd, had guessed the extent of that companionship was anyone’s guess, but Andrew was grateful to him all the same. James had opened up to him, had shared some of the demons of his past and stopped shouldering the burden of so much collective guilt, and he was already much better for it. 

“Everyone thinks we’ve been ill, right? It’s shaping up to be a hot, miserable day – not the sort for two poor, recovering invalids like us to be out and about, suffocating in a church, needless to say mingling for hours on end,” Andrew said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “And no one in their right mind probably expects you to attend anyway, being the jilted suitor and all. What with all the poor, eligible blokes getting drunk off their arses on the free rum punch and the flirting lasses and their Breasts of Distraction, no one will miss us,” he concluded with confidence.

His confidence was just as short lived as James’s dwindling patience. Andrew frowned as James pulled away and strode toward the door. The Commodore stopped in the doorway and turned to face him.

“Two flaws with that logic, Drew. One: do I really look like a man who has recently been on his deathbed? I hardly look as though I’ve had a cold, let alone been grievously ill,” he said sarcastically, pointing to the mirror across the room. “Apparently a spot of buggery is quite healthful, after all. And a lot of it is the bloody Fountain of Youth. I haven’t looked this well in ages, and you know it. Thank you for that, by the way,” he added graciously, with a small mock bow. “Unless everyone is blinded by the radiance of the bride,” James rolled his eyes, patently ignoring Andrew’s incredulous snort, “anyone who looks at either of us will assume we’ve made a full and miraculous recovery. It might be stretching it to suddenly fall terribly ill again on the way to the after-party. An illness that comes and goes…a tad too convenient, don’t you think?”

“I suppose you have a point,” Andrew admitted grudgingly. “Still, it doesn’t mean we have to stay long. Put in a brief appearance, congratulate the father of the bride on finally managing to foist the trol –,” Gillette cut that thought short on Norrington’s nasty glare. “Toast the happy couple, have a glass of champagne, and we’re out. Then it’ll be just you, me, and the jar of honey Ben thinks is cleverly hidden away on the top shelf of the pantry.”

“Two,” James soldiered on, looking increasingly dour with each passing second, “Admiral Donovan will be in attendance. He wasn’t originally planning on attending – sent his apologies to Swann a month ago, or so Ben heard – as he’s been in ill-health himself. But apparently he has decided that this joyous occasion is as good an excuse as any to come to Port Royal and personally evaluate my condition.” There was an angry sort of edge to Norrington’s voice that made it clear that, though he had ultimately enjoyed and benefitted from his leave, he still did not appreciate the way Donovan had gone about enforcing it. Or that he was about to be spied on.

Gillette’s eyes had widened in shock. “D-Donovan?” he stuttered, gaping at James like a fish.

“Donovan,” James repeated grimly, the corners of his mouth tightening in a deeper scowl. “And I don’t plan on giving him any more reason to think I’m incapable of doing my job, or any excuses to keep me from returning to duty. He wanted me to take time to relax and socialize, and I don’t care if I have to plaster on a smile and dance with every simpering chit there; I’m going to prove to him once and for all that I am completely in my right mind and fit for command. Now…the carriage is waiting. Come along then, we’re going to be late as is, and we still have to pick up Teddy. We promised him we’d be there fifteen minutes ago.”

James spun on his heel and by the time Andrew reached the doorway, he was already clattering down the stairs, looking the exact opposite of relaxed and sociable. Andrew personally felt thankful that Donovan had forced James on leave, no matter how tactless he had been in going about it. The man been crumbling from the inside out for a long time, and the time off had given him a much needed chance to heal and rebuild.  But he knew his Jamie, and no matter how justified or necessary the action had been, Norrington’s pride would not suffer the insult of being thought incapable. Still, all things considered, Andrew had a feeling the day would be much easier if James would just swallow his damned pride instead of trying to prove himself. James Norrington’s pride cast an even wider, darker shadow that his fondness for Miss Swann, and Andrew could already feel himself getting lost in its depths. He felt another stab of jealous insecurity pricking at that soft, vulnerable place in his mind, the place where a small, traitorous voice insisted that James would always need something more than just him.

“Promised to pick up Teddy,” Andrew grumbled, pushing away the doubt and resigning himself to an afternoon without a naked, honey-coated Commodore. He dragged his feet as he followed at a funereal pace. He stopped at the head of the stairs and glared down at James, who returned the glare full-measure. “Bugger promises to Teddy. Since when is he ever on time?” he griped, neatly catching his hat and cramming it on his head when James tossed it at him. “I’ve got ten pounds that says he’s probably still in bed with last night’s whore, anyway. Let him wait on us for a change.”

~*~*~*~*~

            “About bloody time you two showed up! You are approximately,” Teddy made a big show of pulling out his pocket watch to check the time, “twenty-two minutes late. I was about to just give up and walk. Your lack of punctuality is appalling, gentlemen.” It was only when he looked up that he noticed that the two men inside the carriage were sitting across from one another, backs ramrod straight, both with their arms crossed over their chests and glaring daggers at each other.

            “Pay up, Drew,” James smirked, holding out his upturned palm.

            Andrew turned his glare on Teddy, ignoring Norrington’s wiggling fingers. “Shut it, Jamie. We’ll just see who’s going to pay. Get in,” he barked at Groves, who continued to stand at the open door, his face caught mid-transition between cheeky grin and baffled confusion. It would have been funny, but Andrew was condemned to spending the day watching James play nice for the Admiral instead of spending it at home, playing naughty for him. He just wasn’t in the mood. And now he was out ten pounds to boot, thanks to Teddy being punctual for the first time in living memory.

 
Chapter 2